An MBBS doctor rejected a proposal thinking it was from a poor person – you’ll be shocked to know the truth!

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Aarohi and Raju: A Tale of Lost Time and Second Chances

It was early evening outside a large government hospital in Delhi. The sky was tinged with a faint yellowish haze as the relentless flow of patients continued. The wails of ambulances, hurried footsteps of nurses, anxious faces, and doctors in their white coats all blended into a well-oiled rhythm of urgency and care.

Among this bustling crowd, Dr. Aarohi Verma was stepping out of the Neurology Department. Aarohi was known as a cheerful, confident, and hardworking woman, counted among the senior doctors of the hospital due to her skill and dedication. She had spent a busy day attending patients, and after checking on one last patient and giving instructions to a nurse, she headed out. Though her face bore signs of fatigue, there was also a calm satisfaction that only comes from fulfilling one’s duty.

As she neared the hospital’s main entrance, her steps suddenly halted. Standing near the admission gate was a man waiting for her. He was dressed in worn-out clothes; his shirt collar was torn, his trousers dusty, and his shoes old, with heels almost worn out. In his hand, he held a simple bouquet — no fancy flowers or ribbons, just a few white rose buds wrapped in newspaper. His eyes were fixed on Aarohi, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years.

Aarohi looked at him, but it took her a moment to recognize the face. It seemed vaguely familiar, but she quickly averted her gaze as if this was a stranger blocking her path.

The man spoke softly but from the heart.

“Aarohi, I am Raju. Do you remember me?”

For a moment, surprise flashed across Aarohi’s face — as if a foggy window in her mind had been pushed open. But she quickly turned away and focused on her colleagues standing nearby. Dr. Vijay and Dr. Anoop, who were about to leave with her, leaned in and asked, “Who is this?”

Aarohi smiled wryly. “Seems like someone from my past… but now he looks like a beggar.”

Raju’s lips trembled, but he stepped forward, raising the bouquet. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I have come to ask for your hand in marriage, Aarohi.”

His voice quivered but the words were firm, as if he had gathered courage over many years.

Some people nearby heard this — nurses, ward boys, even relatives of patients — and paused to listen. The atmosphere turned serious. Aarohi’s face flushed, not with anger or embarrassment, but with disgust. She laughed loudly and said, “You want to marry a neurologist? A boy who barely passed matriculation? Don’t even dream about it.”

Her words struck Raju like arrows piercing his chest. The crowd’s gaze shifted — some suppressed laughter, some nodded, and others started recording videos on their phones. The pain in Raju’s eyes was clear, but he bowed his head silently. No complaints, no protests — just silence. That silence unsettled everyone even more.

For a few moments, the world seemed to stop. Only the soft rustling of the wind and the sound of Raju’s breathing remained.

Aarohi hurried to her car, started the engine, and drove away without looking back.

Raju stood there with the bouquet in his hand, dust on his face, pain in his eyes, and a question in his heart that might never be answered.

Time seemed to freeze at the hospital gate.

He remained standing there, holding that simple bouquet, his face silent, and his eyes slowly losing hope.

People around whispered — some laughed, some mocked, and some were just curious. All eyes were on the man who had dared to propose to a famous neurologist in tattered clothes.

Aarohi’s steps quickened but then she stopped, as if something was left unsaid. She looked at her doctor friends who could barely hide their smiles. Then, stepping closer to Raju, she stopped and stared at him for a moment — at his torn shoes, dusty clothes, and dim eyes.

She spoke loudly enough for all to hear:

“This was my childhood friend, the one I used to play with under the mango tree, who came to drink water at my house, and today, he has come here as a pauper to propose to me. Wow Raju, you have courage. But you have no shame at all.”

A muffled laughter erupted among the crowd. Nurses nudged each other, and some young men started recording videos again.

Raju’s lips trembled, but he said nothing. He clutched the bouquet as if it was his last support.

Then Aarohi took a step forward and struck his shoulder sharply, as if pushing something aside.

“Get out of the way. People like you should stop dreaming.”

