I didn't know I was poor.
Not really.
I had never slept hungry.
I had a roof over my head.
I could afford tea twice a day if I was careful.
So when people said, "Life is hard," I thought they were exaggerating.
Then Megha sat beside me.
And suddenly, life asked questions I couldn't answer.
It was an ordinary afternoon class.
The kind where half the students pretended to listen, and the other half had already given up. I was sitting on the last bench, as usual, scribbling nothing in a notebook just to look busy.
That's when a shadow fell beside me.
"Is this seat free?"
Her voice was calm. Not shy. Not loud.
I looked up.
She was standing there, holding her bag close to her chest, waiting patiently. No hurry. No attitude.
I shook my head.
She smiled, sat down, and said, "Thanks."
That was all.
No dramatic music.
No instant spark.
Just a simple moment that quietly changed everything.
We didn't talk much that day.
She took notes seriously.
I pretended to.
But I noticed small things.
The way she underlined important lines.
The way she frowned when she didn't understand something.
The way she tapped her pen when she was thinking.
I told myself not to stare.
I failed.
We started talking slowly.
Not the kind of talking you see in movies.
No flirting.
No clever lines.
We talked about assignments.
About boring teachers.
About how college food tasted worse every year.
One day, while walking out of class, she asked,
"Why do you always sit at the back?"
I shrugged.
"Closer to freedom."
She laughed.
It wasn't loud.
But it stayed with me the whole day.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Somehow, she was always there.
Sitting beside me.
Walking with me after class.
Sharing silence like it wasn't awkward.
One evening, we sat on a bench outside the campus.
The sun was setting.
Students were laughing around us.
She said, "Do you ever think about the future?"
I hesitated.
"Sometimes," I said.
She nodded.
"I want a peaceful life. Nothing fancy."
I didn't say anything.
Because when I thought about the future, I saw nothing.
Not failure.
Just emptiness.
We never went on proper dates.
I couldn't afford them.
Instead, we walked.
Long walks.
No destination.
We shared one cup of tea because it felt practical.
Because two cups felt unnecessary.
She never complained.
That scared me.
Because people who complain can be fixed.
People who adjust silently… break quietly.
One day she said, smiling,
"You know, I don't really need much."
I smiled back.
Inside, fear settled.
Because someday, everyone needs more.
The day I realized I loved her wasn't dramatic.
There was no confession.
She was talking about her day, and suddenly I thought—
If this moment stays forever, I'll be okay.
That thought scared me more than losing her.
Because forever requires stability.
And I had none.
At night, while others dreamed big, I counted money.
Bus fare.
Meals.
Emergency cash.
Dreams didn't fit in my wallet.
Still, when she asked softly one night,
"You'll always stay with me, right?"
I said yes.
Not because I was confident.
But because I was honest.
I wanted to stay.
I just didn't know how long the world would allow it.
That was the beginning.
Back when I had nothing.
Except her.
And I didn't yet understand
how expensive love could become.