Unspoken Loves in College

He was 19 when he first felt the gentle ache of one-sided love. In the bustling college cafeteria, amidst clatter and laughter, he would steal glances at a girl whose smile warmed the room. She was kind to him in the casual way classmates are—lending notes, sharing a table during group studies—but she never knew how his heart quickened when she was near. He carried an unspoken adoration, weaving grand dreams in silence. Every day he quietly walked beside her from the library to the dorm gates, matching his pace to hers, saying so much in his mind yet so little out loud. In those days, his love was a secret hymn, tender and unrequited, teaching him the bittersweet beauty of longing without expectation.

By his final year, he had matured from a shy boy into a thoughtful man, but destiny offered a second delicate brush with love—this time with a close friend. Late-night project sessions and walks under moonlit campus trees forged a deep bond between them. In her compassionate eyes and easy laughter, he found comfort and a spark of hope. There were moments when words hovered on the tip of his tongue—when a confession trembled in the space between them as they watched a sunset on the hostel terrace. Yet, each time, he swallowed his feelings. She too remained silent about any such emotions, and perhaps that silence was its own tacit understanding. On the last day of college, they hugged their goodbyes; in the warmth of that parting embrace lived a thousand unsaid words. He left campus carrying two love stories that never began, memories of affection that stayed lovingly frozen in possibility.

The Love That Could Not Be

In his mid-twenties, life presented him with a sincere love—one that felt mutual and full of promise. She was a former colleague and a kindred spirit; their friendship had blossomed over chai breaks and shared cab rides home. With her, he discovered the quiet joy of companionship: weekend conversations about books and philosophy, volunteering together at a local charity, an unspoken synergy in each glance and smile. It was the kind of bond that made others nod knowingly and say, “They’d make a lovely couple.” In another world, perhaps they already were.

They never officially declared their love, yet it flowed freely in acts of care—he saved the last slice of cake for her, she remembered the little details of his stories. As months turned into years, he dared to imagine a future with her. But timing and tradition had other plans. Under family pressure and societal expectations, she agreed to an arranged marriage with someone from her community when she turned 28. The news broke his heart quietly. There was no dramatic confrontation or tearful plea; he respected her duty to family and she knew the sacrifices he was making in letting her go. On her wedding day, he attended with a gift and a brave smile, congratulating the bride while quelling an inner storm of grief.

She moved to a new city with her husband and eventually had two children. Yet, even years later, she would occasionally reach out with a friendly message or a phone call. “I hope you’re doing well,” she would say softly, sometimes late at night from her kitchen after her family slept. There was a lingering warmth in her voice—a subtle acknowledgement of what they’d meant to each other. He always responded kindly, happy to know she was safe, but he kept a careful distance. Their love had been real but could not materialize, and he refused to let nostalgia or regret taint her marital commitment. In his heart he harbored no bitterness, only a gentle gratitude for having experienced that depth of connection at all. It was a chapter that ended before it began, teaching him that sometimes love means cherishing someone from afar and wishing them happiness, even if it’s not with you.

A Temptation and a Test

Now in his mid-thirties, a new challenge knocked on the door of his solitude. A recently married colleague—a bright, affable woman with a hearty laugh—began showing him a warmth that felt just a touch beyond ordinary friendship. At team meetings, her eyes sought his for feedback; in the office canteen, she often chose the seat beside him. She confided in him about her life, her dreams, even the teething troubles of her young marriage. “I don’t know why, but I feel I can talk to you so easily,” she admitted one evening as they walked to the parking lot. Her tone was soft, laced with an emotional openness that set off quiet alarm bells in his mind.

He recognized this scenario: an emotional crossing of lines that many would label innocent, yet carried the undertow of deeper attachment. She was lonely in her new marriage in ways she couldn’t openly confess, and he—an attentive listener by nature—became an emotional anchor for her. There were moments he caught himself enjoying her company more than he should, moments his long-quiet heart felt a flicker of temptation. In another life, under different circumstances, he might have pursued the subtle chemistry growing between them. But he stopped himself before any harm was done. When she texted him late at night about feeling upset after an argument with her husband, he chose his words carefully—supportive yet gently steering her back toward her own life. “Maybe you should talk to him,” he suggested kindly. “He deserves to know how you feel.” When she playfully put a hand on his shoulder at work, he would smile and then politely step aside, never encouraging more contact than necessary.

