Anand Deshpande was forty years old. He lived in a quiet housing society in Pune. He worked at an electronics shop where he repaired televisions, radios, and sometimes even old cassette players.

Anand was soft-spoken, polite, and helpful. He lived alone in a small flat, cooked simple meals, and spent his evenings reading books or painting small idols of Ganesha. The neighbors respected him, but many also wondered why he was still unmarried.

The truth was something Anand had kept to himself: he had never been in a romantic relationship.

At the electronics shop, Anand’s colleagues were very different from him. Ramesh, the floor manager, was loud and full of jokes. Iqbal, who sold mobile phones, always boasted of his adventures in life. Suresh, the cashier, spent hours gossiping and giving unwanted advice.

One day, when everyone was talking about marriage and relationships, Anand quietly excused himself. But Ramesh caught on and teased, “Arrey Anand, don’t tell me you’ve never been in love?”

Anand’s silence gave them the answer. The three friends burst out laughing, though not out of cruelty. They found it amusing that a grown man of forty had lived such a simple, untouched life.

From that day, they made it their mission to “help” Anand.

The friends dragged Anand to social gatherings. Once, they took him to a big wedding in Mumbai, dressed him in a shiny sherwani, and pushed him to talk to strangers. Anand became so nervous that he ended up spilling juice on the bride’s uncle.

Another time, they signed him up for yoga classes in the hope he would meet someone. But Anand focused so sincerely on his breathing exercises that he hardly noticed anyone around him.

Though their plans failed, Anand never got angry. He would smile, fold his hands, and say, “I am happy the way I am.”

One evening, while Anand was helping a customer at the shop, he met Vandana Joshi, a widow who ran a small sari boutique nearby. She was graceful, independent, and had a daughter studying in college.

Vandana had brought her DVD player for repair. Anand fixed it with patience, refusing extra money when she offered. “It was a small job,” he said simply.

Over the next few weeks, Vandana came by often, sometimes with a machine to repair, sometimes just to say hello. She admired Anand’s kindness and his calm nature. He, in turn, enjoyed her company but was too shy to admit it.

Slowly, their friendship grew. Vandana would bring home-cooked food for him, like puran polis or lemon rice, and Anand would help her daughter with her computer projects. The housing society began whispering, but Anand paid no attention.

One day, Ramesh and the others found out about Vandana. They were thrilled. “Anand bhai, finally! We will make you a hero,” they said, insisting he confess his feelings.

Anand felt nervous but decided to speak.

On a calm Sunday evening, Anand went to Vandana’s boutique. He stood at the entrance for a long time before finally saying, “Vandana ji, I don’t know how to say this. I have never been… in love before. But when I talk to you, I feel happy. Would you allow me to share more of life with you?”

Vandana smiled warmly. “Anand, life has not been easy for me either. But companionship is a gift. I would be glad to have a friend like you by my side.”

Her gentle acceptance lifted a great weight off his heart. For the first time, Anand realized that it was never too late to find love or companionship.

The two families slowly blended together. Vandana’s daughter grew fond of Anand, and the neighbors stopped gossiping. Ramesh, Iqbal, and Suresh proudly declared that their mission was finally complete.

Anand remained the same simple man, still fixing radios and painting idols, but his evenings were no longer lonely. With Vandana and her daughter, his quiet home now echoed with warmth and laughter.

Life teaches us that there is no fixed age for love, marriage, or friendship. For Anand, forty was not too late—it was just the right time.