The bedroom's tension eased into a warm stillness as Mr. Singh, still marveling at his newfound mobility, turned to Ishaan with a grateful smile. "Please have lunch with me," he said, his voice earnest. "No, sorry, sir, I need to go back soon," Ishaan replied, shaking his head politely.
"No, I can't let the person who saved me return without even a simple lunch," Mr. Singh insisted, his tone firm yet kind. "Please don't say no."
Ishaan relented, a small smile breaking through. "Okay, Uncle…"
Mr. Singh clapped his hands, calling out, "Ishaan, come sit with me!" He settled at a grand dining table, and Simi darted to the kitchen, her excitement palpable. "Dad's cured and eating lunch—let's make it special!" she urged the cooks, who sprang into action mode, chopping, stirring, and plating dishes with fervor.
As they waited, Mr. Singh leaned toward Ishaan, curiosity in his eyes. "Tell me about yourself. And what kind of power did you use to cure me?"
Ishaan paused, choosing his words carefully. "I've read some books on Reiki and aura," he said smoothly. "I just knew I could help if I tried." He kept the mysterious flashes to himself, sensing no need to reveal more.
Mr. Singh nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. He must not want to tell me how he did it, he thought. Understandable—some secrets are personal. "Fair enough," he said aloud. "Let's talk more. Are you married?"
"Yes," Ishaan replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "yes."
Mr. Singh felt a pang of regret. He would have been perfect for Simi, he mused silently. But hearing Ishaan mention buying a bike at the shop, which led to this miracle, he brightened. "Then let me gift you any car you want!" he offered warmly.
Ishaan shook his head. "No, thank you."
"But I insist!" Mr. Singh pressed. "You saved my life—take something!"
After a moment, Ishaan relented. "Alright, I'll take a bike from the shop then." he said yes but he planned to pay at the shop.
The lunch arrived—rich curries, naan, and sweets—filling the table with aroma. After eating, Ishaan stood. "Goodbye, Mr. Singh. Thank you for the meal."
Mr. Singh handed him a card with his personal number. "Take my number, and give me yours. Stay in touch." Turning to Simi, he added, "Make friends with Ishaan, treat him with respect, and gift him whatever bike he chose. Or, if you can convince him, a car of his choice."
Simi nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. "I will, Dad." She drove Ishaan back to the shop, the car ride silent but charged with newfound respect.
The car rolled to a stop back at the showroom, and Simi led Ishaan inside with a determined stride. "Let me show you the good bikes," she said, her voice warm but insistent. She guided him through the showroom, pointing out sleek models. Ishaan's eyes drifted to a Royal Enfield Continental GT 650—its chrome and black finish gleaming, a dream bike that stole his breath. "That's stunning," he murmured, but he quickly shifted focus, knowing it was out of reach. "What's the price of a Pulsar 220?" he asked, settling on a safer option.
Simi checked the tag. "This Pulsar is 90k," she replied, her tone softening. It was still beyond his budget, and a flicker of disappointment crossed his face.
She noticed and gestured toward her office. "Okay, come with me." Inside, she sat him down, her expression earnest. "I love my father very much, and you saved him. Not only that, you helped me avoid marrying Deep, which I never wanted. So, I'd feel ungrateful if I don't do something for you."
Before Ishaan could protest, she raised a hand. "If you won't let me do something for you, I'll feel bad forever. Do you want me to keep feeling bad?"
Ishaan hesitated, then sighed. "No…"
"Then please accept a bike as a gift," Simi pressed. "If you don't, I'll feel really, really bad!"
"I can't—" Ishaan began, but she cut him off with a pleading look. After her persistent urging, he relented. "Alright, but it can't be a costly one."
"Sure," Simi agreed, a smile breaking through. "Let's sign the transfer paperwork." She handed him the forms, and he signed, his hands steady despite the surreal turn.
She called the manager over. "Prepare and clean the bike—give him the keys." The manager nodded, disappearing to the back. When he returned, he handed Ishaan a set of keys with the iconic RE symbol. Ishaan stared, stunned. "This is a Royal Enfield! I can't take it—it's too much!"
"No, you signed the papers—it's yours," Simi said firmly. "I saw you like the Continental GT. And as you said, it's the least pricey bike I can give compared to your help."
Ishaan paused, his heart swelling with joy he kept hidden. "Okay," he said, accepting the keys. Soon, the bike was rolled out—polished and cleaned, looking almost new. A new one would cost 3.5 lakhs, and now it was his.
"Thank you, Simi," Ishaan said, gratitude in his voice.
She laughed lightly. "If you thank me for the bike, what should I do for all you've done? Marry you?" she joked, her eyes twinkling.
Ishaan smiled, a rare warmth in his expression. "Thank you for the bike."
Simi tilted her head. "Give me your number—we can be considered friends now." He shared it, and with a nod, she added, "Take care."
Ishaan mounted the Royal Enfield, the engine's rumble a thrill. He rode off, the weight of his new freedom—and friendship—lifting his spirits.