Chapter One: The First Glance
Suraj Rana was born in Kailali, Dhangadhi, where fields stretch wider than dreams and hard work runs in the blood. His father, a farmer with calloused hands and a quiet heart, tilled the land with pride but little reward. His mother worked as a housekeeper in town, cleaning other people's homes so her son could build his own future.
But Dhangadhi didn't have the life Suraj imagined—not for someone like him who dreamed beyond the horizon. At twenty, he left for Kathmandu, alone, with nothing but a bag of clothes, his parents' blessings, and a stubborn belief that life had more to offer.
Reality struck hard.
For weeks, he wandered the capital's crowded streets. He slept on footpaths, using his backpack as a pillow and the open sky as his ceiling. Nights were cold, dreams were fragile, and hunger was a constant companion. But Suraj didn't give up.
One morning, after his third day without a proper meal, he saw a sign outside a busy hotel in Thamel:"Waiter Wanted. No experience required."
He walked in with trembling hands and eyes that told a thousand untold stories. The manager hesitated—Suraj looked tired, worn, and rough. But something in his voice—calm, respectful, and real—earned him a chance.
From that day, Suraj wore a pressed white shirt and a name tag that simply said:"Suraj."
Chapter Two: One Year Later
Twelve months had passed since Suraj Rana first stepped into that hotel in Kathmandu—hungry, alone, and invisible to the world. Today, he was no longer the boy who slept under the open sky. He was one of the most reliable staff members of the hotel.
Every morning, he arrived early. Every night, he left late. He memorized regular customers' preferences, cleaned the restaurant floor until it shone, and always wore a calm, quiet smile—even when exhausted. He didn't complain. He just worked.
His manager noticed.
"Suraj, you remind me of myself at your age," the manager once said, patting his back. "You've got heart. Keep going."
And he did.
For one whole year, Suraj didn't go home to Kailali. Not because he didn't miss his family—he missed them every day. But he wanted to return with something more than empty pockets and tired stories. He wanted to return with pride.
Then, one evening, just after he finished polishing cutlery, the manager approached him with a warm smile.
"Suraj, congratulations. You've been promoted. From now on, you're not just a waiter—you'll be supervising the junior staff. Your salary's going up, too."
Suraj blinked. For a second, the world stood still.
"Sir... really?"
The manager nodded. "You earned it."
That night, Suraj walked to the rooftop of the hotel, pulled out his old, worn-out phone, and dialed a number he hadn't called in months.
"Hello?" his mother's voice came through, faint but familiar.
"Aama... it's me. Suraj."
"Suraj! Hajur chhora? Are you okay?"
"I'm more than okay, Aama. I got promoted. I'm doing well. I just wanted to tell you... I made it."
There was silence. Then the sound of soft crying.
"Your father's here too. He's smiling. We're proud of you, babu."
And for the first time in a long time, Suraj cried too—not from sadness, but from relief.
He didn't have money to send yet, not much. But he had something greater to offer: hope.
Chapter Three: A Room of His Own
Suraj Rana had come a long way from that cold night on the footpath. It had been five years since he left Kailali, Dhangadhi, with nothing but a dream and his father's old shawl.
Now, at 25, he stood tall in a black waistcoat, managing restaurant shifts, guiding new staff, and earning the quiet respect of both guests and management. His hands were still rough, but his voice had grown confident.
Life wasn't perfect—but it was his.
With the little he had saved, Suraj finally moved out of the crowded worker's quarters and rented a small room in Kirtipur for Rs. 5000 a month. It wasn't big—just a bed, a desk, a kettle, and a tiny window—but to Suraj, it felt like a palace. It was the first space in Kathmandu he could truly call his own.
Every morning, he cleaned the room, boiled tea, and looked out the window at the city that had once ignored him. Now, it whispered back: You belong here.
He even hung up a photo of his parents next to the mirror. It reminded him of why he started, and whom he was working for.
He still hadn't forgotten home—but now, when he called, it wasn't to say he was struggling. It was to ask what kind of jacket his mother needed for winter, or how the crops were doing.
Life was steady, and for the first time, Suraj allowed himself to dream of something more—not just survival, but happiness.
He didn't know it yet, but that happiness would soon walk through the hotel door in heels and a silver scarf—and her name would be Urmila Rana.
Chapter Four: When Eyes First Met
It was a quiet afternoon in early spring. The air in Kathmandu had just begun to warm, and golden sunlight poured through the windows of the restaurant where Suraj now worked as a shift supervisor.
He was going over a checklist behind the counter when the front door chimed.
She walked in like she didn't belong to the world—but the world belonged to her.
Urmila Rana, daughter of a powerful businessman, was grace in motion—dressed in soft ivory with a silk scarf wrapped carelessly around her neck. Her hair fell like poetry, and her eyes... they held a kind of sadness that only someone truly lonely would recognize.