The blow was not just physical but struck deep into Raju’s soul. His balance faltered; he staggered and fell on the hospital pavement. The bouquet slipped from his hand, scattering white rose petals on the ground. Some petals stuck to his face, as if trying to cover his silence.

People either laughed or turned away; no one came forward.

Raju tried to compose himself — dusted his clothes, steadied his feet — but his hands were shaking. His body was intact, but his heart was shattered. His face was smeared with dirt, but there were no tears in his eyes. Instead, there was a strange glow, as if something inside him was burning. It was not mere embarrassment but a spirit born from years of friendship, childhood love, and the humiliation he had just endured.

Aarohi glanced at him one last time, then walked away.

Dr. Vijay also looked back at Raju but did not stop even for a moment. To them, he was just a failed lover who had made the mistake of dreaming in front of a woman who had reached a high status.

The car door closed, the engine roared, and Aarohi’s car drove out of the hospital.

Raju remained standing, lost in the surrounding noise but filled with an echoing silence inside.

People gradually dispersed. Those making videos uploaded them and moved on. But Raju stayed put, his gaze fixed on the hospital’s glass wall where Aarohi had exited moments ago.

Finally, he slowly lifted his head, looked at the scattered roses, gathered them in his hands, pressed them to his chest, sighed coldly, and walked away — no complaints, no curses, only silence. And in that silence, a seed of a new beginning was sown.

It was Sunday morning. The sun had not yet spread fully, but the vegetable market in the western part of Delhi was bustling.

Aarohi Verma, usually buried in hospital duties, was taking advantage of her day off to buy vegetables herself.

She wore a simple white sari, her hair clipped back, and carried a cloth shopping bag over her shoulder.

The market echoed with vendors’ calls: potatoes, onions at three kilos for ten rupees, fresh okra.

Aarohi was lost in the vibrancy of the market, but her mind kept replaying yesterday’s scene — Raju’s face, his silent eyes, the bouquet on the ground.

As she was bargaining for tomatoes, a familiar voice startled her.

“Aarohi beta, you came to buy vegetables yourself?”

She turned to see Saroj aunty — the elderly woman who lived two houses away from Aarohi’s childhood home, known for her white hair, sari pallu keychain, and keeping up with all neighborhood news.

Aarohi smiled faintly. “Yes, aunty, it’s a holiday, so I thought I’d do it myself.”

Saroj aunty glanced at the vegetables and chuckled. “Okra has gotten so expensive. But everything in the city is strange these days. By the way, did you hear what happened outside the hospital yesterday?”

Aarohi’s heart skipped. She asked carefully, “What happened?”

Saroj aunty raised her eyebrows. “You saw the video, right? That shabby dressed boy with the bouquet proposing to you?”

Aarohi laughed awkwardly. “Yes, aunty, just some useless boy. Didn’t even seem to have passed matriculation. I refused him.”

Saroj aunty’s face grew serious for a moment. She placed a hand on Aarohi’s shoulder and said softly, “Beta, that was no ordinary boy. That was Raju — your childhood neighbor.”

Aarohi’s smile vanished, eyes widened. “Who is Raju?”

“The same Raju you used to play with under the mango tree. His father worked at the ration depot.”

Aarohi’s lips parted in disbelief. “No, aunty, he dropped out of school, didn’t he?”

Saroj aunty spoke firmly, “No, beta. When his father passed away, he went to Dehradun with his uncle. Enrolled in an Army school, then NDA, then IMA. Today, he is a Brigadier in the Indian Army.”

Aarohi’s shopping bag trembled in her hand. She fell silent.

The market noise seemed to fade, leaving only Saroj aunty’s voice.

“He came in that shabby attire to see if you still recognized him by heart or just by clothes.”

The words pierced Aarohi’s soul. It was like a mirror held up to show her a proud, superficial girl who judged her childhood love by appearance.

Saroj aunty added gently, “Sometimes people come into our lives as mirrors. When we refuse to recognize them, we are actually running away from our truth.”

Aarohi’s eyes welled up. She took Saroj aunty’s hand but could not speak.

The market no longer seemed the same. Every vendor’s voice, every laugh, every noise seemed to search for Raju’s silent eyes.

The truth stood before her, and for the first time, she could not look away.

