True Love

She stood in front of the mirror, turned her face, and said with a grin,

“Hey! If there were no mirror, how would I know I’m so beautiful?” Then she burst out laughing.

I replied,

“The mirror lies. There’s nothing desirable in you; you’re just in love with yourself.”

She sat beside me and said,

“If the mirror lies, your heart doesn’t. Even without a mirror, I would’ve seen my reflection in your heart, in your eyes. I’m not in love with myself. I just wanted you to speak. You look upset.”

I said,

“Your father wants six lakh rupees. That kind of money doesn’t exist in our village. I have to leave for a foreign country.”

She laughed loudly and hit me with a pillow.

“What did you think? That your beloved comes for free? You’ll have to wear iron shoes like Saif-ul-Muluk and wander in my pursuit.”

I looked at her in disbelief and asked,

“Are you serious? Can you bear my absence?”

She hugged the pillow tightly, resting her chin on it. After a long silence, she smiled softly, nodded in agreement, and left the room.

A few minutes later, she returned and said,

“I made your favorite tea…”

I stood up.

“I have to go. I won’t drink tea.”

She blocked my way.

“Hey! I made tea with the ashes from the old stove and you’re just going to leave like this?”

I said nothing. Walked past her and slammed the door behind me.

A week later, I said farewell to everyone in the village — except her house.

Six years passed in a foreign land. Rarely did I receive letters from home.

Once, my mother sent me a cassette where she wept and said,

“I regret ever giving you to her. We lost you to the world.”

Doubt crept into my heart.

Maybe she never loved me. Maybe she liked my cousin — he was a handsome youth.

As time passed, my love turned into belief, and belief into bitterness — until one day, I felt nothing for her anymore. I felt disgust.

After seven years of labor, I returned to the village. A strand of white now appeared in my beard.

I visited her home.

She had grown thin, her hair whiter than mine. She looked broken. When I found her alone in the room, she hugged me tightly. Her sobs shook her body, but she soon wiped her tears quietly and said with her old smile,

“Hey! You’ve really become an old man.”

I said nothing. I felt no emotion for her.

It was only tradition that brought me back to marry her. Otherwise, marrying her felt like punishing myself.

We married within a month. My coldness didn’t wipe the smile from her lips. She never complained when I kept my distance. I was often with others. She said nothing.

Her silence only strengthened my doubts — that her heart belonged to someone else, and whether I stayed close or far, it made no difference to her.

A month passed, and I found out she was ill.

One day, her condition worsened. I took her to the district hospital. Doctors said she needed treatment in the provincial capital.

When she returned home, she was a bit better.

The next day, my mother said,

“Son, take your wife to the provincial hospital. Let them properly examine her.”

I replied,

“Mother, some of my friends from abroad are visiting. You and father take her.”

When they left for the city, I went into her room and opened the chest she had brought from her father’s house.

Inside her clothes, I found a knotted scarf.

When I untied it, I found letters.

My heartbeat quickened — if my suspicion was true, I might have to kill her.

She had only studied up to grade nine, but her handwriting was elegant.

The letters were arranged carefully. My hands trembled from fear and rage.

I opened the first letter.

---

“My… my heart’s peace…”

The day you left, you took all the joy from this world. My soul followed you like a shadow. You left me as an empty shell.

Do you know why I spoke to you like that that day? Because I wanted you to become brave like Saif-ul-Muluk. I was born into a family that sells their daughters.

I held my tears back for your sake. I didn’t want to make you weak.

On the day you left, I waited for you to turn back. But I feared if I saw you, I might scream and collapse. When you didn’t return to say goodbye, I was heartbroken — but glad you didn’t see the truth.

It’s been a year now. I’m weaker. I can’t hide my heart anymore.

I still love you. I can’t live without you.

---

Second letter:

“My soul torn from me!

Come back! You left to win me — don’t come back and find me dead.

I will die waiting…”

---

Third letter:

“Why do I miss you more today than other days?

Send me a picture. I’ve been sewing a handkerchief for days — just to leave a part of me with you.”

---

Fourth letter:

“The day you left, a sharp pain struck my chest. Now that pain lives in my entire being. Why do I feel like this pain will kill me?

I don’t want to die in a world where you don’t exist. Life without you is hard — but death without you is even worse.”

---

Fifth letter:

“I am very ill. But I tell no one. I was hoping that maybe, among all my pains, your absence would be lost — but instead, your absence consumes them all.”

---

Sixth letter (in bold):

“Come! If not, then send me your address so I can come to you.

I can’t sleep — when I sleep, I see you. I wish I could sleep forever…”

---

Seventh letter:

“I keep writing letters I never send.

I fear your journey is hard. But I still write.

Do you know why?

Because when I write to you, it feels like I’m talking to you…”

---

When the last letter was opened, a phrase embroidered in the corner of the scarf revealed itself:

“Wipe your lips — I haven’t forgotten you.”

A cry burst from my throat. I drenched the letters and scarf in tears.

I wept until evening. Then I heard the main gate creak open. I looked out the window.

It was her.

My parents held her arms as she struggled to walk.

I threw myself face-down. Sobs shook my chest. The door opened, and they entered.

My father said,

“Son, get up…”

She whispered weakly,

“He must be tired. Let him sleep. Don’t wake him.”

When they left, I sat up.

She smiled like always.

“You’re awake?”

She stared into my eyes.

“What happened? Your eyes hurt?”

She tried to get up, but lacked the strength.

I came closer, sat in front of her, and stared into her eyes for the first time in years.

“Why did you do this?” I asked.

She looked confused.

“What have I done?”

I brought out the scarf of letters, placed it before her.

She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then at me.

“So… you found out everything?”

She said softly,

“I wish you hadn’t.”

I cried out and hugged her tightly. She clung to me, her sobs shaking her whole body.

I kissed her eyes and face.

“Why? Why did you do this?”

She wiped her tears, her lips forming a faint smile.

“Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was needed.

That patience brought you to me.

Now this life feels beautiful — like your eyes.”

I couldn’t stop crying. Between sobs, I said,

“Forgive me. Please forgive me…”

She tried to hit me playfully, but didn’t even have the strength to lift the pillow.

When I finally stopped crying, I asked,

“How did you endure all this? My coldness, my absence?”

She sighed,

“Your separation was painful, but I endured it for this day.

Living beside you…

That is paradise for me.”

Night came. I called my parents.

My mother cried,

“My son, after all this effort, look at her now…”

My father added,

“It is God’s will. She has cancer. Doctors said there’s no cure.

She has only one month left.”

He kept speaking, but I no longer heard him.

I had fainted.

The doctors were right.

She was a guest for only twenty-five more days.

Even in illness, she wore a smile — she kept giving me strength.

When she was dying, she asked me to hold her tightly in my arms.

She came into my life…

and then left…

But in leaving,

she took everything from me.

She left me alone, forever…

with just her reflection.

The End.