The season was slowly shifting. The heavy monsoons had given way to crisp air and golden sunlight that draped over Patna's skyline like an old woolen shawl. At Patliputra Science College, students began bundling themselves in light sweaters, tea stalls stayed open longer, and the aroma of fried pakoras filled the alleyways.

But inside Aradhana Jha's heart, another kind of season was changing—one she didn't quite know how to name yet.

"Kuch to chal raha hai..." (Something's definitely going on...)

"I swear on Ganesh's mother's head, something's going on!" Kunjh Deshmukh leaned across the tea stall, munching on a samosa.

Nilkanth rolled his eyes. "Don't drag Ganesh's mummy into this."

Ganesh, still chewing, nodded solemnly. "Kuch toh hai. You eat kheer, you smile without reason, and you haven't even bullied first-years this whole week."

( Something's definitely up. You ate kheer, you've been smiling without a reason, and you haven't ragged any juniors all week!)

"I'm allowed to like kheer," Nilkanth said, folding his arms.

"But made by Aradhana Jha?" Kunjh nudged him. "The same girl you once called library ki chudail?"

( The ghost of the library?)

Nilkanth tried to laugh it off, but his smirk didn't last long. Because somewhere deep inside, he had started to look forward to random moments—like seeing Aradhana in the corridor, or hearing her giggle softly with her friends. He had noticed how her braid always rested on the same shoulder, how she tucked her dupatta when nervous, and how her eyes turned stormy when someone said something unjust.

No, she wasn't just pretty. She had substance. Fire.

And he was in trouble.

"Kya chal raha hai college mein?" (What's going on in college?)

Back home, Aradhana sat in the kitchen, helping her mother peel peas for dinner. The evening light filtered through the mesh window, casting shadows across the steel utensils.

"Tu bahar zyada rehne lagi hai, Aru," her mother, Sushila Jha, said, not looking up. "Kya chal raha hai college mein?"

( You've been staying out longer these days, Aru. What's going on in college?)

Aradhana's hands paused over the bowl. "Studies, Maa. Dance practice hua tha kuch dino pehle. Bas wahi."

(Dance practice happened a few days ago. That's all.)

"Dance?" her mother raised an eyebrow.

"Haan, Freshers' Day. Zabardasti pair bana diya tha," she said truthfully.

( Yes, on Fresher's Day. They forced us into dance pairs.)

"Hmm," Sushila replied, not satisfied but not probing further.

Her father, Tarun Jha, looked up from his newspaper. "Padhai se dhyan mat hataana. IAS banne ka sapna chhota sapna nahi hai, Aru."

( Don't lose focus on your studies. Becoming an IAS officer isn't a small dream, Aru.)

Aradhana nodded. She knew her parents meant well. They had invested everything—time, money, dreams—into her education.

But lately, something was stirring inside her. A pull. A flicker. A curiosity that sounded like Nilkanth's voice in her mind, teasing, laughing, challenging.

She shook her head. No. She couldn't afford distractions.

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The days moved quickly. After the dance competition, Aradhana and Nilkanth found themselves meeting more often—but never intentionally.

She would find him sitting alone on the library steps, pretending to read.

He would find her at the canteen, offering leftover homemade food to friends.

They'd nod at each other, sometimes even smile. Once, she offered him a spoonful of sabzi from her lunchbox. He accepted without teasing her.

"Tumhe toh boiled food ka habit hoga," she had said, half-joking.

( You must be used to eating boiled food.)

He chuckled. "Mere ghar ka cook toh doodh se dal banata hai. Tumhare haath ka khana toh jannat hai."

(Our cook at home makes dal with milk. Your food is heaven compared to that.)

She smiled and looked away.

That smile lingered in his thoughts that night.

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One day, a rickety van from a construction site pulled up outside the college. The driver, drunk, shouted at a group of girls who were crossing the road. One of them was Shaista.

"Madarch—" he slurred.

Before anyone could react, Aradhana stepped forward and slapped the driver hard.

The entire college gate went silent.

"Zubaan sambhaal ke baat karo," she said, trembling but firm.

(: Mind your language.)

Nilkanth, who had just arrived on his Bullet, saw the crowd gathering. As soon as he realized what had happened, he stepped in.

"Gaadi hatao yahaan se, warna main police bulaata hoon," he said coldly.

(Move your vehicle or I'll call the police.)

The driver, seeing Nilkanth, instantly sobered up and drove away.

Shaista hugged Aradhana. "Tu pagal hai kya? Woh aadmi kuch bhi kar sakta tha!"

( Are you crazy? That man could've done anything!)

Aradhana didn't respond. Her hands were still shaking. But Nilkanth noticed. He walked up beside her.

"Bahaduri aur bewakoofi mein patla sa farq hota hai," he said gently.

( There's a thin line between bravery and foolishness.)

She looked up, expecting mockery, but his eyes were soft.

"Par tu sahi thi," he added after a pause. "Good job."

(But you were right.)

And just like that, the cold wall between them got a crack.

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Over the next few weeks, people began to notice. Priti teased her endlessly.

"Aru, tu usse baat bhi karti hai ab? Pehle toh uska naam sunte hi tu library bhaag jaati thi."

(Aru, you talk to him now? Earlier, you used to run to the library just hearing his name!)

Even Ganesh and Kunjh started pulling Nilkanth's leg in the canteen.

"Shaadi kar lo dono. Aradhana IAS, aur tu uska peon."

( Just get married now. Aradhana becomes an IAS, and you'll be her peon!)

Nilkanth didn't react. He simply smiled.

Because inside, he felt peace. Like he had finally found someone who saw through his outer layer—someone who didn't treat him like a goon or a golden boy. Someone who listened, even when he didn't speak.

But not everything was that simple.

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One evening, at the dinner table, Ramesh Thakur noticed his son smiling.

"Kaun hai?" he asked, not lifting his eyes from the bland bowl of khichdi.

( Who is she?)

Nilkanth froze. "Kya?"
(: What?)

"Jo tu har roz phone pe dekhta rehta hai. Jo tujhe muskaraana sikha rahi hai."

(The one you keep staring at on your phone. The one teaching you how to smile.)

"There's no one, Bauji."

Ramesh leaned forward. "Remember what I told you. Women bring weakness. We don't need them in our house."

Nilkanth didn't reply. But for the first time, he felt like questioning his father's words.

Because Aradhana wasn't weakness.

She was strength. Fire. Focus.

And maybe, just maybe... she was becoming his reason to change.