Rohit’s jaw hung slightly as Akhil finished speaking. His tea, still half full, had gone cold, untouched since the story began.
The absurdity of Akhil’s story was so insane that Rohit couldn’t decide whether to laugh it off or cry over missing out on such a chance. It was a chance that his idiot friend had enjoyed and then somehow managed to blow up beyond repair.
Everything started when his mother approached the disputed teacher for home tutoring. As she had befriended the teacher at the gym, where they were regular workout partners, she soon found out that she was the same person who taught his son chemistry at school.
With the mention of the gym and chemistry teacher, an image flashed in Rohit’s mind—a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties with a graceful figure. Her name was Karishma.
His thoughts briefly wandered, imagining her in tight gym clothes that accentuated her form, but he quickly snapped out of it and took another sip of tea to refocus on the conversation.
Since Akhil’s mom was worried about her performance in board exam, that would set the career of his son, so she desperately plead her.
Karishma, being recently divorced, had agreed to tutor Akhil at her home a few times a week.
Things were professional at first as she focused strictly on chemistry and guided him in physics and math as well.
Everything went smoothly, until one fateful afternoon when she offered him a cup of tea.
It was at this point that Rohit paused his own sip, realizing that this very tea had become the starting point of all the trouble.
Akhil recalled how nervous he was, as he managed to spill the hot liquid on his p.a.n.t.s.
It was very emberassing.
As per him the minor burn wasn’t serious, but in a flurry of concern, Karishma had rushed to help—offering first aid, trying to apply cream, and ensuring he was alright.
It was in that brief moment of human vulnerability and misplaced emotion that lines began to blur. What followed wasn’t immediate, but over time, Akhil admitted that things between them had grown confusing and complicated.
The real disaster came when a classmate allegedly recorded their compromising moment after school hours. According to Akhil, the video captured their clear position of their faces , while her madam was riding him hard on teacher’s chair.
Finally, Rohit connected the dots. The real instigator was the hot a.ss teacher Karishma, who seemed to have approached Akhil, knowing he was too naïve and trusting to question her intentions or reveal anything.
But something still didn’t sit right. Why was Akhil crying for help as if his life truly depended on it?
Akhil, overwhelmed with guilt, seemed to answer the question without being asked.
"I’m so ashamed," he whispered. "If this video gets out, we’re both finished. I won’t be able to live another day."
Rohit stared at his friend with a mix of amusement and pity.
"You’re seriously like a cap that never fits," Rohit muttered, shaking his head. "In today’s world, people upload their own scandal videos for likes, and you’re here crying like a little girl over something that can easily be brushed off as an accident."
He took another sip of his tea, only to find it cold and bitter. Grimacing, he pushed it aside.
"Ugh, what a waste," he grumbled. He raised a hand toward the shopkeeper. "One for the smoke."
Turning back to Akhil, he offered a word of advice, casual but pointed. "Let it go. At worst, you’ll be a trending topic for a few days. Then they’ll forget. Your face isn’t even bold enough to match the image of a guy who could pull off a scandal with a teacher."
But before he could finish, Akhil reached across the table, gripping Rohit’s wrist with sudden urgency.
"Don’t joke," Akhil said, voice trembling. "You know she’s divorced... but there’s more to it."
Rohit’s brow lifted. "So? What is it?"
Akhil held onto his hand tighter. "She’s in the middle of a legal battle with her ex-husband over custody of her six-year-old daughter. He was abusive. This scandal could ruin her case."
Rohit leaned back, freeing his hand, smirking. "Don’t tell me... you’re the girl’s father?" he joked as the shopkeeper handed him the cigarette. Usually picky about brands, Rohit didn’t bother this time.
Akhil froze. "You’re smoking now?"
Rohit lit the cigarette, took a puff, then immediately coughed. "Guess that’s what people do in these situations, right?" The bitterness made him gag slightly. He asked for water to hide the embarrassment, remembering the Rohit from before was a non-smoker. He made a mental note to choose better brand next time.