Suraj noticed her right away—not because she was beautiful, but because she looked lost in a place she was supposed to own.
She took a table by the window, opened a book, and ordered a coffee.
Suraj, out of instinct, walked over to serve her himself.
"Here's your coffee, ma'am," he said, placing the cup gently in front of her.
She looked up, startled—then held his gaze.
"You're not like the others," she said suddenly.
He raised an eyebrow, confused. "Ma'am?"
"You didn't look away. Most people do."
Suraj smiled faintly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."
"You weren't," she said, then added, "It's rare... to be seen."
She took a sip of coffee, and he nodded politely before turning away. But something lingered in the air between them—a quiet moment neither could explain.
That was the first meeting. Not loud. Not dramatic. But unforgettable.
Urmila came back the next day. And the next. Always alone. Always choosing the same table.
And Suraj? He started looking forward to those afternoons more than anything else. Not for her beauty, not for her wealth, but because when she was there, he didn't feel like a waiter. He felt like someone.
They didn't know it yet, but their hearts had already started moving toward each other—step by careful step.
Chapter Five: Closer Than Words
Suraj and Urmila were never in a rush.
Their friendship unfolded the way a sunrise touches the mountains—softly, patiently, beautifully.
It started with small talks over coffee. She always ordered the same thing: one black coffee, no sugar. He always brought it with a glass of water and a gentle smile.
"Still no sugar?" he teased one day.
"Still no time for sweetness," she replied, half-joking.
They talked about books, music, and places they'd never been. She told him about art galleries in Italy and how her father wanted her to study abroad. He told her about his childhood in Kailali, running barefoot through mustard fields and sleeping under open skies.
"I used to lie on the roof at night," Suraj said once, "and dream of being here. But now that I'm here... I dream of something simpler."
"Like what?" she asked.
"A life where I don't have to pretend I'm less than someone."
That silence between them? It wasn't awkward. It was safe.
Soon, she began staying longer after her coffee. He began taking breaks just to sit near her table.
"You know," she said one afternoon, "I've been to fancier restaurants than this. But this is the only place that feels... honest."
"That's because you've never been served by someone who still remembers what hunger feels like," Suraj replied quietly.
Urmila looked at him—not with pity, but admiration.
That was the moment things began to shift.
She brought him a book once, wrapped in brown paper."The Alchemist."
"It's about someone chasing his dream," she said. "Reminded me of you."
He smiled, touched. "I've never owned a book before."
"Now you do."
He didn't say thank you with words. He said it by memorizing a quote from it, just for her.
"When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."
She smiled wide. "You actually read it?"
"I underlined every line that felt like us."
Their hands never touched. But something deeper had already passed between them—trust.
And soon, trust grew into comfort. Comfort into care. And care into the slow, undeniable truth neither dared to say out loud yet:They were falling in love.
Not the fast, fiery kind. But the kind that builds quietly—a home in each other's presence.
Chapter Six: Cracks in the Glass
Love had bloomed quietly between Suraj and Urmila, hidden beneath everyday moments—shared glances, laughter over coffee, and long pauses that spoke louder than words.
But not every world welcomes a love like theirs.
One evening, after closing time, Suraj found Urmila waiting outside the hotel.
"Let's walk," she said. "No coffee. No table. Just... air."
They walked through the quiet streets of Kathmandu. No one knew them here. No one cared that she came from a mansion and he came from a mud house. For a while, it felt like the world belonged only to them.
"Sometimes," she whispered, "I wish I were just... normal."
"You're not," Suraj replied softly. "You're real. That's better."
She looked at him like no one ever had. And in that moment, she almost reached for his hand—but pulled back.
Because reality was waiting for her at home.
The next day, everything changed.
Urmila didn't come.
Not that day. Not the next.
When she finally returned, she looked different—distant, heavy.
"My father found out," she said, eyes lowered. "He saw my call log... your name."
Suraj froze.
"What did he say?"
"That I'm ruining the family name. That I'm throwing away everything for a... for a hotel worker."
She couldn't even say the word without choking.
He nodded, silent.
"I'm sorry, Suraj. I didn't mean for this to happen. I just... I don't know what to do."
He looked at her, steady and calm.
"You don't have to do anything," he said. "Just be honest with yourself. That's all I've ever done."
That night, Suraj sat alone in his room, the one he paid Rs. 5,000 a month for—the room that once felt like a palace. Now it felt small.
He stared at the book she gave him, "The Alchemist", still on his shelf.
He opened it to the line he had underlined before:
"One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving."
He closed the book gently.
"But maybe... the world still needs a reason," he whispered.