Returning home with the vegetable bags weighed down by thoughts, Aarohi entered the kitchen, placed the vegetables in the sink, and walked straight to the lounge without straightening her back.

Her eyes were lifeless, heart heavy, mind full of questions, shame, and a sense of guilt.

She sat on the sofa, hiding her face in her hands.

Her mother, Shobha Verma, who was folding clothes in the hall, was shocked to see Aarohi so helpless. She came in softly and asked, “Beta, are you alright? Tired from the market?”

Aarohi slowly lifted her head. “Mom, I need to ask you something.”

Shobha sat beside her. “Ask, beta. What is it?”

Aarohi’s voice was broken. “Do you remember Raju? Our childhood neighbor with whom we used to play?”

Shobha smiled faintly. “Yes, the thin boy who used to sit under the mango tree and do his homework with you. A very quiet child. Why do you ask suddenly?”

Aarohi averted her eyes for a moment, then said softly, “Mom, yesterday outside the hospital, a shabby dressed man said he was Raju. He proposed to me, but I made fun of him and pushed him away.”

Shobha’s face changed. “Did you really do that?”

Tears flowed from Aarohi’s eyes. “Mom, at that moment, I thought he was a useless failure. His appearance looked like a street dweller. But today, Saroj aunty told me he is a Brigadier in the army. Yesterday, he came disguised, maybe to test me.”

Shobha was silent for a while, as if a distant memory was stirred. Then she said seriously, “Beta, Raju’s father was a hardworking man who worked at the ration depot. They were decent people. After his father’s death, their financial condition worsened, and they left the neighborhood. Later, I heard he went to Dehradun with his uncle.”

Aarohi asked in surprise, “Did you hear anything else about him?”

Shobha shook her head. “No, beta. Life’s race took us all ahead. But now, what you tell me, it seems he has achieved a lot.”

Aarohi hesitated. “Mom, yesterday, I not only ignored him but humiliated him in front of everyone. He gave me a simple bouquet, and I pushed him, making him fall.”

Shobha held her hand gently. “Beta, sometimes what we see with our eyes is not the truth of the heart. Clothes, appearance, all are temporary. The real person lies in character, effort, and intent.”

Aarohi closed her eyes, recalling Raju’s silent eyes trying to say something, his simplicity that could not complain even when insulted, and his quiet steps moving away in search of dignity.

“Mom, I looked away from him. I only saw his clothes, his past, and my own present pride.”

Shobha sighed deeply. “Now what will you do?”

Aarohi looked up with moist eyes but firm voice. “Now I want to know the truth, Mom. I want to find out where Raju is today and apologize to him.”

Her mother stroked her head. “If your heart is sincere, maybe he will forgive you. But remember, forgiveness doesn’t always mean everything goes back to how it was. Some wounds heal but leave scars.”

Aarohi nodded. That night, her conscience fully awakened.

The next morning, Aarohi tried to wake early but sleep had fled her eyes. She tossed and turned all night, sometimes staring at the ceiling, sometimes at the sky outside the window, as if her boatman was staring back at her. A restlessness kept her awake.

When she finally got up, the sun was already up, but a shadow still hung over her heart.

She did not prepare for hospital that day. Instead, she took a day off, deciding she would no longer avoid the truth told by others. She would find Raju herself, meet him, and see the reality with her own eyes.

She wore plain salwar kameez, tied back her hair, and dressed like a simple girl — no jewelry, no lipstick, just a pure heart and shy eyes.

She boarded an auto and headed toward her old neighborhood — the very place where she had spent her childhood.

The mango tree still stood at the corner of the street, but its shade seemed incomplete now. Time had taken much from it.

Some houses were freshly painted; others remained silent and old like memories.

Aarohi walked slowly toward Raju’s old house — once a small, old mud-walled home, now looking somewhat new, painted light blue, with fresh curtains and a small neem tree at the gate, standing lonely in her absence.

The gate was locked.

She looked at the door as if it held questions.

Inside was silence — no footsteps, no clatter of utensils.

For a moment, she wondered if she would ever see Raju again. Had time taken him away forever?

Suddenly, the door of the neighboring house opened, and an elderly man with a walking stick came out.

