Aman's shift on Saturday ran until 3:00 a.m.
He glanced at his watch.
1:30 a.m.
He sighed.
Muttering "break" into Tanisha's ear as he passed, he stepped out into the parking lot with a lit cigarette between his lips.
He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward and dissolve into nothingness.
He'd missed his baba's call earlier—again, because of work. He'd call back early tomorrow. They didn't know about his job, of course. That's why they kept pestering him to visit the village. And he wanted to—he really did—but…
There was his job. College. Assignments. And the rent.
The rent.
Damn it.
He rubbed the back of his neck, then snatched his hand away, suddenly aware of the cigarette—didn't want to singe his hair.
He heard shuffling nearby.
Then he saw them.
A group of four stumbling out of the bar.
Drunk. Pretty badly.
Aman stepped back to let them pass, foolishly thinking the universe might cut him some slack for once.
It didn't.
The asshole—his landlord—lurched forward and promptly puked all over Aman's shirt… before collapsing right onto him.
Aman dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his shoe, and instinctively caught the man, both of them slowly slumping to the ground.
A more sober guy appeared—the same one from that morning. He took in the scene. Aman gave him a flat look as the guy grinned sheepishly.
"Um… sorry? I'll take it from here." He crouched, wrapping an arm around his friend's waist to lift him up. Aman helped.
The sober one shoved (helped) the others into their car and returned, holding out a napkin. Aman took it, grateful.
"Sorry we had to meet like this... I'm Arun," he offered.
Aman, dabbing at his shirt, didn't look up. "And you are?"
"Don't act like you don't know. You were there this morning—you know my name."
A nervous laugh. "Yeah… Aman. I know."
Aman handed back the now-disgusting napkin.
"It's not coming off, is it?" Arun squinted at the stain in the dim light. Laughter erupted from the car, but they ignored it. Drunk idiots.
"Doesn't seem like it," Aman muttered.
Arun pulled out his phone. "Give me your number. Dhruv will send you money for dry cleaning."
"Dhruv?" Aman asked.
Arun gestured toward the car. "The guy who puked on you."
"My landlord?" Aman frowned. Dhruv... That was his name.
Arun snorted. "Yeah."
"It's fine. I'll clean it myself." Aman started to walk away.
But Arun stepped forward, phone now just inches away. He was taller—had to tilt his head slightly to look down at Aman, his gaze flickering between Aman's face and the screen.
"No, really—Dhruv would want to pay for this mess," Arun said sincerely.
Aman exhaled hard, rolled his eyes, and gave in. "Fine."
He recited his number.
Arun's face lit up, like he'd just won something.
He returned to the car, still grinning.
Aman looked down on his ruined shirt. But he also saw something else, a wallet. Definitely Dhruv's. He picked it up to return, but their car zommed off.
Aman didn't wait. He turned and headed back inside, already asking for a spare shirt.
Life sucked.
This was probably the tenth time Aman snoozed his alarm. Finally, at 11:16 a.m., he got up. The world didn't make sense, and his head hurt.
He breathed out deeply, drank water from the bottle beside his bed—well, not a bed, just a single-sized mattress in the corner of his room.
He squinted out the window. His eyes landed on the wallet he had picked up last night. Harsh sunlight poured in. He could hear the kids next door playing. He made a mental note to visit them today and maybe talk to Ajay Uncle, too, after what Dhruv had done.
He loved the family next door. When he first moved in, they'd helped him arrange his dorm. When he came home late at night, tired and exhausted, Aunty would bring him food and clean up around the house. He'd tried to stop her many times, but she'd just shushed him and continued cleaning.
Aman showed gratitude in his own ways—randomly. He brought chocolates and snacks for the kids, played with them in his free time, and sometimes brought food from the café he worked at during the weekdays to share with them.
They faded out his aching need for family support. But he still missed his parents… their cozy house in the village. His father owned a milk dairy, and his mother helped run it. They weren't struggling financially, but Aman still didn't want them to take loans for his expenses in the city.
He got into a government college with a 75% scholarship thanks to his brilliant grades. He took two part-time jobs to cover the rest of the fees and his living expenses.
