August rains had returned to Patna, drenching the lanes and painting the skies in deep greys. But even under the gloom, Aradhana Jha's resolve shone brighter than ever. Her days were measured in study hours, her nights in mock tests. Her eyes were often tired, but her spirit remained firm.

Meanwhile, Nilkanth Thakur was changing too—sharpening into a man who knew when to speak, when to act, and when to wait. He was still the boy who loved food and late-night bike rides, but now he could also read legal clauses and manage field site visits with an ease his father couldn't ignore.

But love stories don't unfold in silence. Sometimes, they're interrupted by thunder.

This time, the storm came from within Nilkanth's own home.

.

.

.

.

.

Ramesh Thakur stared at the map laid out in front of him in the Haveli's study. Red ink circled plots and roads near Gola Bazaar—just a few lanes away from the Jha family's grocery shop and tailoring centre.

"Yahan flyover ka plan aaya hai. Sab dukaanen girengi."
(There's a new flyover planned here. All these shops will be demolished.)

His contractor nodded nervously.

Ramesh added coldly, "Jha ki dukaan bhi gayi samjho. Aur uski beti ke sapne bhi."
(Jha's shop is as good as gone. And so are his daughter's dreams.)

This wasn't just about land.

This was personal.

If Nilkanth wouldn't break ties with that middle-class girl, Ramesh would erase her world, brick by brick.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Back in college, Aradhana didn't know anything about the plan. Not yet.

But she could sense something was wrong.

Her father, Tarun Jha, had come home unusually quiet the night before. Her mother's stitching machine hadn't hummed in two days.

At breakfast, she finally asked.

"Baba, sab thik hai na?"
( Baba, is everything alright?)

He smiled faintly, avoiding her gaze. "Bas, naye construction ka notice aaya hai. Shaayad dukan hatani pade."

(There's a new construction notice. We might have to vacate the shop.)

"Kya?" she froze. "Par kaise? Woh toh humare bina kisi bataaye..."
(What? But how can they... without informing us...)

Sushila entered, placing parathas on the plate. "Sarkar hai. Puchhti thodi hai?"
( It's the government. They don't ask anyone.)

But Aradhana knew—this wasn't just "government work."

It was something else.

.

.

.

.

.

.

That evening, she stood outside the Thakur Haveli, her salwar soaked in the rain, her bag hanging from one shoulder. The gatekeeper hesitated, but she pushed through.

"Mujhe Nilkanth se milna hai."
(I want to see Nilkanth.)

Inside, Nilkanth was helping with budget calculations when he saw her.

"Aradhana? Tum? Bheeg gayi ho, chalo andar chalo—"
(Aradhana? You? You're drenched, come inside—)

"Kya tumhare Bauji ne Gola Bazaar ke flyover ka tender pass kiya?" she interrupted.

He paused.

She stared at him, eyes burning. "Tumhe pata tha? Tumhe sab pata tha na?"

( You knew? You knew everything, didn't you?)

He stood silent, lips pressed.

"Tumne kaha tha tumhare Bauji ke khilaaf khade hoge. Par jab baat mere ghar ki aayi, tum chup ho gaye?"
(You said you'd stand up to your father. But when it came to my home, you stayed quiet?)

"Aradhana, main... plan mein badlaav laane ki koshish kar raha hoon. Main sab sudhaar raha hoon, please believe me."
( I'm trying to make changes to the plan. I'm fixing things. Please believe me.)

"Belief tab hota hai jab bharosa ho. Tumne woh bhi cheen liya."
( Belief exists only when there's trust. You've taken even that away.)

She turned and walked out into the rain, leaving behind silence—and a broken heart.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Later that night, Nilkanth stormed into his father's study.

"Yeh kya kar rahe hain aap? Aradhana ke ghar ko hi nishana bana diya?"

( What are you doing? You've targeted Aradhana's family?)

Ramesh looked up coolly.

"Tum ladki ke liye apni aukaat bhool rahe ho. Main yaad dila raha hoon."
( You're forgetting your place because of a girl. I'm reminding you.)

"Aap sirf power samajhte hain. Pyaar nahi."

( You only understand power. Not love.)

Ramesh stood, furious. "Pyaar karne ke liye pehle apne level ka insaan chuno. Tumhari maa hoti toh yeh sab nahi hota."

(If you want to love, choose someone at your level first. If your mother were alive, this wouldn't be happening.)

Nilkanth's voice dropped to a dangerous calm.

"Agar maa hoti, toh Aradhana jaise kisi ladki se pyaar karne ke liye mujhe izzat milti. Nafrat nahi."
( If my mother were alive, she would've respected me for loving a girl like Aradhana. Not hated me.)

He walked out. For the first time, not just as a son—but as a man standing on his own ground.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The next few days at college were colder than any rain. Aradhana avoided every glance. Nilkanth didn't try to explain again. There were no texts. No chai invites. Just unfinished sentences and empty benches.

Until one morning, he found something inside his notebook.

It was a torn page from her UPSC practice test.

She had circled one line at the bottom:

"I want to change this system, but first I have to survive it."

And beneath, in her handwriting:

"Don't protect me. Fight beside me."

.

.

.

.

.

Two days later, Nilkanth returned to Thakur Constructions.

"Cancel the flyover zone around Gola Bazaar," he told the engineer. "We'll reroute."

"Sir,appke bauji se clearance chahiye—"

(Sir we need clearance from your father.)

"Main shareholder hoon. Sign karo."
( I'm a shareholder. Sign it.)

He called the urban planning officer and submitted a fresh revised blueprint, removing the shops from demolition range. He even offered Thakur Constructions' personal land to realign the project.

Ramesh exploded when he found out.

But Nilkanth didn't flinch.

"Aapne socha tha main aapka beta hoon isiliye kuch nahi kahunga. Par main Aradhana ka bhi kuch hoon. Aur uske liye main sab kuch kahunga."
( You thought I wouldn't speak up because I'm your son. But I'm also something to Aradhana. And for her, I'll say everything.)

.

.

.

.

.

Aradhana received an envelope in class a few days later. Inside was a blueprint copy and a letter.

Aradhana,

This time, I didn't come running to explain.
I went to fix it.

Your home is safe.

And if you'll let me, I want to build a new one with you someday—

Not a Haveli, not a palace.

But a house where love and dignity live together.

—Nilkanth

She folded the paper slowly, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Then she smiled.

Because the man she had once seen as awara...

Was now the one who walked beside her, even through storms.