Sitting quietly by the window of AIIMS Hospital in New Delhi, Ananya’s eyes were red. The doctor had just told her that she needed immediate surgery, which would cost crores. Her husband’s family lived in a farming village on the outskirts of Haryana, and their financial situation was precarious. She couldn’t figure out where to get the money. Looking at her two young children, her heart ached.

In despair, Ananya thought of her younger brother, Rohan. Rohan had been a bright student since childhood and later settled in Mumbai, where he had a stable job and a better life. But since marriage, Ananya had rarely contacted him because she feared being accused of “asking for help from her sister.” This time, with no other option, she decided to call Rohan.

On the other end of the line, her younger brother’s voice was calm:
– How much money do you need?

Anya’s voice choked:
– The doctor said at least 35 crores… I know it’s a lot of money, but I have no other choice.

After a few seconds of silence, Rohan replied:
– Okay. But he had to write an IOU.

Ananya was speechless after hearing these words. She had thought that family relationships weren’t calculated, but she hadn’t expected Rohan to be so straightforward. Though she felt sad, Ananya nodded, fearing for her own life.

The next day, Rohan flew from Mumbai to New Delhi and brought the money to the hospital. He took out a blank piece of paper and said sternly:
– Write it down. Write down the amount of 35 crores, and set a payment date.

Ananya held the pen with trembling hands, each line feeling like a knife piercing her heart. She didn’t blame anyone; her voice just choked. After writing, she took the money, thanked him profusely, and then returned to the room to complete the surgery.

The surgery was successful, but her recovery took a long time due to her frail body. Whenever she thought about the IOU in her pocket, her heart ached: “Is my brother so calculating? Or is our sisterly love inherently weak?”

A month later, when her health had improved, Ananya returned to her small rented house in Rohini (New Delhi). One rainy afternoon, she carefully unfolded the IOU. Her gaze stopped at the last line.

Below her handwriting, there were a few more lines from Rohan, handwriting clear and decisive.

“If you can pay, I’ll take it back.

If you can’t, consider this a gift from me.

There’s only one condition: from now on, you live a healthy life, don’t neglect yourself. I don’t want anything else, just that you live a long life with your children and always remember that this little brother still loves you as much as before.”

Ananya was stunned. Her tears fell on the paper. It turned out the IOU wasn’t meant to bind her, but to protect her honor. Rohan understood that his sister had always been self-respecting and didn’t want anyone to think she was begging. Forcing her to write the IOU was a way for him to get money in the name of “loan,” not to do her a favor.

She clutched the paper to her chest, tearfully calling out to her younger brother:
– Rohan… why did you do this?
Rohan, on the other hand, smiled gently:

I know you love your husband and children, and I don’t want you to be dependent on me. An IOU will give you more peace. As for the money… that’s just a small thing. I just need you to be here, to call me “little brother,” that’s enough.

Ananya burst into tears, but this time they were tears of joy. She realized that sometimes love doesn’t need to be expressed in words, but is hidden in seemingly cold things.

From then on, whenever she saw that loan note, Ananya didn’t feel heavy. Instead, she considered it a treasure, a proof of the sacred blood relationship. She told herself to live a healthy life so as not to hurt her younger brother.

And that story, whenever mentioned in the small kitchen where the aroma of masala chai wafted, still moved the entire family – because behind that tough exterior lay an immense love that no one could compensate.