Sanho was an ordinary boy from Kolkata, studying in a medical college, walking through the busy corridors of the institution with a mind constantly oscillating between studies and dreams that felt both small and immense. At twenty-one, the age where most youths chase ambitious dreams, Sanho's was simple, almost humble—a dream of having a beautiful and loyal wife. Nothing grand, no castles, no endless wealth, just the warmth of a woman who would care for him, who would walk beside him through life's unpredictable turns.
His mind often wandered to Sunita, a junior in his college, whose laughter seemed to linger in his thoughts long after their classes ended. She had an unassuming charm, a quiet confidence that made her stand out without trying. Sanho would see her in the corridors, sitting with her friends, her hair catching the sunlight streaming through the windows, her eyes deep pools of something he could never quite name but always wanted to understand.
Love, however, had always been a delicate subject for him. Despite the longing in his heart, he had learned to cage it, to reason that perhaps it was better to avoid it. Love was messy. Love was unpredictable. And perhaps, he told himself, a young man like him could survive perfectly well without it. Money, ambition, studies—these were tangible, dependable. Love, on the other hand, had a way of dissolving into nothing when reality hit. Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, he would think cynically about it, wondering if all this emotion and hope were just a waste of time, a luxury he could ill afford in a world that demanded practicality.
Yet, every time reality confronted him—the way her smile made his chest tighten, or how her eyes lingered for a moment too long in conversation—he would forget all those rationalizations. His cynicism would crumble like dry leaves under a gust of wind. He could deny it, rationalize it, even mock it in his own thoughts, but the truth remained stubborn: Sunita had captured a part of him that reason could never reclaim.
For five months, he had held himself back. Every time he imagined approaching her, confessing what his heart already knew, fear gripped him. Fear of rejection, fear of inadequacy, fear that his past as an orphan might matter to her—or worse, that it would. Sanho had grown up without the comfort of family, without the warmth of parents who would cradle him in his fears and failures. He had learned to stand on his own, to survive alone, but love was a different battlefield, one where loneliness could feel suffocating rather than strengthening.
But that day in the canteen, something in him shifted. Perhaps it was the monotony of hesitation, perhaps it was the courage that comes from repeated exposure to one's own longing. Whatever it was, he decided he could no longer hide behind fear. He would speak, he would confess, he would put his heart on the line, and the consequences, good or bad, would follow.
The canteen was bustling, the air filled with the clatter of plates and the low murmur of conversation. Students gathered in groups, laughing, sharing notes, some immersed in their phones. Sanho walked toward the table where Sunita was sitting, her eyes bright as she talked to a friend. He felt his heart hammering against his ribs, each step a mix of dread and exhilaration.
"Sunita," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. She turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them.
"Yes, Sanho?" she asked, a hint of curiosity in her tone.
He swallowed hard. The words he had rehearsed countless times in his head now felt foreign on his tongue. "I… I like you. I mean, I really like you. Will you… will you be with me?"
The pause that followed was agony. Around them, the hum of the canteen seemed to fade, the chatter and laughter reduced to a distant echo. Then, slowly, a smile spread across Sunita's face. "Yes," she said softly, and Sanho felt a weight lift from his chest, replaced by a happiness so intense it almost startled him.
What made this moment even more profound was that Sunita knew about his past. She knew he was an orphan, that he had no family to speak of. And yet, she did not falter. She did not hesitate. Her acceptance was complete, unreserved. In that moment, Sanho felt a joy that was almost sacred. He had never expected this, never dared to imagine that someone like her could see beyond his circumstances and choose him.
From that day onward, they began dating. What started as shy smiles and stolen glances evolved into long conversations, shared meals, and the quiet comfort of simply being near each other. They discovered similarities, shared jokes, and slowly, the barriers of familiarity were replaced by genuine closeness.
Yet, there remained a line Sunita would not cross. Physical intimacy was a boundary she had set firmly from the start. "After marriage, I will be yours," she would say, her tone gentle but resolute. "Then you can touch me as much as you wish."
At first, Sanho struggled with this. His impulses, his desires, often clashed with the principles of patience and respect he tried to uphold. He tried, not once but five times, to overstep that boundary, each attempt met with the same gentle refusal. Sunita's words, though repeated, carried no anger, no disdain—only a calm certainty that made it impossible to argue with her.
Slowly, Sanho learned to respect her limits, to value the depth of her character over the fleeting gratification of touch. He began to see her restraint not as a challenge to be conquered but as a testament to her decency and her belief in the sanctity of what they shared. In a world where fleeting relationships were common, her patience, her conviction, and her loyalty became a treasure he cherished more than he could articulate.
As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Sanho's feelings for Sunita only deepened. He found himself thinking about her constantly—her laughter, her kindness, the way she looked when she was focused on something she loved. He admired her resilience, the quiet strength she carried without needing to announce it to the world. And though the desire for closeness lingered, it was tempered by respect, a reverence that grew stronger with each passing day.
Sanho also began to reflect on his own life with newfound clarity. Being an orphan had shaped him, forced him to develop independence, resilience, and an understanding of life that others might take years to acquire. Yet, in Sunita, he found not just love, but acceptance. She did not pity him. She did not see his lack of family as a deficit. Instead, she chose him for who he was, for the person he had become despite the challenges life had imposed.
Their relationship became a delicate balance of affection and respect, of longing and restraint. They shared moments of laughter and quiet conversation, of mutual support in studies and small daily victories. Each meeting, each call, each casual touch of hands in passing was a reaffirmation of the bond they were building, a bond rooted not in lust or convenience, but in genuine connection and understanding.
Sanho realized that love, he had feared was a waste of time, was in fact a profound teacher. It taught patience, empathy, and the value of restraint. It revealed the strength hidden in vulnerability and the courage required to open one's heart fully. And with Sunita, he felt that lesson not as a burden, but as a gift.
Even as he admired her from afar, waited for moments they could share in private, and endured the restraint she required, Sanho found contentment in their journey. He began to understand that desire without respect was hollow, and that the true intimacy of love lay not just in physical closeness, but in the trust, loyalty, and understanding they cultivated every day.
For Sanho, the dream that had once seemed so modest—a loyal, beautiful wife—had transformed into something richer, deeper, and far more meaningful than he could have imagined. And though the road ahead promised challenges, the foundation they were building gave him hope, a sense of purpose, and the quiet assurance that this, indeed, was a love worth waiting for.
In those small, shared moments, in the laughter and the gentle refusals, in the unspoken trust and the promises yet to be fulfilled, Sanho found a happiness that was steadfast and enduring. And for the first time in his life, he understood that love, when nurtured with patience and respect, could become not a fleeting dream, but a lasting reality.