My husband is much older than me. A completely boring person. He doesn’t speak sweetly, doesn’t understand romance. Since our marriage, we’ve never gone anywhere together. We’ve never walked hand in hand under the moonlight or gotten drenched in the rain together—he says he’ll catch a cold. If I ask to go to the rooftop to enjoy the moonlight, he says, “Just look through the window, there are ghosts on the roof!”
I used to love dressing up, using expensive perfumes. But now all those desires have died. Even when I wear a saree, he doesn’t compliment me or even glance at me twice. With his beard-covered face and stern demeanor, my friends call me “the mullah’s wife.”
My friend Layla married a millionaire. She has cars, houses, everything. She often mocks me. I, too, once dreamt of marrying a handsome man in a suit—living in a luxurious house, with my own room full of cosmetics, expensive perfumes, and a fancy wardrobe.
But reality gave me a serious, quiet man.
Still, life moved on. One day, I found out I was pregnant again. I thought he would hug me with joy. But all he said was, “Alhamdulillah.” No smile. No excitement.
Then one day, I slipped in the bathroom and fell hard on my stomach. I felt like a rock had hit me from above. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was in the ICU of Khulna 250-bed hospital. My baby was gone.
For four days, I lay unconscious. When I regained my senses, I saw no one had come to see me. I thought—have they all forgotten me? Are they planning to bring a new wife home?
That night, a kind nurse told me, “Your husband hasn’t left the hospital for a single minute in the last four days. He sits outside the ICU all day and night.”
She said, “When you were brought in, the doctors had given up. They didn’t even want to admit you. But your husband cried and begged them to save you. He signed a bond and stayed here ever since.”
She continued, “Every day during my shift, he would request me to just move the curtain a little so he could see you through the window. Even though visitors aren’t allowed, I moved the curtain a bit and saw him standing there, thanking me with folded hands.”
Hearing this, my chest tightened. Tears rolled down. Was this really the man I called unromantic?
She pulled back the curtain and pointed—“There he is.” I looked and saw him standing outside, his eyes fixed on me. When he noticed the curtain move, he smiled and folded his hands in gratitude.
My heart broke. I cried uncontrollably. He loved me so much…
I was released a few days later. Back home, he stayed by my side, fed me, helped me with everything. I felt like I was living a new life. For the first time, I was truly seeing my husband.
That night, I teased him, “You would’ve married again if I had died, right?” He placed his hand on my lips and said, “Don’t ever say that again.” Then he hugged me tightly and cried like a child. I felt like his tears were cleansing all my pain, giving me a new life.
Two days later, Layla called. She was crying. Her millionaire husband had divorced her and married his beautiful secretary.
That day I realized—
Love is a strange thing.
What we think is love often isn’t.
And what is truly love, we often fail to recognize.
One night, after I fully recovered, he suddenly said, “It’s a full moon tonight. Let’s go to the rooftop and soak in the moonlight.”
I looked at him playfully and smiled, “I understand everything now…”
The End