Chapter Seven: The Goodbye That Wasn't Spoken
Days passed, and Urmila didn't return to the restaurant.
No coffee.No smile.No goodbye.
Just an empty chair by the window that used to hold the light in her eyes.
Suraj waited. At first with hope. Then with patience. Then with pain.
But he understood. Her silence wasn't rejection—it was a war she was fighting within herself. And he couldn't ask her to lose her world for him.
So one morning, he made a decision that shattered him quietly.
He packed up the book she gave him, folded the scarf she left behind one winter evening, and walked into the manager's office.
"Sir," he said calmly, "I need to resign."
"What? Why? You're one of the best we have!"
"I need to start over… somewhere quieter."
The manager tried to change his mind, but Suraj had already decided. Not for himself—but for her.
That evening, he returned to the table where she once sat.
He placed the book there. Slid the scarf beside it. No note. No message.
Only a whisper:
"This was never about not loving you… It was about loving you enough to let go."
He left Kathmandu the next morning.No one saw him cry.But inside, every step away from the city felt like walking barefoot over the life he once dreamed of.
Back to Kailali he went—back to the fields, the open sky, and the kind of silence that didn't ask questions.
Meanwhile, in Kathmandu, Urmila returned to the restaurant two days later.
"Is Suraj on shift?" she asked the junior staff.
They looked at each other. Hesitated.
"He… he left, ma'am. A few days ago."
She felt the world tilt under her feet.
She sat at the table. Found the scarf.The book.
Inside the cover was a page he had underlined.
"Sometimes, we must be willing to lose the one we love… so they can win their battle without carrying our war."
She held the book to her chest and whispered:
"You fool... I was ready to fight for us."
But it was too late.
For now.
Chapter Eight: Roots and Resilience
Suraj's footsteps were soft on the familiar earth of Kailali. The mustard fields stretched golden beneath the wide, open sky — the same sky under which he had dreamed of Kathmandu years ago.
Back home, the noise of the city faded into memories. Here, the air smelled of soil and promise.
He returned not with bitterness, but with a quiet determination.
His father greeted him with a warm embrace — strong hands calloused from years of farming. His mother's smile was gentle but proud.
"You're home, Suraj," his father said simply.
Suraj nodded.
"I'm ready to start again."
The small house felt alive with possibility. Suraj found work on the farm, learned new skills, and began saving once more — but this time, with a peace he hadn't known in the city.
At night, under the same stars that watched over his childhood, he opened the book Urmila had given him. It was a talisman now — a reminder that dreams weren't just about places or people, but about hope and courage.
Sometimes, he caught himself smiling at the memory of Urmila — her laughter, her kindness. The love they shared hadn't vanished; it had simply changed shape.
It was no longer about two worlds colliding. It was about the strength to keep moving forward, no matter where life took him.
And Suraj knew—deep in his heart—that this was only the beginning.
Chapter Nine: Healing and New Beginnings
Back in Kailali, Suraj found comfort in the rhythms of village life. The mornings began with the scent of fresh earth and the songs of birds, and the evenings closed with the soft glow of lanterns against the night sky.
Though the pain of leaving Urmila still lingered, Suraj was learning to carry it gently—not as a weight but as a part of his story.
He spent his days working alongside his father in the fields, rediscovering the simple joys of growing things, nurturing life from the soil. The community, too, embraced him warmly—neighbors shared stories, smiles, and sometimes, cups of sweet tea.
Slowly, Suraj began to open his heart again. He befriended a schoolteacher named Meera, whose laughter was light and whose wisdom ran deep. She saw the quiet strength in Suraj and often encouraged him to pursue his dreams, no matter the obstacles.
"Healing isn't forgetting," Meera said one afternoon as they sat beneath a large banyan tree. "It's learning to live with your past while still reaching for your future."
Suraj nodded, feeling a new hope bud within him.
Night after night, he returned to Urmila's gift—the book "The Alchemist"—finding new meaning in its pages as he charted a course toward a life rebuilt on resilience.
Though the city and the love he left behind still called to him, Suraj understood that strength wasn't just about chasing dreams far away—it was also about planting roots deep enough to weather any storm.
Chapter Ten: Roots That Grow Stronger
Suraj's days became a blend of hard work, learning, and quiet moments of reflection. The fields stretched wide around him, and with every seed sown, he felt a little more grounded.
Meera often joined him for evening walks, sharing stories about the village's history and dreams for its future. Together, they helped organize community gatherings—small festivals that brought everyone closer, laughter ringing beneath the stars.
Suraj began teaching local children basic reading and writing skills in the school's modest classroom, eager to give them chances he hadn't always had.
One afternoon, as he repaired a broken fence on his family's farm, Suraj looked up to see neighbors stopping by with fresh fruits, homemade bread, and smiles of encouragement.
