At the age of 61, I remarried to my first love: on our wedding night, as I undressed my wife, I felt stunned and broken…
My name is Rajeev and I am 61 years old. My first wife passed away eight years ago after a long illness. Since then, I have been living quietly alone. All my children are married and settled. Once a month, they come to deliver some money and medicines, then leave quickly. I don’t blame them. They have their own lives, and I understand. But on rainy nights, listening to the sound of drops falling from the tin roof, I feel unbearably small and alone.
Last year, I was scrolling through Facebook when I stumbled upon Mina – my first love since high school. I loved him very much at that time. She had long, wavy hair, deep black eyes, and a smile so dazzling that the entire class lit up. But while I was preparing for my university entrance exams, her family arranged for her to marry a man from South India – ten years older than her.
After that, we lost contact. Forty years later, we met again. She was now a widow—her husband had died five years earlier. She lived with her youngest son, but he worked in another city and came very rarely.
In the beginning, we just prayed. Then we started calling. Then the coffee meetings began. And unknowingly, I used to go to her house every few days on my scooter, carrying a small basket of fruits, some sweets, and some medicines for joint pain.
One day, jokingly, I said:
– “What if… Are we two old hearts getting married? Wouldn’t that lessen the loneliness?”
To my surprise, his eyes turned red. I was confused, trying to explain that it was a joke – but she smiled softly and nodded.
And just like that, at the age of 61, I remarried – to my first love.
On our wedding day, I wore a dark maroon sherwani. She wore a simple cream-coloured silk saree. Her hair was neatly tied, and adorned with a small pearl pin. Friends and neighbors came to celebrate. Everyone said, “You two look like young lovers again.” ”
And to be honest, I felt young. That night, after the feast cleaning, it was about 10 o’clock at night. I made him a glass of warm milk and closed the front door and turned off the verandah lights.
Our wedding night – which I never imagined would come again in my old age – had finally arrived.
As I gently took off her blouse, I froze.
His back, shoulders, and arms were covered with dark scars—old scars scattered like a sad map. I just stood there, my heart aching.
He quickly wrapped a blanket over himself, his eyes wide with fear. I asked tremblingly:
– “Meena… What happened to you?”
She turned away and walked away, her voice choked:
“At that time… He had a short-tempered mood. He was screaming… He used to beat me… I never told anyone…”
I sat down beside him with a heavy heart, tears welling up in my eyes. My heart was yearning for him. For so many decades, she lived in silence—in fear and shame—telling no one. I grabbed her hand and gently held it to my heart.
“It’s all right now. From today on, no one will ever hurt you again. No one has the right to hurt you… Except for me—but only because I love you so much.
She burst into tears—soft, trembling sobs that echoed throughout the room. I hugged him. Her back was weak, her bones slightly protruding—a little woman who had endured silence and suffering all her life.
Our wedding night was not like that of young couples. We just lay next to each other, listening to the chirping of crickets in the courtyard and the rustle of the wind blowing through the trees. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. He touched my cheek and whispered:
– “Thank you. Thank you for showing me that no one in this world still cares about me. ”
I smiled. At 61 years old, I finally understood: Happiness is not the uncontrollable passion of money or youth. It’s a hand I can hold, a shoulder I can lean on, and someone who sits with you all night just to feel your heartbeat.
Tomorrow will come. Who knows how many days I have left? But one thing I know for sure: For the rest of her life, I will make up for her loss. I’ll cherish that. I will protect him, so that he will never have to fear anything again.
Because for me, this wedding night is the greatest gift of my life — after half a century of longing, missed opportunities, and waiting.
