A Poor Woman's Love
Sita was born into poverty, but she never learned to complain about it. Her home was a small mud house at the edge of the village, with a leaking roof and cracked walls. When it rained, water flowed across the floor like a shallow river. Yet every morning, Sita woke up before sunrise, swept the courtyard, fetched water from the well, and prepared food for her sick mother. Poverty was her shadow—it followed her everywhere—but she carried it with quiet strength.
Her father had died when she was only ten. From that day, life became heavier. Sita left school to work in the fields and nearby houses. She washed utensils, cleaned floors, and carried bundles of firewood on her thin shoulders. Her hands were rough, her feet always dusty, but her eyes held a gentle light. She believed that kindness was the only wealth she owned.
In the same village lived Raghav, the son of a wealthy landlord. He was educated, soft-spoken, and different from other rich boys who mocked the poor. One afternoon, while returning from college, Raghav saw Sita struggling to lift a sack of rice at the market. Without thinking, he rushed forward and helped her.
"Let me help," he said kindly.
Sita looked up, surprised. Rich men rarely noticed women like her. "Thank you," she replied softly, embarrassed by her torn sari and dusty hands.
That small moment changed both their lives.
Over the following days, Raghav often found excuses to pass by Sita's house. Sometimes he brought medicine for her mother, sometimes books he thought she might like. At first, Sita hesitated. She feared people's words, their cruel judgments. A poor woman accepting kindness from a rich man always became a story in the village.
But Raghav's intentions were pure. He listened when she spoke about her dreams—dreams of learning, of living without fear, of seeing her mother healthy again. No one had ever listened to her like that.
Slowly, love grew between them—quiet, deep, and honest.
However, love does not come easily to the poor.
The villagers began to whisper. "How can a rich man love a poor girl?" they said. "She must be after his money." Their words reached Raghav's family. His mother became furious.
"Have you lost your mind?" she shouted. "Our family name will be destroyed!"
Raghav tried to explain, but his parents refused to listen. They arranged his marriage with a wealthy girl from the city. Raghav was forbidden to meet Sita again.
When Sita heard the news, her heart broke, but she did not cry in front of anyone. She smiled and told herself that love was never meant for people like her. That night, she sat beside her sleeping mother and wept silently.
The next morning, Sita made a painful decision. She left the village before sunrise, carrying only a small bag and her dignity. She did not want to be the reason for Raghav's suffering. Love, she believed, sometimes meant letting go.
Sita moved to the city and worked in a garment factory. Life was harsh. She worked long hours, earned little money, and slept in a crowded room. Her hands bled from needles, and her eyes burned from exhaustion. Yet she never gave up. She saved every rupee and sent money home for her mother's treatment.
Years passed.
One day, a social worker visited the factory and noticed Sita's intelligence and dedication. With help, Sita learned tailoring and basic education. Slowly, she rose from a worker to a supervisor. Her confidence grew, though her heart still carried an old wound.
Meanwhile, Raghav's life was not as perfect as it appeared. His arranged marriage failed. His business collapsed due to wrong decisions, and his family lost much of their wealth. Broken and lonely, Raghav left the city and began working for a small NGO that helped poor women.
Fate, quiet and patient, was preparing a reunion.
One afternoon, during a training session for factory women, Raghav walked into the hall as a guest speaker. When Sita saw him, her breath stopped. He looked thinner, older, but the same kindness shone in his eyes.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, the world disappeared.
After the session, they spoke—carefully, honestly, without anger. Raghav apologized for not fighting harder. Sita admitted how much it had hurt. Both had suffered, both had grown.
"I loved you not because I was rich," Raghav said softly, "but because you were strong."
"And I loved you," Sita replied, "even when I had nothing."
This time, there were no walls between them. No pride. No fear. Only two people who had survived life's cruelty.
They chose each other again.
They married quietly, without luxury or grand celebrations. Their home was small, but filled with respect and warmth. Sita continued working for women's education, and Raghav supported her with pride.
Sita was still poor in money—but rich in courage, love, and self-worth.
And this time, love stayed.