A Silent Love Story

This visit to Kolkata was my first in nearly a decade. The last time I came here was before I moved to Hyderabad. My parents visit us every year, but I never get a chance to see the city. This time, I made it a point to spend at least a fortnight in town and re-explore it as I used to during my student days. The first thing I wanted to do was reconnect with my friends. Although we were in touch through social media, I longed to spend time with them in person. I called my college friend, Ujjaini, to arrange a lunch together. She is now a busy mother, spending most of her days caring for her son and family. I laughed as she talked to me on the phone, hurriedly scolding her son between our conversations. It made me wonder what happened to the kind girl who used to volunteer at NGOs, teach special kids in her spare time, and was always the first to organize charity events for important causes. Despite her busy schedule, she always made time for her friends, especially me, in both good times and bad. Given her current constraints, we decided to meet in front of her son's school and then walk to our favourite nearby restaurant.

On the day of our lunch, I arrived at her son's school a bit early, around 12:35 PM. Ujjaini showed up about five minutes later. She looked different now; the trendy, athletic girl from college had transformed into a serious-looking lady clad in a simple cotton saree and wearing glasses. Nevertheless, she was as beautiful as ever. When she saw me, she exclaimed, “Ankur!” like a child, shedding her serious demeanour. In that moment, she was back to her youthful, jovial self. She hugged me tightly, just like she used to back in the day. I felt a bit skeptical, mainly because it had been a while, and also because people around us were watching, likely unaware of our relationship. After all, it’s not common for a woman to hug a man in public.

We walked to our favourite restaurant, which was about a ten-minute walk from the school. Her son, Shourya, was seven and quite bright for his age. He kept asking me a barrage of questions, eager to learn about his mother's experiences during her college days. Once we entered the restaurant, Ujjaini reserved a table for the four of us. After we settled in, she asked, “Ankur, why didn’t you get married?” I laughed coyly and replied, “You said no to me, and I’m still searching for another Ujjaini.” She chuckled, her beautiful teeth shining like pearls, and said, “You were too late that time.” I was surprised that, on the day I proposed to her back in college, she had given me a strange reason for her rejection.

“Ankur, I am too busy right now. I want to dedicate my entire life to people with special needs,” she said back then.

“You can always do that even when you are with me,” I replied impatiently.

“You’ll be angry,” she stated confidently.

“Oh, come on, what makes you think I would be angry about such a noble cause?” I was irritated.

“I know you will be someday,” she said, looking deep into my eyes. There was something so convincing in her gaze that I struggled to find words to defend myself.

“You said you would dedicate your life to the well-being of those with special needs. But now I see you’re leading a completely family-oriented life. I’m sure you could have done the same with me. I would have never objected to your choices or your career.” Now sitting at the restaurant, I could not help but ask her.

She looked at me with piercing, bright eyes. “I am doing that every day, every moment of my life.”

Her confidence and determined smile began to annoy me. “Come on, Ujjaini, you could have achieved that if you were married to me. I’ve always waited for you.” I couldn’t control my frustration, and my voice rose.

“Papa,” Shourya called, distracting me. The little boy was waving at someone, and I noticed a man my age approaching our table. He was handsome, with a childlike innocence on his face—almost like an adult version of Shourya. Why was I angry? Was I jealous of this boyish man? He looked at me with curiosity, and I sensed the nervousness in his eyes. As he sat in the chair across from me, Ujjaini said, “Meet my husband, Aranya.” She made strange hand gestures while speaking. Then she introduced me: “This is my best friend, Ankur.” 

Aranya smiled at me and extended his right hand for a shake. Unwillingly, I shook his hand; I couldn’t understand why he was irritating me so much. What was going on with Ujjaini? “What do you do, Aranya?” I asked him. He seemed to ignore my question, instead looking at his wife with anxious eyes, which angered me further. Ujjaini sensed my frustration.

“Oh, he teaches at a school,” she explained.

“What subject?” I asked, raising my voice so he could hear me. He was still focused on the menu, hardly paying attention to what I said. I was furious. “What’s wrong with your husband, Ujjaini? He seems quite rude. If he has a problem with me, I can walk out right now.”

Ujjaini smiled slightly and looked at me. “See, Ankur, I told you once that you would get angry someday. Aranya can neither hear nor understand you. He is deaf in both ears and has a speech impairment. He only understands sign language.” 

“You knew him back then, didn’t you?” I asked, holding back my tears.

“Yes, I did. At that time, I decided I would spend my entire life with him. I couldn’t tell you because I knew you would get angry, just like you are today. He cannot say he loves me, but he is there for me and will be. I will be there for him, too. We will be together for us and for Shourya through love and silence.”

A tear rolled down my cheek; I felt like hugging her tightly.

This post is a part of #CurrentsofKindnessBlogHop hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under #Everyconversationmatters blog hop series