The tension in the 2BHK flat hung thick as Ari's frustration boiled over, her mother's harsh words about Ishaan still echoing. She stepped forward, her voice firm. "I know, that's why he'll be working in the afternoon at his friend's shop. In return, his friend will let Ishaan borrow his bike and is even willing to pay for fuel. I'll save 5-6 thousand in transportation every month, and you'll get that money!"
Lajja's eyes lit up, a greedy smile replacing her scowl. "Is there such a good thing?" she mused aloud, her mind already counting the rupees. "Okay, if it's for your comfort, it's fine. Let him work harder—he'll earn his keep, and I'll take the cash!"
Ishaan, sensing the shift, moved to the kitchen with quiet determination. "Time to make dinner," he said to himself, chopping vegetables with swift precision. The aroma of curry filled the air as the family gathered later, eating in a tense but subdued silence. After the meal, the clock ticked late into the night. "Tomorrow, I'll bring the bike," Ishaan announced, standing up. "It's gotten too late for today. Actually, all the second-hand bike shops will close soon," he thought , masking his lie with a steady tone. He needed time to plan his purchase.
The next morning, Ishaan woke early, his routine seamless—exercises, chores, and getting ready before Ari. As she joined him for breakfast—dosa and chutney—he set the plates. "Ready?" he asked.
"Yes," Ari replied, smiling. They prepared to leave, but Lajja thrust a grocery list into Ishaan's hands. "Buy these while coming back," she ordered, her voice sharp.
Ishaan nodded, tucking the list into his pocket. "Got it." They stepped out, hailing an auto to the station. There, they parted ways, taking different trains. "See you later," Ari called.
"Take care," Ishaan replied, his mind already on the bike he'd soon claim.
As Ari boarded her train at the station, Ishaan called out, his voice steady and reassuring. "It's the last time you'll have to take the local. I'll pick you up from the office in the evening—wait for me."
Ari turned, a genuine smile lighting her face. "Sure, I'll wait for you." With a quick wave, she boarded, and Ishaan watched the train pull away, a sense of purpose fueling him.
He hopped on his own local to Borivalli market, the crowded compartments a familiar grind. Leaning against the door, he scanned the passing scenery. "This bike will change things," he thought, excitement building. "Affordable, reliable—something Ari can ride with pride."
At Borivalli, the market buzzed with vendors and shoppers. Ishaan wove through the streets, eyeing second-hand two-wheeler shops. He'd always dreamed of a Royal Enfield—the rumble, the style—but knew even used ones were pricey. "Stick to 40-50k," he reminded himself. "Good looks, solid mileage—no compromises on quality, but nothing flashy that screams cheap."
Spotting a big shop stacked full of gleaming bikes—Pulsars, Hondas, Yamahas—he stepped inside, the scent of oil and rubber hitting him. Rows of machines lined the walls, engines purring in the background.
"Excuse me," Ishaan called to a salesperson wiping down a scooter. "I need a bike—my budget's 40-50k rupees. Good looks, good average. Something reliable for daily runs."