I’m Poor But Rich From Heart

I was never the kind of guy who stood out. I was just a normal boy from a small town, trying to make something of myself in a big city college in Delhi. I didn’t have fancy clothes or a deep voice. I was skinny, quiet, and didn’t talk much. But my heart? It was full—especially when it came to her.

Her name was Anjali.

The first time I saw her, she was standing near the college canteen with her friends, laughing. That laugh… it stayed in my head. Her long black hair, her bright eyes, the way she talked—it all felt like magic to me. From that moment, I started noticing her everywhere. In the library, in the hallways, during classes. My eyes would just find her.

I never had the guts to talk to her. I was scared. What if she ignored me? So, I just admired her from far. I noticed everything. How she tied her hair, which color kurti she wore most, even how she liked to sit in the second row during lectures. My friends joked about it, called it a “crush,” but for me, it was more than that. It felt like love.

And for a long time, loving her silently was enough.

The Day I Spoke

It was the last day of second year. Everyone was busy taking pictures, writing goodbye notes. I decided I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. I didn’t want to leave college one day and regret never telling her.

I waited near the library where she usually passed after her English class. My hands were shaking. My heartbeat was louder than traffic.

When I saw her, I called her name softly. “Anjali…”

She turned around. “Yes?”

I took a deep breath and said it all.

“I’ve liked you since the first year. I know I’m not rich. I don’t have a car or expensive shoes. But I really like you. I just want to keep you happy. Always.”

She looked at me. For a few seconds, she didn’t say anything. I felt like my heart would explode.

Then she smiled.

“Okay.”

I didn’t believe it at first. “Okay? You mean…”

“Yes. I’ll be your girlfriend,” she said.

That moment—God, I can’t even explain. I wanted to run, scream, cry, everything at once. She said yes. Me. She chose me.

The Best Days of My Life

From that day, my life changed. I lived for her. I brought her flowers on random days. I skipped lunch to save money and buy her chocolates. I wrote poems for her, waited outside her PG just to walk her back to class. I became that boyfriend who would do anything just to make her smile.

We went to parks, small cafés, sat under trees talking for hours. She told me about her dreams. I told her about mine. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was enough for someone.

But deep down, I knew I wasn’t rich. My dad was a retired school teacher. My mom stitched clothes for women in our neighborhood. Still, I never let money stop me from giving her the best I could.

One time she told me she saw a silver bracelet online and loved it. It cost ₹2,500. I didn’t have that kind of money. That night, I did something I still feel guilty about—I stole it from my home. My mom had kept that money in a white envelope in her cupboard. I promised myself I’d return it later.

I bought the bracelet. When I gave it to Anjali, she hugged me so tight and said, “You’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

That one hug made me feel like the richest man alive.

Things Started Changing

In the third year, something began to change. She didn’t reply to my texts like before. When I called, she said she was busy with her internship or had family stuff. Our conversations became shorter. Colder.

Then came Sahil.

He was new in our class. He had a car, wore expensive watches, and always had the latest iPhone. I saw her laughing with him one day near the canteen. It stung. I told myself they were just friends. But I knew. I felt it.

One Saturday, I saw them together at a mall. She was drinking Starbucks and laughing at something he said. I had never even been inside a Starbucks.

That night, I asked her gently, “Who is he?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why are you being so insecure? He’s just a friend.”

I apologized. Like I always did. I didn’t want to lose her.

But I could feel her slipping away.

She Left

One week before final exams, she blocked me on Instagram. Then on WhatsApp. No message. Nothing. I went to her PG and waited. She didn’t come out. I asked her friends. No one gave me a straight answer.

Then, late at night, a message popped up on my WhatsApp. It was from her.

“Don’t message me again. I’m getting married to Sahil. He’s rich, stable, and everything you’re not. You’ll always be poor. You’ll never get a girlfriend like me again. Move on.”

I froze. I read it again. And again. My hands were cold. My chest felt like it was being crushed.

I sat in the dark for hours. No tears came. Just silence. She really said that. After everything. After all the love. All the sacrifices. I wasn’t good enough.

I didn’t go to my exams. I didn’t leave my bed. I stopped eating. I’d just lie there, remembering her voice, her smile, her promises.

My mom came in once and asked, “Kya hua, beta?”

I couldn’t speak. What would I say? That the girl I loved more than anything told me I’d always be poor?

Trying to Move On

One night, I quietly put the ₹2,500 back into the cupboard. As if returning that money would somehow fix what I broke.

I saw her wedding photos on Instagram later. She wore a heavy red lehenga. Sahil stood beside her in a sherwani, smiling like he won something. Maybe he did.

And me? I was just a page she turned. A poor boy she once used, then threw away.

Years passed.

I got a job in a small IT company. I sent money back home. I never dated again. Every time someone showed interest, I’d pull away. I was scared. What if it happened again?

Sometimes, I’d open our old WhatsApp chat and read her last message. Not to torture myself—but because I couldn’t forget.

“You’ll always be poor.”

That sentence hurt more than the breakup. She didn’t just leave me. She made me feel worthless. Like love meant nothing without money.

Today

I don’t hate her. I don’t even blame her anymore. Maybe she wanted a different life. A life full of luxury, not love. And maybe I was never meant to be in her world.

But I know one thing.

I loved her. Purely. Truly. I walked miles just to see her smile. I skipped meals just to buy her a gift. I stole from my home just to make her feel special. I gave her everything.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

She taught me that love, in this world, often loses to money.

But she also taught me what it feels like to love with your whole heart. And even if I never find love again, I’ll always know—I gave her the kind of love people only dream of.

She left me with nothing.

But I still had one thing she never really had.

A real heart.

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