It was a quiet dance of maintaining boundaries. He never scolded or rebuffed her harshly; after all, he understood her loneliness more than anyone. Instead, he navigated the situation with spiritual clarity and compassion, reminding himself of the line that must not be crossed. In her company, he remained friendly but consciously invoked an almost brotherly demeanor, hoping she would sense that their rapport must stay purely platonic. In protecting her dignity and his own, he passed a subtle test—one that required him to balance empathy with restraint. Each day, as he drove home alone, he felt relief that he had not let impulse or ego triumph. He could be her well-wisher, but nothing more. It was better this way for everyone, a truth his soul quietly affirmed.

The Code He Lives By

What gave him the strength to hold himself to such standards was a personal ethical code he had come to live by. Growing up, his family taught once taught him, “Never covet another’s food, money, or wife.” At the time, the young boy had giggled at the oddly specific advice, picturing himself snatching a friend’s lunch or dreaming of a neighbor’s riches. Only later did he grasp the profound lesson of contentment and integrity underlying those words. Now as a man, that simple code is etched into his very being. He prides himself on not desiring what is not rightfully his, whether as trivial as a colleague’s sandwich or as consequential as another man’s life partner.

This code became his north star in treacherous emotional waters. When the woman he loved was arranged to marry someone else, he refused to interfere or express selfish objections—her path had diverged from his, and he would not trespass where he didn’t belong. When his married colleague grew affectionately close, he remembered the line “do not desire another man’s wife”, and it fortified his resolve to keep their interactions wholesome. His values kept him honest even in solitude. He never resented friends who found love or colleagues who earned more money; their food, money, and spouses were theirs, and he had no hunger to take what life hadn’t given him. In a world increasingly blurring lines, he held fast to this clarity. It granted him a certain peace of mind – knowing that whatever love or success he had was truly his, and whatever wasn’t his would never be chased by inappropriate means. This personal dharma, or guiding principle, acted like a protective sheath around his conscience, ensuring that even when his heart ached or envy knocked, he remained true to himself and respectful of others.

The Hollow Hallways of Modern Marriage

His journey had given him ample time to observe the institution of marriage around him, and often, what he saw was disheartening. Peers who had rushed into early marriages under societal pressure sometimes revealed to him their private sorrows. He saw smiles at weddings turn to distant gazes at reunions. It wasn’t that he disbelieved in love or commitment—far from it—but he couldn’t ignore the hollowness that seemed to hollow out many supposedly “settled” lives. In Indian society, marriage is nearly a sacred rite of passage, yet behind the colorful wedding albums, unspoken loneliness often festered. A college friend confessed over drinks that he felt like a stranger to his own wife; a cousin admitted she and her husband stayed together “for the kids” but slept in separate rooms of the soul. These stories made him question whether a society so fixated on marital status truly understood marital bliss.

His musings were reinforced by what he read and heard in the culture around him. Surveys indicated that trust was eroding in many relationships: nearly 45% of Indians wanted to check their partner’s phones and 55% had already done so – a sign of insecurity and suspicion rampant in modern marriages​

morungexpress.com. Emotional intimacy, it turned out, was a fraught subject; 37% of Indians in one 2019 survey said that emotional infidelity felt like the worst form of cheating, nearly as devastating as a physical affair​

morungexpress.com. He found this telling – even when couples stayed faithful in body, their hearts often wandered or wondered. He would sit with these statistics and sigh, thinking how being married was no guarantee against being alone.

Worse, he learned that many Indian couples were quietly seeking emotional fulfillment outside their marriages. In one account he came across, an author noted how supposedly happy urban spouses had begun “calling old lovers… contemplating affairs and divorce”, even making desperate attempts to save their marriages by having children​

qz.com. The facade of “all is well” was cracking for many, revealing unmet desires and commitment fatigue seeping in. The more he saw, the more he realized that the problem wasn’t marriage per se, but the lack of honest companionship within it. Society celebrated the form of marriage but paid scant attention to its substance. As a result, countless couples wandered lonely in the very relationships that were meant to complete them.

