Bec

ause I understand, I was just like you — an abandoned person who no longer believed I deserved to be loved.

I was married like an object.

My stepmother said:
“That family is rich, you just have to be obedient and consider your life changed.” ”

I kept quiet, didn’t resist. Probably because since my father’s passing, I’ve gotten used to the feeling that I have no choice.

My groom is Aarav – a man who is rumoured to be disabled, who sits in a wheelchair all day. People say that he used to be a famous young Swami in Delhi, but after a car accident, his legs were completely paralyzed, his fiancée left him, and he started living a secluded life in a cold villa in the suburbs.

And I – Meera, a poor girl from Jaipur – became “the wife of a handicapped man”.

The wedding went quietly. No fireworks, no music, no blessings. I was alone in my old wedding saree, standing next to the quiet man, looking at me with pity and critical eyes.

When the car drove me to my husband’s house, my stepmother just had time to whisper:
“Keep your mouth shut, don’t offend their family.” ”

Then she turned around as if she had just brought something.

The villa I arrived at was beautiful, but also cold.

There were few servants, the atmosphere was quiet.

He – the newlywed husband – just nodded slightly, said in a monotonous voice:
“From now on, you can stay here, do whatever you want. I won’t interfere. ”

He didn’t call me “wife,” he didn’t look at me for more than a moment.

We lived in the same house, but were like two strangers.

During the day he read books in the study room, at night I slept in the next room.

Sometimes, the sound of wheels spinning on the wooden pavement was heard on a regular basis – that sound became the rhythm of time in the house.

I thought:
“My life is over. A convenient marriage, a husband who can’t walk. ”

On the night of the wedding, all the maids had gone home.

He sat by the bedside while I was entangled in the blanket. The atmosphere was very quiet.

I was shaking, not knowing what to say. He saw this and said softly:
“You don’t have to pity me. I know I’m a burden. ”

I hurriedly shook my head:
“No… It’s not like that…”

Then, for some reason, I walked over and bent down:
“Let me put you to bed. ”

He was stunned for a moment, his deep eyes looked at me, then he nodded slightly.

I wrapped my arms around her back, trying to lift her onto my back. But it was heavier than I thought.

After walking a few steps, my foot slipped off the edge of the carpet and we both fell to the wooden floor.

There was a loud “bang”, painful.

I quickly got up, intending to apologize, but stopped abruptly.

Under the thin blanket, I found some… Felt shaking.

He looked at me too – his eyes suddenly changed.

We were both stunned for a few seconds.

I stammered,
“You… Do you still feel it?”

She lowered her head, smiled lightly – a smile that was both sad and helpless:
“The doctor said, if you go for physiotherapy, you can walk again.” But I don’t want to walk anymore. When people leave you behind just because you can’t stand anymore, will you be able to walk again or not… It doesn’t matter. ”

His voice was low, hoarse, as if dissolved into the air.

My throat suddenly choked. Not out of pity, but because I saw that the pain in her heart was deeper than the wound on her foot.

That night, I was lying outside, tossing and turning, not sleeping.

This sentence kept swirling in my mind over and over again:
“There’s no need to try anymore.” ”

In the following days, I began to change.
In the morning, I pushed him to the balcony in a wheelchair, and forced him to watch the sunrise, although he was raising eyebrows:

“I don’t like the lights. ”

I smiled:
“But the lights still like you, so don’t hide anymore.” ”

He kept quiet, then for some reason… He stopped resisting.

Likewise, every morning I would force her to take her to the garden. I would tell random stories – stories of neighbours, of how my stepmother locked me in the kitchen, about the wedding saree I had borrowed from someone else.

He listened, sometimes even smiling lightly.
I saw a smile for the first time in many days.

I also taught him to stand. At first just a few seconds. Then a few steps. He fell, I supported him. He was in pain, I caressed his legs.

She asked:
“Aren’t you afraid of me?”
I replied:
“No. I’m just afraid that you’ll give up.” ”

I don’t know when, but his eyes are no longer cold.

And in my heart, the fear of the wedding day gradually disappeared.

One night, she said:
“The day I had an accident, she said: ‘You can’t live with a disabled person.’ Then she left. I tried to walk for half a year. But the more I tried, the more I started to feel worthless. ”

I was silent, then asked:
“If someone stops, will you try?”
She looked at me:
“Maybe.” ”

That answer hurt my heart. Not
out of pity. It was heartwarming.
Because I understood — I had once been like him: an abandoned human being, no longer believed that I deserved to be loved.

One day, my stepmother came to the villa.
The same tone:
“Now you live happily, remember to send some money to your mother. Selling you won’t be useless for me.” ”

Before I could say anything, Aarav arrived. He quietly placed a check on the table:
“Thank you for bringing him to me. But from now on, you have no right over him.” ”

The stepmother was stunned, her face turning pale.
My words… Tears flowed. For the first time in my
life, someone stood up to protect me – not for profit, not for any duty.

That night, I sat by his bed and said softly, “Thank you.” ”

He smiled, “I didn’t do it because you were obliged to me. I did it because I was grateful to myself – for leaving you alone for so long. ”

As time went on, he started walking a few steps, then even more.

Every morning, he still used the cane, I would still hold his hand, slowly walking through the garden.

He asked, “If someday I can walk normally again, will you leave?”

I smiled, “If you still need a bad coffee maker, I’ll stop.” ”

He laughed — a laugh that melted the morning mist of Delhi.

One morning, I woke up and didn’t see him.

Panicking, I ran into the garden and stood there.

He was walking, without a stick, without any support – slowly but steadily.

The morning sun was falling on her shoulder, shining like my tears that I had just shed.

He came closer, held my hand:
“Thanks to you I found my legs again.
But you know — what you did right for me was not my feet, but my heart. ”

I hugged him and cried.
And I understood that that night when we both fell, not only were our bodies hitting the ground, but our hearts were also touching each other for the first time.

Now, that cold old villa is filled with laughter.
Every morning, he comes to the balcony alone and pours me a cup of masala chai.

I jokingly asked:
“Do you remember our wedding night?”
He smiled:
“Of course I remember. That day, you carried me in your arms. And today, it’s my turn to carry you in my arms – half a peaceful life. ”

I rested my head on his shoulder and spoke with a slight smile.
After all, people don’t need strong legs to get ahead in life, they just need a strong heart to look up to each other.