The rain poured down heavily, but the footsteps of former Sergeant Lakshya were even heavier. At seventy-five, he trudged along with difficulty. He wore a worn-out military jacket – faded in color, but still neatly ironed, as if he didn’t want to lose his discipline despite his long-retired status.

In his pocket, carefully wrapped in a handkerchief, was his most precious possession – the Maha Vir Chakra Medal of Merit.

He received it in the 1970s on the northern border. Amidst fierce gunfire, despite being wounded in the leg, he saved his entire platoon. It was a symbol of his blood, sweat, and unwavering courage for his country.

But now, his courage wasn’t being tested on the battlefield – it was in the hospital.

His wife, Naina, was in the ICU. She needed 50,000 rupees for dialysis and medication. His meager pension had run out, and they had no children to rely on.

Lakshya stopped in front of the “Darshini Antique Shop,” a place specializing in old gold, memorabilia, and historical artifacts.

He took a deep breath.

“Forgive me, India,” he whispered. “But Naina needs me more right now.”

He entered the shop. The air was chilly. A faint scent of old wood and money lingered.

Behind the counter sat the shopkeeper—Mr. Vikram, a middle-aged man known for his passion for history.

“Hello, Uncle. How can I help you?” Vikram asked politely.

Lakshya slowly took out his handkerchief and unfolded it.

A gold medal gleamed in the light.

“I want to sell this,” his voice was hoarse. “This is the Maha Vir Chakra Medal. My name is on the back.”

Vikram carefully took the medal and examined it under a magnifying glass.

He saw the inscription: Sergeant Lakshya Singh – Indian Army.

“It’s rare, Uncle,” Vikram said. “This is one of the highest honors a soldier can receive. Are you sure?”

Lakshya bowed his head. Tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks.

“I have no choice… My wife is in the ICU. If I don’t sell it, she will die. What does this medal mean to me if the woman who was the reason I fought back then is no longer here?”

Vikram was silent. He saw the dignity of the old man – though his spirit was broken, his posture remained upright.

He pressed the calculator.

“Alright, Uncle. I’ll buy it.”

He took out a thick envelope.

“One hundred thousand Rupees (₹100,000).”

Lakshya’s eyes widened.

“Sir, that’s too much! Even with the valuation, it’s only about twenty thousand!”

“Please take it, Uncle,” Vikram said with a smile.

Lakshya trembled as he took the envelope.

“Thank you… It will save Naina.”

He was about to turn and leave, leaving the medal on the counter. Painful, but necessary.

“Uncle, wait,” Vikram called.

Lakshya turned back.

Vikram handed the medal back to him.

“What? You’ve already paid,” the old man said in surprise.

Vikram emerged from behind the counter, took Lakshya’s hand, and placed the medal in his palm.

“Uncle, the money is yours—it’s my help. But this medal? I can’t take it.”

Vikram clasped his hands together and bowed in the traditional Indian manner.

“Gold can be bought. Medicine can be bought. But the courage and sacrifice you have shown for your country—that can never be bought.”

Lakshya burst into tears. The soldier, who had never cried on the battlefield, succumbed to the kindness of a stranger.

He left the shop with the hope of saving his wife, his honor still on his chest.

Three months passed. Vikram was busy in the shop when the door opened.

A young man entered, carrying a small wooden box.

“Are you Mr. Vikram?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

“I am the nephew of Sergeant Lakshya Singh.”

Vikram smiled.

“How are they? His wife?”

The young man bowed his head.

“Naina recovered thanks to his help. They returned home and spent their last happy month together. But Lakshya passed away last week—peacefully, holding his wife’s hand.”

Vikram remained silent.

The young man placed the box on the counter.

“This is his last will and testament. He asked me to give it to you.”

Vikram opened the box.

Inside were the Maha Vir Chakra Medal and a handwritten letter.

He read:

“Dear Mr. Vikram,
Thank you for prolonging my wife’s life. You are right – courage cannot be bought.
But medals should belong to those with hearts for their fellow men.
On the battlefield, I proved my courage.
At your shop, I know that there are still heroes without uniforms.
Please accept it – not as payment, but as a legacy.
– Sergeant Lakshya Singh”

Vikram’s eyes welled up with tears.

He didn’t sell the medal. Instead, he placed it in a glass case in the center of the shop.
Below it, not the price was written, but:
“NOT FOR SALE.
BELONGS TO A HERO,
AWARDED BY A FRIEND.”