He also noticed a generational shift underway. Many from his cohort were choosing to delay or avoid marriage altogether, much like him. He was not an outlier in feeling disillusioned; statistics showed that nearly 46% of eligible Indian bachelors now hesitate to take up marriage responsibilities, citing anxiety about commitment and future obligations​

timesofindia.indiatimes.com. In fact, a remarkable number of young people openly viewed marriage as a hindrance to personal growth, and about 75% of those reluctant individuals pointed to their parents’ own unhappy marriages as a cautionary tale​

timesofindia.indiatimes.com. These figures comforted him in a strange way, telling him that his private doubts were part of a larger questioning in society. Even where marriages did occur, changing times were making breakups more common—he read reports that in metro cities like Delhi and Mumbai, divorce rates had climbed sharply, crossing 30% in recent years​

adjuvalegal.com. Such facts were startling in a culture that once prided itself on “till death do us part.” It was as if a grand illusion was slowly dissolving: marriage was not always the fairy tale ending, and staying unmarried was not the dire tragedy people once assumed.

In his reflections, he did not gloat over these social changes; rather, he mourned them quietly. How hollow it is, he thought, to wear the garland of marriage for society’s sake while the soul starves for connection. He considered himself fortunate, in a sense, to have escaped the fate of a hollow marriage. Yes, he had known heartbreak and endured long stretches of loneliness, but at least his solitude was honest. It was not the deceptive loneliness of being with the wrong person. This hollowness he observed in others’ marriages strengthened his resolve to never marry for the sake of it. If he were to ever take that step, it would be for genuine partnership and love—nothing less. Until then, he preferred the company of his own conscience to the counterfeit comfort of a relationship without real love.

Lessons in Detachment Without Coldness

Through all these trials of the heart, what ultimately kept him grounded was a growing spiritual insight. In the quest to understand his own pain and purpose, he had turned to the wisdom of spiritual masters. One story in particular stayed with him and illumined his path: the story of Alakh Niranjan, as narrated by Sadhguru. In this tale, a wandering Nath yogi encounters a woman who becomes mesmerized by the profound beauty in his eyes. Sensing her fascination, the yogi does something utterly unexpected – he reaches into his own sockets, plucks out his two eyeballs and places them gently in her hands, saying “Alakh Niranjan,” which roughly means the Invisible, Blemishless One (the Divine)​

thetaoist.online. He had effectively offered her the very object of her desire, without anger, without attachment – an act of extreme detachment without a trace of coldness. The yogi even addressed her as “O Mother” in that moment, a term of reverence, as he gifted her his eyes, then walked away in peace and blindness.

When he first heard this story, it sent shivers down his spine. It struck him as both horrifying and profoundly beautiful. What kind of love – what kind of clarity – could empower someone to surrender what is most precious to them in order to free another from illusion? Over time, he began to grasp the layered teaching in the story. The yogi’s detachment was not born of indifference; it was born of compassion. He had no ill will toward the enamored woman, nor any ego to protect about his famed eyes. In utter generosity, he gave, and in giving, he transcended the situation entirely.

This story became a metaphorical beacon in our unmarried protagonist’s life. He obviously wasn’t going to gouge out his own eyes, but he learned to pluck out his clinging desires whenever life demanded it. When love couldn’t be reciprocated, he offered it freedom by not holding on. When affection threatened to cross sanctified boundaries, he pulled back his involvement kindly but firmly. In essence, he learned the art of detachment without shutting his heart. He did not become cynical or bitter; he still felt love, perhaps even more deeply, but without the need to possess. Just as the yogi’s eyes shone in the woman’s palms, he tried to ensure that anyone he cared for shone in their own life – even if it meant he could not be at the center of it.