His heart swelled with a new kind of wealth—one measured not in money, but in connection.
Though his thoughts still wandered to Urmila, Suraj felt peace knowing that no matter where life led, he was building something meaningful here—something that could weather any storm.
Chapter Eleven: A Beacon in Kailali
Suraj's journey had transformed from one of personal survival into a mission of uplifting those around him.
He started a small cooperative with local farmers to share resources and knowledge, helping increase their harvests and incomes. The once-struggling village market began to flourish with fresh produce and handmade goods, attracting buyers from nearby towns.
Children flocked to Suraj's informal classes, eager to learn reading, writing, and dreams beyond the horizon. His patience and kindness made him a beloved figure—a quiet beacon of hope.
Meera's presence continued to inspire him, but Suraj's deepest motivation came from within—his belief that true strength came from lifting others as he rose.
One evening, as the village gathered for a festival under lantern-lit trees, Suraj stood by the bonfire, watching faces bright with laughter and possibility.
He realized that in losing one dream, he had found a greater one—to build a life that mattered, rooted not in wealth or status, but in love, resilience, and community.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew that this was only the beginning.
Chapter Twelve: The Storm Before the Sunrise
Just as the village of Kailali began to flourish, dark clouds gathered—both in the sky and in the hearts of its people.
A severe monsoon was forecasted to hit the region, threatening the crops, homes, and livelihoods that Suraj and the community had worked so hard to build.
The news spread quickly, stirring anxiety and fear.
At the village meeting, Suraj stood before the crowd, his calm presence a steady anchor.
"We cannot stop the storm, but we can prepare for it. Together," he said firmly.
He organized teams to reinforce homes, clear drainage channels, and store food supplies. He worked side by side with farmers, neighbors, and friends—leading by example.
But not everyone agreed.
Some villagers doubted the preparations or feared the worst. Arguments flared, tensions rose, and Suraj found himself navigating not just the threat of nature, but also the fragile hopes of his people.
One night, after a long day of planning, Suraj sat beneath the vast Kailali sky, thinking of the obstacles he had faced alone in Kathmandu, and the love he once had to leave behind.
"Strength isn't just in fighting the storm," he whispered, "but in holding each other through it."
When the rains finally came, fierce and relentless, the village stood ready.
Though some suffered losses, the damage was far less than feared.
In the aftermath, as the sun broke through the clouds, the community gathered to rebuild once more—stronger, united, and inspired by Suraj's unwavering spirit.
Suraj looked around at the faces shining with determination and hope.
He knew the road ahead would not always be easy—but with roots this strong, they could weather anything.
Chapter Thirteen: Reunion Under the Open Sky
The village of Kailali was alive with the fresh scent of rain-soaked earth. Suraj stood near the newly rebuilt community center, the heart of the village's recovery and growth.
As he spoke with neighbors, a sudden hush fell over the crowd. Whispers rippled like the breeze through the trees.
Suraj turned, and there she was — Urmila.
Her eyes reflected the journey they had both taken: the distance, the pain, and the hope that had never truly faded.
They approached each other slowly, the years folding into a single moment.
"Suraj," she breathed, voice trembling.
"Urmila," he replied, steady and warm.
They walked together under the open sky, where once he had slept alone, where dreams had been born and broken.
"I came to see," Urmila said softly, "the man you've become… and the life you've built."
Suraj smiled, eyes shining with quiet pride.
"It's not just mine," he said. "It's ours — and it always was."
In that reunion, amidst the resilient fields and renewed hearts, Suraj and Urmila found not just love rekindled, but a partnership forged by strength, sacrifice, and the hope of a shared future.
Chapter Fourteen: Conversations Beneath the Stars
The night had settled softly over Kailali, stars scattered across the sky like scattered hopes.
Suraj and Urmila sat on a wooden bench outside the community center, the gentle hum of the village around them.
Urmila broke the silence first, voice tender but steady.
"I've thought about you every day, Suraj. About us… about the life we dreamed of."
Suraj nodded, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
"I left because I thought it was the only way to protect you—from your family, from their expectations. But every day away felt like losing a part of myself."
She reached out, fingers brushing his hand.
"I never stopped believing in what we had. I had to learn to be strong on my own, just like you."
They smiled, a quiet understanding passing between them.
"Look at what you've done here," Urmila said, gesturing to the lights of the village. "You built more than a home. You built hope."
Suraj's gaze softened.
"And you taught me that love isn't about wealth or status. It's about standing together, no matter the storm."
Their hands entwined, they spoke of new dreams—partnerships in life and community, a future where neither had to leave behind who they truly were.
Beneath the vast Kailali sky, Suraj and Urmila found a love renewed—rooted deeper than ever before.