Akhil seemed a little relieved by the awkward moment but continued seriously. "Brother, if that video gets out, it won’t just ruin her. My family’s name is on the line too. My father’s a judicial magistrate. If this goes public and ends up in court... the same court where he works..."
The air turned heavy. Rohit now understood the full scale of the situation. What seemed like an impulsive affair now looked like something far more tangled.
He nodded slowly. "So, we’ll need a lot of money to delete those videos. And I need to come up with a believable story to tell my parents about the memory loss. If they find out the real cause, things will explode.... beyond control."
Akhil nodded grimly.
They both fell silent, lost in thought, until a group of bikers roared into the dhaba. Their loud voices quickly grabbed everyone’s attention.
"Holy crap, a Suzuki Hayabusa!"
"1340cc inline-four engine. It pumps out 190 PS of power and 150 Nm of torque."
"Savage acceleration, man."
"That exhaust note is insane. This beast is the king of bikes."
"I’d sell my soul to ride this. Who the hell owns it?"
Some customers looked annoyed by the commotion, but the bikers were too excited to care.
Rohit’s eyes lit up with an idea. He stood up and walked toward them, Akhil trailing behind.
"You boys are in luck," Rohit announced. "I own this bike. I need quick money urgently. Make me an offer."
The bikers were taken aback. They were literally college dudes, pursuing final years of their degree and now, a random junior is acting their old man. Some chuckled mockingly.
"What’s this kid talking about? Calling us boys?"
"Call us ’Bhaiya’(senior brothers)—if you know what manners are."
"Jokes apart, do your legs even reach the ground when you’re on that beast?"
Ignoring the insults, Rohit casually swung a leg over the bike. Taking out his key, he blared the engines and crossed his arms casually for reply. His familiarity with it stunned the group.
One of them noticed the school logo on his uniform. "Wait a sec... that’s Genesis Anglo Public School. These kids aren’t ordinary brats... The school of elites."
The biker gang leader stepped forward. "Are you serious, kid?"
Rohit ran a hand over the fuel tank like it was a pet. "Unfortunately, yes. Time’s short. You want it or not?"
They murmured among themselves, unsure whether to believe him.
"You got papers?" the leader asked.
Rohit glanced at Akhil, then pulled the leader aside as he murmed in low voice, while showing him the key. "Digital copy. I’ll send the transfer docs later. You get the bike now. Deal?"
The leader scratched his head, tempted.
"Eight lakhs(800,000 rs)," he offered.
Rohit scoffed. " ’Bhaiya’, this beast cost me eighteen. It’s just six months old. At least respect the dream, if not me."
There was a stunned silence. Even the shopkeeper, who was pouring tea into a customer’s cup, accidentally spilled it, burning the customer’s hand. But the incident was ignored as everyone turned their attention to the two boys, eager to hear the rest of their conversation.
The price being discussed for such a fancy bike was enough to buy a decent four-wheeler—yet they were negotiating over it as if it were mere second hand mobile.
The bikers whispered among themselves. Eventually, they came back.
"Twelve lakhs," the leader said.
Rohit sighed dramatically to show is pain of selling. But before he could add more, the leader misunderstood and raised his voice.
"Thirteen lakhs! Thirteen! That’s our final offer."
Rohit nodded coolly. "Transfer the money online, then take the keys."
They agreed. "What’s the account number?"
Rohit turned to Akhil. "Your account. "
Akhil was stupefied. Just moments ago, they were discussing the video scandal, his freind’s memory loss and now his best friend had casually sold off his favorite bike—one that most could only dream of owning. He stood speechless and completely overwhelmed.
For someone his age, this would’ve been insane. But For Riku... it barely registered as risk.
Noticing his friend frozen like an idiot, Rohit snapped, "Bank account, idiot. Your bank account."
He leaned in and muttered under his breath, "Unless you want us to get robbed right here, hurry up, dumbass."
Still puzzled but suddenly enlightened, Akhil quickly shared out his account details.
In a matter of minutes, two high school students had completed a transaction worth thirteen lakhs, shocking everyone present. They booked a cab and left soon afterwards, vanishing into the night drizzle like it was nothing.