His detachment was not a dry distancing; it was love in another, purer form. He continued to care about the college friend he never confessed to, wishing her the best in wherever life took her. He continued to answer the occasional calls of the woman who married, listening and encouraging her with genuine warmth, but never crossing the line into regret or inappropriate affection. With his colleague, too, he remained compassionate—he truly wished her marriage to flourish, even as he excused himself from any situation that might lead them astray. In all this, he practiced a sort of spiritual intimacy with life itself: engaging fully and lovingly with those around him, yet remaining inwardly as free as a solitary yogi. He had come to believe that if one can act with pure love and zero attachment, one can navigate even the most emotionally charged situations with grace. This realization was hard-won, and he thanked the sages and stories that guided him, whispering “Alakh Niranjan” under his breath in remembrance of that yogi’s courage whenever he felt tested by temptation.

Solitude and Universal Love

As the sun sets over his modest apartment in the city, he stands by the window with a cup of tea. The sky is awash in orange and purple hues. In this quiet moment, he is alone, but not lonely. He lets his mind drift over the tapestry of memories and lessons that have defined his 35 years. The faces of the women he loved – in different ways, at different times – float by like gentle ghosts: the girl with the radiant smile in college, the dear friend who never knew his heart, the true love he lost to circumstance, the colleague he guided but kept at arm’s length. He sends a silent prayer of goodwill to each of them. In that prayer, he realizes, there is a love far greater than romance – a universal love that asks for nothing in return.

His solitude has taught him that love is not confined to the marital bond society exalts. Love can be the devotion to aging parents he cares for at home, making sure his mother takes her medicines on time, listening to his father’s old stories with genuine interest. Love can be found in the laughter he shares with friends’ children, who call him “uncle” as he plays the guitar for them on lazy Sunday afternoons. It’s in the empathy he feels for a stranger’s suffering and the tears that well up in his eyes during a moving film. Over the years, he has become convinced that love is a force as pervasive as air – one need not own it to breathe it.

He reflects on the path he walked. There were times it was undeniably hard. Nights when the emptiness of his bed felt like a weight on his chest, when he longed for a hand to hold or just someone to ask him how his day was. He faced the stigma of being unmarried in a traditional society: the occasional pitying remark from relatives (“Don’t worry, you’ll find someone soon”), the awkward pause when old acquaintances learned he was still single. But with each passing year, he discovered that what society calls alone can be aliveness in disguise. In the space of solitude, he found the room to grow, to pursue his passions—writing, meditation, helping others—without the compromises a mismatched marriage might have forced on him. He developed a rich inner life and a clear sense of self. He realized that a partner should enhance one’s life, not complete it—he had to be complete in himself first. And so he became whole, all on his own.

Standing by that window, he also understands that his story is not a conventional happily-ever-after. There is no wedding ring on his finger, no romantic partner waiting in the next room. But in many ways, his heart has found peace. He feels connected with the world around him in a profound way. The love he once pined for, he now radiates outward in subtle forms. In his quiet prayers and daily interactions, he touches the essence of love more often than some who profess undying devotion at the altar. He has learned, as one poet said, to love and let go, both at once.

What might his journey mean for others? Perhaps it is a gentle reminder that life doesn’t always adhere to societal timelines, and that’s okay. A man can remain unmarried at 35 and still live a life rich with meaning, love, and integrity. His experiences suggest that love is not diminished by not having a spouse; if anything, it can be understood in an even purer, wider sense. For those who feel lonely in a crowd or incomplete without a “other half,” his story offers an alternative perspective: one can be solitary and still be deeply connected—to friends, to family, to divinity, to oneself. And for those in relationships, maybe his tale underscores the importance of true emotional presence and honesty, lest one ends up lonelier in company than in solitude.

In the end, he does not idolize solitude nor scorn companionship. He remains open to life’s possibilities. If love in the form of a lifelong partner is meant for him, he will welcome her with open arms and an open heart, seasoned by years of patience and understanding. If not, he will continue on his path without resentment, cultivating love in all the ways the universe grants him. As he finishes his tea, the last light of dusk fading, he feels a quiet fulfillment. He is a man complete, defined not by the ring on his finger but by the love in his soul. And in that completeness lies a lesson for anyone willing to listen: that love is far more than a transaction or title—it is the very fabric of our being, waiting to be understood in its expansive, liberating truth. His story is simply one thread in that fabric, one humble testament that a life can be whole and profound even when walked alone, and that solitude, when embraced, can shine with the light of a thousand stars.