The Man with a Heart for Twenty

In a small, sun-bathed town nestled between two quiet rivers, there lived a man named Arman Qureshi. He was not a king, not a movie star, nor a billionaire. But what he had was rarer than gold: a heart so pure and words so kind that every soul who met him felt lighter.

Arman ran a simple bookshop called Dil-o-Dastaan, where he sold old Urdu novels, English classics, poetry collections, and handmade journals. He greeted every customer with warmth, served free chai to students, and always had time to listen.

But what made Arman truly unforgettable was the way he listened—not just with ears, but with eyes, silence, and presence. He could understand someone’s pain before they said a word. People often said, “Arman doesn’t just sell stories—he is one.”

And so, it happened, without design or desire, that twenty women fell in love with him.


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The first was Amira, a single mother of two, who found peace in his bookstore while escaping her noisy world. He once kept her son’s drawing taped behind the counter for months. “It’s better than Picasso,” he said with a wink. She smiled for the first time in years.

The second was Zoya, a bold journalist. She came to interview him but left speechless. His honesty disarmed her ambition, and his simplicity fascinated her more than the headlines she chased.

Then came Nilofer, a retired school teacher, who lost her husband during the pandemic. Arman would read Faiz to her every Thursday. She called him "my son," but her heart whispered otherwise.

Sana, a college girl with stage anxiety, found her voice in his open mic nights. The first time she performed, he clapped the loudest. “That poem could move mountains,” he told her. Her heart melted.

Meher, an artist, painted his portrait after just one meeting. “Your eyes hold rain,” she said, “the kind that heals.” She gifted him the painting and cried when he hung it on the bookstore wall.

And so it continued—twenty women, all from different walks of life: a nurse, a professor, a divorcee, a traveler, a florist, a widow, a YouTuber, a tailor, and even an 18-year-old aspiring writer. None of them were foolish. None were shallow. Their love was not about beauty or charm—it was about kindness.

Each woman knew about the others. It wasn’t a secret. Some had seen each other in the bookstore. One time, four of them met accidentally at a poetry evening. Instead of jealousy, there was laughter. “You too?” one of them said. “Of course,” replied another, “how could anyone not?”

They all understood one thing: Arman did not belong to any one of them—he belonged to everyone.


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One day, Arman fell seriously ill. The news spread like fire across town. The hospital waiting room was filled—not just by the twenty women, but by children he tutored, old men he helped cross the road, and even the local chaiwala.

The doctor said he had a weak heart. “Maybe too many emotions in one lifetime,” he joked.

Zoya, who had returned from abroad, stayed with him day and night. Meher brought him flowers every morning. Sana read poetry aloud. Amira made his favorite kheer. Nilofer held his hand during painful nights.

He survived. Barely. But something had changed in him.


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Months later, the bookstore reopened. On the wall, a new frame appeared. Inside was a letter:

> “To all twenty women—
I never promised you love, yet you gave me the purest version of it.
You loved me not to possess me, but to heal me.

This bookstore is not mine anymore. It’s ours.
Every story here belongs to those who love without conditions.

You gave me twenty kinds of strength.
And though I can never marry twenty women, I can carry your kindness forever.

— Arman”




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Years passed. Arman never married. But the women—some moved on, some married others, some remained alone—never forgot him.

Whenever someone asked, “Did you ever fall in love?”

They would smile softly and say, “Yes. Once. With a man named Arman who loved the world so gently that twenty women loved him back… and never regretted it.”

And in that little bookshop by the riverside, under the sign Dil-o-Dastaan, the story of Arman lived on—not just in books, but in hearts.