After fifteen minutes of scrolling on his phone, he finally got up and took a shower. He was free today, so he decided to throw himself into his assignments. He opened the laptop and worked for a grand total of seven minutes.
Hunger was louder.
He made chai and ate it with biscuits while talking to his parents on the phone. Then he visited the neighbors and watched TV with the kids. A typical Sunday routine.
He was trying his best not to think about whatever deal he'd made with Dhruv. So he focused on Chhota Bheem and munched on snacks.
Around 4 p.m., Aunty came in and scolded her kids—and Aman—for watching TV.
She ushered the kids off to do their schoolwork. Aman gave them the smuggest smile because he didn't have to do any.
(He did, but they didn't need to know that.)
He left for the gym early. He decided he'd get back, take a shower, and then finish his assignments.
Good plan.
While in the gym, his phone buzzed.
₹2000 received via UPI.
From: Dhruv Kapoor.
Huh?
Oh…
His phone rang a beat later. An unknown number.
He stared at it.
Could be a spammer. Could be a scam. Could be Dhruv calling to puke again—this time through the phone.
Still, he answered.
"Hello?"
"Is this Aman?" a familiar voice asked.
Great. Arun.
"Yes," he said flatly.
"I believe you received the money?"
"Yes."
"Okay, good. That's for the dry cleaning."
Really? Not a tip for catching your friend mid-puke?
"I know."
A beat of silence.
"Why do I always get one- or two-word replies from you?" Arun practically whined.
Aman blinked, then gave a blank, mildly judgmental stare at nothing in particular.
"Because I find you thrilling and engaging, obviously," he said, voice deadpan.
Arun laughed. "So you can form sentences."
"Only when I really want to."
"Wow. I feel honored."
"You shouldn't."
Another pause. Aman could hear a car horn in the background on Arun's side.
"Well, this has been a great talk. Later, bye."
"Truly life-changing," Aman muttered just before the line disconnected.
He opened his whatsapp to see the money transfer.
₹2000 seriously?
A shirt dry clean doesn't cost over 200 rupee.
He typed "You dropped you wallet last night, I have it."
Dhruv immediately saw the text as if Aman's chat was already open on his phone.
"Oh... I will come get it" Dhruv typed back.
" When? Don't come when i'm in college"
"Noted", came the text.
Aman sighed, he will have to deal with this asshole again. But something felt different about his text. Not particularly but still...
He shrugged it off and continued his work out.
A Knock at the Door.
It was tuesday, his College day off.
Aman was elbow-deep in soapy water, doing laundry in his tiny bathroom sink when someone knocked on the door.
He considered ignoring it—he was shirtless and damp and in no mood to deal with salesmen, landlords, or God himself.
But the knocking came again. Louder this time. Impatient.
He groaned, wiped his hands on a towel, and stomped to the door.
He cracked it open. Just enough to glare.
Of course.
"Wow," Dhruv said, taking in Aman's state with a smirk. "You always open doors like you're auditioning for a horror film?"
"Shut up" he rolled his eyes, "stay here, I'll bring your wallet." He hugged, and slammed the door in Dhruv's face.
"Here," he opened the door generously and handed the now damp wallets to Dhruv.
"Gee thanks" Dhruv said with distaste.
Aman was about to close the door again but Dhruv held it open and handed a small paper bag to him.
Aman looked at it suspiciously, "what's this?"
"A new shirt" Dhruv said simply.
Aman froze, for a stupid second. He just stared blankly at the bag and then at Dhruv.
" what for?, you already gave a lot of money for the dry cleaning" Aman shot.
Dhruv chuckled, "take it as an apology then"
He took the bag from Dhruv's extended hand.
"Anything else?"
Dhruv hesitated. "Just… wanted to say thanks. For not letting me crack my skull open in the parking lot."
"Oh, don't thank me. Gravity tried its best—I just ruined its shot."
That got a laugh out of Dhruv. A genuine one. Aman hated how warm it sounded.
He began to close the door.
"I'm still your landlord, you know," Dhruv called out just before it clicked shut.
"Right. Next time i will let you drop " Aman said, and shut the door with a satisfying click.
Inside, he set the bag down and muttered, "Idiot."
Why was he smiling?s