His eyes held the light of age and haze of experience.

It was Mahesh uncle, the man who had fixed Raju’s old bicycle wheels.

Aarohi greeted respectfully, “Namaste uncle, do you recognize me?”

Mahesh squinted and smiled, “Ah, Aarohi beta, you have become a doctor, haven’t you? After so many years, what brings you here?”

Aarohi hesitated, then softly said, “Uncle, I want to meet Raju. Is he here?”

Mahesh nodded, “Not right now. He has been out of town for two days but will return next week.”

Aarohi’s face lit up. “When will he be back?”

Mahesh said proudly, “Raju is now a Major General. He is due for promotion. After the ceremony, he will stay here for a few days. He says the old streets give him peace.”

Aarohi’s eyes widened. “Major General?”

Mahesh chuckled, “Yes beta, our Raju is now the pride of the army. The quiet boy who played with you has done what many noisy ones could not.”

Aarohi fell silent, something inside breaking — pride, self-deception, regret running wild.

“Will he meet me?” she asked.

Mahesh thought for a moment. “I don’t know, beta. What is in his heart? But stay here, maybe he will come and answer you himself.”

Aarohi looked once more at the closed gate. Her heart felt close to Raju’s home but still very far — just like her heart.

The next morning, Aarohi sat at the breakfast table but could not reach for the coconut laddus.

The tea had gone cold, and her eyes were fixed on the TV screen.

A live broadcast was showing the oath-taking ceremony of new Major Generals in Delhi Cantonment.

Her heart pounded as if it knew that the moment of truth was near.

Hundreds of army officers stood in uniform, the Indian flag fluttering behind.

One by one, names were called.

Then Major General Rajiv Pratap Singh stepped forward.

The camera zoomed in on his confident face.

Aarohi almost dropped her cup, breath caught in her throat.

That was the man who had stood outside the hospital two days ago in shabby clothes with a simple bouquet.

And now, adorned with stars on his shoulders, medals on his chest, he was part of the country’s highest honor ceremony.

His face showed peace, confidence, and depth.

But now, instead of defeat and humiliation, his eyes shone with victory.

Tears flowed uncontrollably from Aarohi’s eyes.

It felt as if something had settled inside her heart.

Her mother came from the kitchen, surprised to see her daughter with moist eyes.

“What happened, Aarohi?”

With a trembling voice, Aarohi said, “Mom, that Raju on TV is a Major General.”

Shobha looked at the screen and then sat beside her daughter, stroking her head gently.

“Beta, sometimes what we lose is right before our eyes, but we fail to recognize it.”

Aarohi leaned on her mother and whispered, “Mom, I made a huge mistake.”

Shobha comforted her, “Yes, beta, maybe. But now it’s up to you — will you turn your regret into action or carry it as a burden forever?”

A few days later, Aarohi passed daily near Raju’s house.

Sometimes searching for a sound, sometimes a glimpse of a shadow.

A strange restlessness filled her heart.

She wanted to meet Raju once more, look into his eyes, and say, “Forgive me, Raju. I was wrong.”

Then the day came.

It was a sunny afternoon.

The village streets were scorching under the sun.

Something new seemed to be happening in the old lanes.

Suddenly, excitement spread through the neighborhood.

Children ran, shouting, “A big car is coming!”

Women peeked from rooftops.

Men stood outside their doors.

A shiny red Ferrari entered the village’s narrow lane slowly, its presence commanding.

A small Indian flag fluttered on the front.

As the car moved forward, people parted ways instinctively.

All eyes were fixed on one direction.

The car stopped in front of Aarohi’s house.

Her breath caught.

She stood in the courtyard, dressed in a clean sari, hair tied back, eyes fixed on the road.

The door opened, and time seemed to freeze for a moment.

The man who stepped out wore a polished military uniform, stars shining on his shoulders, medals on his chest, and a serious expression on his forehead.

It was Raju — now Major General Rajiv Pratap Singh.

Surprise, pride, and curiosity flashed across everyone’s faces.

This was the same Raju who once roamed in torn clothes.

He had done wonders.

Aarohi’s heart seemed to stop.

