At 61, I Remarried My First Love: On Our Wedding Night, Just As I Undressed My Wife, I Was Shocked and Heartbroken to See…(THE END)
CONTINUING THE STORY OF RAJIV AND MEENA – HAPPINESS AFTER THE RAIN
The next morning, the gentle sunlight filtered through the mango trees in the yard, shining on the old bed where two people had found each other again after more than half a lifetime. I woke up first, quietly looking at Meena sleeping soundly beside me. Her face was peaceful now, no longer afraid, no longer defensive like last night.
I quietly got out of bed, made a pot of ginger tea, and sat waiting on the porch. A moment later, Meena came out, holding a thin shawl, her eyes hesitant.
– “I’m sorry… for hurting you last night.”
I put down my teacup and pulled out a chair for her to sit next to me.
– “No… I thank you. For believing in me. Believing that I am worthy to know, to listen… to heal with you.”
We sat in silence for a long time. Meena looked up:
– “Rajiv… if I have nightmares in the future, if I suddenly flinch from a loud noise… you will…”
I squeezed her hand gently.
– “I will always be there. Even if it is just to hold your hand until the nightmare is over.”
LIFE AFTER THE WEDDING
The first month was a whirlwind. We learned to live together again—like two children learning to write their first letters. I learned to make her favorite curry. She learned to use her smartphone to video call my son.
Every afternoon, we went to the market together, hand in hand like newlyweds. Once a vegetable seller teased:
– “Are you two newlyweds? You look like high school sweethearts!”
Meena blushed and giggled. I looked at her, my heart pounding like it was when I was in school.
UNSENT LETTERS
One rainy afternoon, I happened to see Meena sitting and writing in an old notebook. I asked her, and she softly replied:
– “It’s a letter… to my ex-husband.”
I kept silent. Not because of jealousy, but because I understood: there are wounds that need to be faced, that need to be released.
A few days later, she burned the letters in the backyard. I stood by, watching the smoke rise, carrying with it the tears I had held back for years.
– “I am not angry with him anymore,” Meena said. “I just regret… that my youth was stolen.”
I put my arms around her:
– “For the rest, I will spend my whole life to make up for it.”
FIRST TIME AT A WEDDING… TOGETHER
One day, we received an invitation to my daughter’s wedding. Meena was confused:
– “Should I go? What if your daughter doesn’t like it…”
I held her hand:
– “You are my family. If my child does not understand that, then let me teach him again.”
On the wedding day, Meena wore a pale pink saree with a white lotus flower pin. When I introduced her as my wife, I saw my daughter pause for a moment — then bow politely to her.
And when the party ended, I saw Meena hugging my granddaughter — a four-year-old girl — and calling her “Nani” in a cheerful voice. My heart was bursting with happiness.
EPILOGUE: THE LAST CALL
Two years later, I was diagnosed with terminal heart disease. I didn’t have much time left. But I wasn’t afraid.
On the hospital bed, I watched Meena spoon-feed me porridge, her eyes brimming with tears.
– “Rajiv… you cannot go before me. I cannot bear another loss…”
I smiled and wiped her tears away:
– “This time, we won’t lose each other. Wherever I go, I will carry you in my heart.”
Last night, I whispered:
– “Meena… thank you… for letting me love you again.”
Then I fell asleep, breathing softly and my hands still holding tightly the hand of the woman I loved all my life.
CONCLUSION: SILENT LOVE
A month later, Meena was found sitting on the porch of her old house, holding a notebook, writing in her diary every morning.
When asked, she just smiled:
– “I am writing to him. One page a day. Because I believe… somewhere, he is still reading every word.”
And so, the unfinished love story of youth ended with a gentle ending in old age — like an instrumental song, only those involved can fully understand the melody.
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