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The story begins in a small village somewhere in eastern Uttar Pradesh, not too far from the Bengal border.

It's the year 2000. Life here moves slow like the hand-pulled cart that creaks every time it's moved down the uneven path every morning.

Mornings start with the sound of temple bells nearby, The smell of burning agarbatti and aunties shouting across their rooftops while they are drying clothes.

Buffaloes and cows tied under trees making noises. Kids run around barefoot playing less and shouting more.

The kind of place where everyone kows everyone and most things stay the same.

There are two very known houses. Old yet strong. One belongs to the Sharma's- big farmers, respected in the village.

Their fields stretch far across and so does their name.

The other house is Das, who came from Bengal years ago. They stayed because... well some people become more than neighbours.

Piyali Das, the quiet sweet bengali girl, spends more time in the Sharma house than her own.

Mrs. Sharma loves her like a daughter. You will find her in the kitchen helping her make tea or roaming around with kritika Sharma, the younger daughter of the house.

Who's always up to something mischief. Kittu is loud, funny and full of drama. And slowly, piyali has started picking up that energy too.

Then there's Samarjeet Sharma- the eldest son. He doesn't talk much. Busy either working on the fields or managing workers or handling being the only son of the house.

Piyali has known him since forever. He's always been there like the quiet strength of the house.

But sometimes, Some things changes. Some feelings change, slowly. Like summer turning into rain.

And maybe... this summer, something will shift.

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