Her hands trembled; she couldn’t look away.

Raju’s gait, the seriousness in his eyes — everything had changed except the silence that still spoke within him.

He surveyed the crowd, gave a slight salute, and walked toward Aarohi.

Their eyes met.

Years of memories, pain, and joy flashed across their faces.

The crowd fell silent, as if the whole village became a silent audience.

Raju bowed his head gently and addressed Aarohi.

“Namaste, Aarohi.”

Her throat dried; lips quivered.

Before she could speak, Raju said softly but firmly:

“I have not forgotten what happened that day. But I came to honor you with respect, to let you know that if I come before you without my uniform, you will recognize me by who I am, not by what I wear.”

Tears filled Aarohi’s eyes.

She wanted to say something but words failed her.

Raju took a deep breath.

“Today, a general stands before you, but that day, it was your childhood friend Raju — whom you didn’t recognize and ridiculed.”

Whispers spread among the crowd.

Some lowered their eyes.

Aarohi, with moist eyes, said softly, “Raju, I am ashamed.”

Raju looked at her briefly, then turned away.

“The burden of shame will remain on your heart, Aarohi, but my heart is no longer the same.”

He bowed his head gently and walked toward his home.

The door, once closed, was now open for him.

Aarohi stood amidst the crowd, silent, with wet eyes, in a moment that would never return.

Raju’s words echoed in her heart:

“The burden of shame will remain on your heart, but my heart is no longer the same.”

The village winds seemed to repeat them.

The moment, the eyes, the tone — everything spun like a storm around her.

Raju entered his home.

The door did not close, but for Aarohi, it felt shut forever.

The crowd slowly dispersed, whispering.

“See, this is the consequence of arrogance. One who cannot respect, does not deserve respect.”

Aarohi’s feet felt rooted.

She could not move.

Tears kept flowing.

Saroj aunty came and stood beside her softly.

“Beta, sometimes life shows us a mirror that reveals our true self. But those who are sincere admit their mistakes. You were late, but you accepted the truth.”

Aarohi listened, but every voice seemed to bounce back from her being.

She nodded silently and walked home.

Closing the door, she went to her room, sat on the floor leaning against the wall, and cried as if years of burden had fallen on her chest.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, but no sound escaped her lips.

These were tears born of conscience — when a person sees their own weakness, emptiness, and hollowness in their own mirror.

Hours passed.

The sun set.

The mosque’s call to prayer echoed, temple bells rang.

A spiritual silence enveloped the atmosphere.

But in Aarohi’s heart, only one voice echoed —

“Friendship is nurtured where hearts recognize each other, not faces.”

The next day, a small ceremony was held in the village to honor Raju.

Local school children performed, the entire village was decorated with flags and banners.

Aarohi received an invitation but stood before the mirror, battling herself.

Could she go? Could she face those eyes that would say everything without words?

Then she changed into her sari, fixed her hair, and told herself,

“I will not lose Raju again — whether as a friend or as a mirror of truth.”

At the ceremony, she quietly took a seat in a corner.

Children sang songs, guests gave speeches.

Finally, Raju was called to the stage.

In uniform, stars on his shoulders, medals shining, he stood before the microphone.

Applause erupted.

He thanked everyone and paused.

“In life, we meet some people who change us. Some are good; some teach us everything. Today, I stand here with a moment that made me strong inside. I am grateful to all who have been part of my journey — whether they stayed or left along the way.”

His eyes lifted to Aarohi for a moment — a moment that became a lifetime for her.

After the ceremony, people approached Raju for photos.

Aarohi stood silently, her steps still, but her heart moving.

Raju’s eyes met hers again.

He came through the crowd and stood before her.

They were silent for a moment.

Raju spoke softly, “Life does not always give a second chance, Aarohi. But what we learn in that one moment can change the direction of our lives.”

Aarohi nodded slowly, a gentle smile on her lips.

“Perhaps that is the most precious gift for me, Raju.”

Raju extended his hand in a gesture of peace, as if breaking down walls built over years with a small step.

Aarohi took his hand.

That moment, once tied to humiliation, became a new bond — silent, dignified, and full of truth.

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