The teacher who never married took in an abandoned student with only one leg: 20 years later, that boy moved millions of people to tears.
Mr. Sharma was a literature teacher at a secondary school on the outskirts of Bengaluru . He was known for being strict, reserved, and always secretive. He never joined his colleagues at staff dinners or celebrations. The students only saw him at school; after the last bell, he would pedal his old bicycle straight to his modest room in the teachers’ residence, where the lights went out early and mornings began before dawn.
Nobody really knew why such a kind and polite man had chosen to live alone for decades, never marrying and never talking about family.
Everything changed one summer when Mr. Sharma encountered Aman , one of his seventh-grade students, huddled in the school hallway during a downpour. His left leg had been amputated above the knee and was covered with a dirty bandage. Beside him was a small cloth bag containing only a few worn-out clothes.
After persistent inquiries, Mr. Sharma learned that Aman had lost a leg in a traffic accident. His parents, overwhelmed and ashamed, left one after the other. No other relatives intervened. The boy had been wandering between bus stops and temple steps, and now he was taking refuge at the school where he had studied.
Mr. Sharma did not hesitate.
She asked the headmaster for permission for Aman to stay temporarily in the school’s old physical education storage room. Discreetly, she used the pension savings her parents had left her to fix up a small, unused kitchen space next to her bedroom and turn it into a safe and clean place for Aman to sleep.
Over time, the news spread through the school. Some admired him. Others criticized him, saying he was eccentric and unnecessarily stressed. But Mr. Sharma simply smiled.
For the next few years, she woke up early every day to prepare Aman’s baby food to take to school. After school, she took him to doctor’s appointments, physical therapy sessions, and even searched for used textbooks so Aman could catch up on missed lessons.
Some mocked him:
Others worry about their children, but he tortures himself over a boy who isn’t even family.
Mr. Sharma replied calmly:
The boy needs me. That’s all that matters.
Even after Aman entered high school—now about 5 kilometers away—Mr. Sharma continued to bike him to and from school. He was afraid the boy would be embarrassed by his prosthetic leg, so he personally asked the teachers to let him sit in the front row, so he would be easier to supervise and less exposed to stares.
Despite his difficulties, Aman never fell behind. He studied diligently, grateful for every opportunity.
After 12 years of study, Aman passed his university entrance exams with flying colors. On the day he left for Delhi to pursue his university studies, Mr. Sharma stood silently by the entrance to the bus terminal, barely able to speak, and only uttered a few words:
Eat well. Stay strong. If you’re having trouble, write to me.
I don’t have much in life. You’re the only one who makes me proud.
While Aman was away, Mr. Sharma continued living alone: he continued getting up early, making his tea, and taking on extra tutoring to save money for his tuition. Occasionally, someone tried to arrange a marriage for him. He always declined with a smile.
I’ve gotten used to being alone. Now I just want that boy to finish his studies and live a good life.
And Aman did exactly that.
Four years later, she graduated with honors in architecture and got a job at a design firm. Upon receiving her first paycheck, she sent Mr. Sharma a thick envelope filled with new, tarnished banknotes. Mr. Sharma, whose eyesight was beginning to fail, tried to count each bill carefully, then discreetly folded them into an envelope and used them to buy joint supplements, rice, and cooking oil.
“This is my son’s money,” he told himself.
“I must spend it wisely.”
The day Aman brought his girlfriend home to meet Mr. Sharma, the old master’s hands trembled as he prepared the tea. He was nervous, like a father meeting his son’s future wife.
The girl gently took Aman’s hand, bowed politely, and said:
We’re planning to get married at the end of the year and we’d like you to move in with us. Don’t worry, sir. Aman won’t leave you alone.
Mr. Sharma chuckled, wiping his watery eyes.
I’ve gotten used to this small room. It’s quite hot.
But Aman insisted:
You gave up your family so I could have a future. Now that I’m starting a family, you’re the first person I want to bring home.
Twenty years had passed since that stormy night. From an abandoned child under the school roof to a man with a stable career, Aman had rewritten his own destiny thanks to the unwavering kindness of a teacher with no blood ties.
On Aman’s wedding day, Mr. Sharma wore an old beige suit that the groom had given him. He sat in the front row, smiling discreetly as Aman slipped a ring onto the bride’s finger.
A guest leaned forward and asked:
“Is that the groom’s father?”
Mr. Sharma smiled and said:
—No, I’m just his former teacher.
But for Aman, Mr. Sharma was more than that: he was a father, a guardian, the firmest shoulder he had ever leaned on.
After the wedding, Aman kept her promise. Mr. Sharma moved into the couple’s modest apartment. Every morning, he watered the plants on the balcony that Aman had chosen. In the afternoons, he picked up his little girl from preschool, holding her tiny fingers in his trembling hands.
Once, a neighbor asked:
Why didn’t you get married? Now you have to depend on someone else.
Mr. Sharma simply smiled:
I may not have biological children. But the one God gave me is more devoted than any son I could have raised.
Mr. Sharma passed away peacefully by the window one morning, at the age of eighty. Aman took his hand and whispered:
Rest now, Thatha (Grandpa). I will live well. I will raise my son with the values you instilled in me.
Mr. Sharma smiled, slightly, like a final sigh.
Outside, the old schoolyard echoed with the sound of drums and children’s laughter.
A fine drizzle covered the air, like a tender embrace, enveloping each lost child who still hoped to find a shoulder to lean on and believe in goodness again.
The end.