THE DOT THAT CARRIED OUR YEARS

 

The Dot That Carried Our Years.....

Advait always says that some memories don’t grow old, they just settle into you, small and steady, like a mark life leaves on your heart. And for him, that mark has always been the tiny mole on Aditi’s left cheek, a quiet reminder of everything he’s loved and lived. 

He still remembers the day they got engaged. He was 25, trying to look confident while his palms betrayed him. Aditi walked in wearing a soft peach-colored saree, the kind that made the room feel gentler. Her cheeks glowed, and that little mole on her cheek was like a punctuation mark on a sentence. He had seen her before, but that day was something else. She looked like a star just out of the movies and her mole, ufff it was adding to the glamour. The mole left an indelible mark on Advait. 

Their early marriage was stitched together with small joys and big dreams. A cramped rented flat, a leaky tap, neighbors who argued loudly, and two people who loved loudly. Advait would wake up early just to watch her sleep, her hair scattered like swirls across the pillow. The mole rested on her cheek like a tiny star, and he would trace it with his eyes as if it were a compass guiding him through the chaos of adulthood. She would pretend to scold him for staring, but her smile always gave her away.

Life, as it does, tested them. Jobs slipped away, savings thinned, and responsibilities piled up like unwashed dishes. There were nights when they argued over bills, over exhaustion, over things that didn’t matter. But every time Advait felt himself drifting, he would look at her face. That mole, unchanged, unwavering. It always reminded him of the girl he had promised to stand beside. It became his anchor, a reminder that storms pass, but love stays if you choose it again and again. Aditi would tease him, “You love this mole more than me.” He would reply, “This mole is my pole star that leads me to you.”  And somehow, even on the hardest days, they found their way back to laughter.

When their twins were born, their home transformed into a festival of noise -crying, giggling, toys, mess everywhere. Advait would watch Aditi cradle their babies, her cheek brushing against their tiny fingers. The mole seemed to glow brighter in those moments, as if carrying the weight of new stories. Even on sleepless nights, when both of them were running on fumes, he would kiss that mole softly. It was his silent way of saying, We are in this together.

Years rolled forward. The children grew, careers steadied, and life slowed into a gentler rhythm. They began taking evening walks, not to reach anywhere, but simply to be. Advait would walk a little slower, not because of age, but because he wanted more time beside her. Sometimes he would tilt her face toward the sunset and say, “Uff, I would lay down my life for this moment, see how the light still chases your mole.” She would blush like she was still the girl in the soft peach saree.

Now, nearing 60, their love has matured into something quieter but deeper. They don't argue over small things anymore. They don't rush through their days. Their life is a collection of rituals, the morning tea, shared newspapers, soft music humming in the background. The mole now has a tiny wrinkle beside it, a gentle reminder of time’s passage. But to Advait, it has never looked more beautiful. It carries their years, their mistakes, their forgiveness, their laughter. Sometimes, when Aditi sits by the window reading, Advait walks up behind her and kisses her cheek right on the mole. She acts surprised every time.
“You’ll never stop doing that, will you?”  “Not in this life,” he says.
And for a moment, time folds, and they are young again.

On their 35th anniversary, he wrote her a letter. Not flowery, not dramatic, but just honest. He wrote about the first time he noticed the mole, how it became the symbol of everything he cherished, how it taught him that love is found in the smallest details. Aditi cried while reading it. She held his hand and whispered, “You still see me the way you did then.” Advait replied, “I see you more clearly now. The mole just reminds me where to look.”

Their journey has been long, imperfect, and beautifully human. They still tease each other, still hold hands when no one is watching, still find reasons to laugh. Advait believes love isn’t built on grand gestures, but it is built on tiny rituals, quiet forgiveness, shared burdens, and a little bit of appreciation and acknowledgement every time. The small mole has carried decades of devotion.

Tonight on their anniversary, as they sit on their balcony watching the sky darken, the warm light from the balcony lamp falls gently on Aditi’s face. The mole glows softly, like it remembers every chapter they have lived. Advait reaches out, touches it with the tenderness, and whispers, “This little mark has been my home.”

Aditi leans her head on his shoulder, her breath steady, her eyes soft. In that moment, their entire journey feels complete, held together by one small but beautiful truth:

The dot didn’t just carry their years. It carried their love.