I live alone in a poor village in Bihar, India. No husband, no children, no relatives, all my life I have been attached to the rice fields, living frugally.

That year, on a rainy night, when I passed by the gate of an ancient Hindu temple, I came across an abandoned newborn baby. It was still red, wrapped in an old, wet cotton towel. No one claimed it, so I decided to take it home. I named it Arjun – hoping it would be strong, smart and have a bright future.

Raising a child who was not related by blood was difficult, raising it in poverty was even more difficult. I borrowed money from the whole village, then borrowed from the Rural Policy Bank to pay for its education. There were days when I only ate chapati with a little salt, saving money to buy milk powder and books for it like its classmates.

Arjun grew up to be smart, obedient, and quiet. He didn’t call me maa (mother), only “bua” (aunt), but I never blamed him. As long as he studied well, that was enough.

The year Arjun got into a university in Delhi, I emptied all my money, even mortgaged the papers of our old bungalow to the bank to borrow more money. On the day of departure, he bowed his head and whispered:

– I will try… bua, wait for me to come back

But then he didn’t come back.

At first, Arjun still called me every week, telling me to take care of my health. But gradually, the calls became less frequent, and then disappeared. Later, I found out that he had to study while doing all kinds of jobs – from serving at a dhaba, handing out flyers on the street, to working the night shift in a garment factory on the outskirts of Delhi.

He was afraid I would worry, so he hid it. He was afraid I would be sad, so he kept quiet. Perhaps he still felt guilty – he hadn’t done anything to repay me, so he didn’t dare come back empty-handed. When the phone was lost, the old number was canceled; the place of residence changed constantly, I didn’t know where to find it. I asked my old classmates, but everyone shook their heads. Gradually, I almost lost hope.

I continued to live by selling vegetables at the village market, picking up trash at night to gradually pay off the debt.

One day, I went to the bank in town, trembling with a stack of papers in my hand, my back was bent, my eyes were dim:

– Miss, I want to pay off the last loan. I will pay off the remaining amount.

The bank employee checked the phone, then looked at me for a long time, frowning slightly:

– Wait a minute… This loan has been paid off, two years ago.

I was stunned.

– Who… who paid…?

The employee bent down to read:

– Note: “Pay on behalf of my mother – the only person who loves me unconditionally.”

– Transferred by: Arjun Sharma.

My knees were weak, I had to hold on to the table to stand firm. It turned out… it had never forgotten me. It just chose to stay silent to stand firm, to return one day when it was strong enough.

My tears fell in the middle of the bank. Not because of anger, but because I finally understood: there are people who love us deeply, but cannot be with us, can only silently watch and care for us from afar.

More than a month later, one afternoon when the market was closed, I was arranging some wilted vegetables when I heard a soft voice calling from behind:

– Bua…

I turned around. A tall man, tanned skin, moist eyes. Just by looking at him, I knew – Arjun. No longer the skinny boy from years ago, now in front of me was a mature man, but still bowed his head shyly like a child who had just made a mistake.

He walked over, knelt down in front of the vegetable stall, his voice trembling:

– I’m sorry… It took me so many years to be able to stand properly in front of you. I was afraid you would worry, afraid you would see me suffering, so I kept quiet… I was wrong.

I pulled him up, hugged him tightly, listening to his heart beating rapidly like when he was a child, afraid of being abandoned.

– I’m back now… – I whispered. – You don’t need anything more.

Arjun squeezed my shoulder, saying that his job in Mumbai was now stable, with enough income to take care of both of us. He wanted me to give up my vegetable stall, give up my nights of picking up trash, and come live with him to make up for the years we were apart.

That day, my last vegetable stall sold out without even a word. We walked home together under the red sunset. My old heart felt so light and warm for the first time.

And I knew that from now on, I would no longer have to walk alone