A tropical storm from the Bay of Bengal approaches India’s eastern coast late one afternoon. Strong winds are blowing, and rain is pouring down the NH-16 highway along the Andhra-Odisha coast. In a 7-seater SUV, husband Arjun grips the steering wheel tightly, squinting against the rain. Next to him is his wife, Nisha, five months pregnant, her hand caressing her belly, her face filled with worry.

Amidst this natural chaos, a phone call sparks an argument. Arjun’s mother, Sarla, repeatedly says: “Pregnant women should stay away from auspicious ceremonies and not disobey elders, or the entire family will be brought bad luck.” She also urges Arjun to “discipline Nisha,” as she has been less obedient to her in-laws since becoming pregnant. Arjun was already stressed from the storm, and these words seemed to add fuel to the fire.

Nisha was tired, but firm: “Whatever you do, don’t treat pregnancy like a superstition. I need rest, not unnecessary threats.” Arjun, filled with anger, slammed on the brakes and pulled into the emergency lane. The wind was howling, and the rain was lashing down like a whip. He opened the door and roared:
“Get out of the car! Consider that you’re in the right place!”

Nisha was stunned. She hadn’t imagined her husband would do such a thing in the middle of a storm. But Arjun’s eyes were red and challenging. Left with no other choice, Nisha clutched her stomach and trembled in the rain. The car sped off, leaving a long trail of water on the deserted NH-16.

Nisha stood there for almost half an hour. Her clothes were soaked, her stomach heavy, her arms and legs trembling. Occasionally, a few container trucks would pass by, their headlights flashing and then disappearing.

To her dismay, a small truck slowed down. The driver – a middle-aged man – rolled down the window and shouted into the rain:

“Miss! Why are you standing in the middle of a storm? Get in the car, it’s dangerous!”

Nisha hesitated for a moment and then nodded. She staggered into the cabin. The driver’s name was Ramesh, who was transporting agricultural produce from Guntur to Bhubaneswar. As he drove, he glanced in the mirror and sighed:

“You’re pregnant. Who would leave their pregnant wife stranded in the middle of a storm? Where is your home? I’ll drop you off at the nearest NHAI stop.”

Nisha burst into tears upon hearing this. She briefly explained what had just happened. Ramesh fell silent and then said:
“If a man doesn’t know how to protect his wife and children, having a home is useless. Don’t worry, if you go to the service area, the danger will be less.”

As for Arjun, after driving for about 30 minutes, his anger gradually subsided. A flash of lightning filled him with a shiver: “What if she falls? What if something happens to the baby?” Arjun was gripped by fear, and he turned the car around and drove back to the same spot in the rain.

When he reached the spot, there were only potholes. Nisha was nowhere to be seen. Arjun’s heart sank. He opened the door, but called out in vain—her voice was lost in the storm.

Gritting his teeth, Arjun continued driving on the highway, his eyes straining to escape the fog. Finally, when he reached a rest stop a few kilometers away, he lost his voice…

Nisha was sitting at a small dhaba, a passerby had given her a raincoat, her arms around her stomach, her face pale but her eyes firm. Beside her, the driver, Ramesh, was pouring hot ginger tea.

Arjun entered, wet and frightened, with teary eyes. Nisha took one look and turned away, tears streaming down her face. Not because she was weak—but because her husband had abandoned her.

Ramesh stood up, sternly addressing Arjun. Saw:

“You’re still young, but as a husband and father, remember: your wife and children are the ones you protect. Leaving your pregnant wife on the road in the middle of a storm—if something happens, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Don’t let anger and what others say cloud your judgment.”

These words hit Arjun like a hammer. He sank to his knees, took his wife’s hand, his voice trembling:
“I’m sorry… I was wrong. From now on, I’ll never let you be alone again.”

Nisha removed her hand. Forgiveness couldn’t come immediately. Arjun understood: he was on the verge of losing everything.

After the stormy night, they returned home quietly. Mrs. Sarla still called out, but this time Arjun said firmly:

“Mom, I respect you. But my wife and I will decide for ourselves. I won’t let superstition harm our family.”

Nisha listened. The pain was still there, but she knew her husband was beginning to change.

The storm outside had subsided. The storm inside calmed only when people learned to love and protect each other.

Three months later, the small family welcomed a healthy baby girl at a hospital in Bhubaneswar. The baby’s first cry seemed to dispel old storms. Arjun stood outside the delivery room, tears streaming down his face. When the nurse placed the baby in his arms, Arjun whispered:
“My baby… I almost lost you both. From now on, I will never let that happen again.”

From inside the room, Nisha looked out. Her eyes were still wary, but watching her husband clumsily and carefully hold the baby, her heart slowly softened. Forgiveness doesn’t happen overnight; but love can blossom from the smallest things—a father’s face holding his child for the first time, or his wife’s clumsy hand wiping away sweat after childbirth.

In the days that followed, Arjun took the initiative in household chores: staying up all night to change diapers, prepare milk, and rock the baby to sleep. Once, Mrs. Sarla reminded him: “You have to obey your elders in everything.” Arjun calmly said:

“Mom, I listen to you about relatives. But regarding my wife and children—please let us handle everything ourselves.”

Nisha’s eyes welled with tears. For the first time, she felt her husband had truly matured—knowing how to stand up and protect his small family from outside pressure.

One afternoon, the sky was clear, the baby was fast asleep, Nisha said softly:
“Do you remember that stormy night? I thought that day… we were finished.”

Arjun took his wife’s hand:
“I remember. And because I remember, I’m even more scared. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be a husband and a father.”

He didn’t make any empty promises. He just held her hand. Since then, whenever a storm hits, Arjun reminds himself of the lessons of that year’s NH-16 disaster—the lessons that nearly took everything away. And Nisha, deep down, has learned to uphold her character as a mother and a wife—so that even in the midst of the storm, she will never be left alone.

Their story continues—like any other ordinary family—with disagreements, challenges, and simple joys. But one thing is certain: after the storm, they understand that only by holding hands can they get through the stormy days.