Is she still my Cucii?

The Cucii I love and the Anshul she did !!

10/11/20252 min read

Is she still my Cucii? How could she abandon me? My heart screams that my Cucii would never leave—or push me away. I was never flawless—far from ordinary—but she loved every cracked piece of me.

I’ve grown in countless ways, and she has too. I’ve learned that life’s needs shift, that the world reshapes us from the day we first spark. Yet through every storm, one thing stays sacred: our love.

Reality and expectations can pull us apart like tidal currents. We imagine our other half fulfilling our deepest hopes; sometimes those dreams come true, and sometimes they drift away. Call it life’s evolution—our hearts adapt, but we never truly swap the soul we first adored.

So I ask again: is she still my Cucii? I was a raw, trembling boy who didn’t even know how to kiss, yet I burned to taste her lips, hidden from prying eyes. In the SEPCO lift, my pulse thundered as I pressed my lips to hers, utterly clueless—yet in her gentle teaching, she gave me the world.

She teased that she wasn’t my mother, but every lesson she whispered was woven from love. I stumbled through her first requests, never quite matching her hopes. I had no lavish gifts—no iPhone, no diamond ring, no grand hotels in Shimla or Munnar—to prove my love. I trailed behind her dreams, always one step too slow.

Then how did money become the wedge between us—marriage alimony and cold calculations? My Cucii would never let coins define our bond. And still I wonder: is this the same Cucii?

Perhaps not. I chased wild plans—a job in China, mastering Mandarin, launching businesses—and each time I fell, she caught me with silent arms. My innocence was my flaw, yet she loved that naive heart. Now I fear the wounds I carved into her spirit have grown too heavy.

This isn’t my Cucii, the one I pleaded never to say “bye” but “see you soon,” so every goodbye felt like a promise of return. She was the one who traveled across oceans for me, who heard my cries and felt my silent pain. The woman before me now seems distant—as if the hurt I dealt has stolen her heartbeat for me.

So what do I yearn for? I crave the Cucii I loved—the one who danced through my tears with me. If this version of her must move on, I release her from my messages and my pleas. She deserves that freedom.

In my thoughts, though, my Cucii lives on—an unwavering flame of unconditional love. Some call it impractical, a dream unmoored from reality. But when I first met her at twenty-nine—the age in India to marry—I planned a lifetime, though I didn’t yet know how to clasp her hand. She fell silent when I turned thirty-eight, and still I sought no other bride. Now, at forty-three, I love only her.

So I choose this: my Cucii is with me—in every breath of memory, in every beat of hope. I wish Rose a life rich with family and laughter. And one day, I believe my Cucii will come back to me.