I still remember the day we met—it was 1975, and we were both on a modelling assignment. He had this quiet confidence about him, and before I knew it, we were seeing each other. Those early days were magical; I was completely swept off my feet. But life has a way of complicating things. You see, I’m Muslim, and he’s Hindu. His parents didn’t approve of us being together, let alone marrying. By 1979, they had started introducing him to girls for an arranged marriage.

One day, when we were supposed to meet, he didn’t show up. I waited for hours, worried and confused. The next day, he called me and told me he had agreed to get engaged to someone else. He said he was tired of fighting with his family. I felt like my world had shattered. The love of my life was slipping away, but I knew I couldn’t beg or plead—I had my dignity. So I walked away, even though it felt like tearing out a piece of my soul.

That year, we both married different people. I thought that was the end of our story. Time moved on, as it does, and I built a new life with my husband and two children. Even though we shared mutual friends, we never crossed paths again. It was almost as if we silently agreed to stay away from each other out of respect for our new lives. Still, there were moments when memories of him would flood my mind—his laugh, the way he looked at me—but I buried those feelings deep down.

Years passed, and fate intervened in the most unexpected way. Both our marriages fell apart after seven years. One evening, at a mutual friend’s party, we saw each other again. It was surreal; neither of us knew the other was single—we just assumed our spouses were absent for some reason.

Then came the twist that felt like destiny itself: we bumped into each other at the family court during our divorce proceedings. My hearing was at noon; his was at half-past twelve. We were assigned the same judge and counsellor. When our eyes met in that sterile courtroom hallway, all the years melted away. We asked each other the silliest question—“What are you doing here?”—as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

From there, it felt like picking up exactly where we had left off years ago. We didn’t dwell on who was at fault or why our marriages had ended; all that mattered was the future—a future together this time. One evening during a walk at Turf Club, he stopped suddenly and asked me to marry him again—this time at 37 years old—and I said yes without hesitation.

We got married in 1991 and welcomed our son into the world in 1992. Together with my two children from my previous marriage, we became one big happy family—a patchwork quilt stitched together by love and resilience. Looking back now, I can only believe that our story was written in the stars all along. Time and distance may have tried to keep us apart, but love found its way back to us when it mattered most.

This is my story—a story of love lost and found again—and it’s proof that sometimes life gives you a second chance to hold onto what truly matters.

If you, too, have an inspiring story to tell the world, send us your story at mystory@5w1h.media