The group stood by the dusty road, bags slung over their shoulders, faces exhausted but relieved.

"Finally! Civilization!" Mihir stretched his arms.

"Not exactly," Siddharth muttered, glancing up and down the empty road. "Where are all the vehicles?"

They waited for half an hour, then an hour… but the road remained eerily deserted.

Vinay groaned, sitting on his backpack. "Is this even a real road? Feels like we're stuck in some horror movie where no help ever arrives."

Raunak sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We should’ve asked those villagers for a ride or something."

"Yeah, but we were too excited to just get out," Ishan pointed out, kicking a small rock on the road. "Now we're stuck."

Ritvik looked at Rajeev. "You’ve been here longer than us. Any idea if a bus or truck passes by?"

Rajeev shrugged. "Honestly? I have no idea. I was just wandering aimlessly before I found you guys. But I’m sure we’ll get a ride… eventually."

The sun rose higher, and the heat became unbearable. They took turns standing under the shade of a lone tree, gulping down the last of their water bottles.

Another hour passed. Still no vehicle.

Mihir, who had been pacing impatiently, suddenly threw his hands up. "That’s it! I’m walking! I refuse to die here waiting for some nonexistent truck!"

"Yeah? And what if the next village is miles away?" Vicky retorted, wiping sweat off his forehead. "You’ll collapse before you reach anywhere."

Mihir opened his mouth to argue, but just then, a distant noise echoed through the silence.

A low, rumbling sound.

They all froze.

"Is that… an engine?" Ritvik squinted down the road, hope lighting up his tired face.

A minute later, a rusty old truck came into view, kicking up dust as it approached.

"YES!" Vinay shouted, jumping up and waving his arms. "Hey! STOP! STOP!"

The truck slowed down, coming to a jerky halt in front of them.

The driver, a burly man with a thick mustache, leaned out. "What are you lot doing in the middle of nowhere?"

"We got lost in the jungle," Raunak explained quickly. "Can you give us a ride to the nearest town?"

The driver eyed them suspiciously, then sighed. "Fine. Hop in the back. But if you’ve got ghosts following you, don’t blame me."

The friends exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t dare refuse. They climbed onto the truck bed, settling among sacks of grains and crates of vegetables.

As the truck rumbled forward, they finally allowed themselves to relax.

"Never thought I’d be this happy sitting on a pile of onions," Ishan muttered, leaning back.

"Same," Siddharth chuckled. "Let’s just hope nothing else goes wrong."

But knowing their luck… that was a lot to hope for.

The truck rumbled along the endless road, the friends bouncing slightly on the sacks of grain as they clung to whatever they could for support. 

"How long is this ride?" Raunak groaned. "Feels like we’ve been on this truck for days." 

"At least we’re not walking under the sun," Ritvik pointed out, adjusting his seat on a crate of tomatoes. 

"But my back is killing me," Mihir complained. "How do truck drivers even survive these journeys?" 

Rajeev chuckled. "Trust me, compared to being lost in the jungle, this is luxury." 

Just then, the truck slowed down and pulled into a roadside dhaba. The moment it stopped, the driver hopped out, stretching his arms. 

"Alright, boys! Food break!" he called out. 

The friends instantly perked up. They hadn’t eaten properly in a while, and the smell of hot parathas and chai from the dhaba was too tempting to resist. 

"Finally, some real food!" Vinay grinned as they all climbed out. 

The dhaba was lively, filled with truckers and travelers, the air thick with the aroma of fried food and spices. They quickly found a table and ordered plates of parathas, dal, sabzi, and glasses of lassi. 

Each bite was heavenly. 

"This is the best meal of my life," Vicky sighed, taking another huge bite. 

"Agreed," Raunak nodded. "Nothing beats dhaba food after surviving a haunted jungle." 

But as they finished their meals and stretched lazily, Ritvik suddenly froze. 

"Uh… guys," he said, a nervous laugh escaping him. "We have a problem." 

Everyone looked at him. "What now?" Ishan sighed. 

Ritvik cleared his throat, looking awkward. "Our wallets… they’re not with us." 

A beat of silence. 

Then Mihir blinked. "What do you mean, 'not with us'?" 

"I mean," Ritvik gulped, "we left them at the village!" 

The realization hit them all at once.

A wave of panic spread across the table. 

"You’re kidding, right?" Raunak asked, hoping for a joke. 

"Nope," Ritvik said, patting his pockets. "Nothing here. Not even a single rupee." 

The group exchanged horrified looks. 

"We ate like kings," Ishan groaned. "And we don’t have a single rupee to pay?!" 

Vinay covered his face. "We’re doomed." 

Siddharth turned to Rajeev. "Do you have anything on you?" 

Rajeev checked his pockets and grimaced. "Just a hundred rupees. That won’t cover even half of what we ate." 

Vicky ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. Think. We need a plan before they make us wash dishes for the next month." 

And just then… the dhaba owner walked toward them.

"Ho gaya khaana? Paisa nikalo!" (Done eating? Now pay up!) 

The friends gulped. 

They were in trouble.

The dhaba owner, a bulky man with a thick mustache and a towel slung over his shoulder, stood in front of their table, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. 

"So, how was the food?" he asked, his voice deceptively friendly. 

"Uh… amazing!" Mihir grinned, trying to charm his way out of the situation. "Truly the best parathas I’ve ever had!" 

The man smirked. "Accha? Toh paisa nikalo!" (Really? Then pay up!) 

The friends fidgeted in their seats.

"Well… about that," Ritvik started, scratching the back of his head. "We, um, may have left our wallets… somewhere else." 

The owner’s smile dropped instantly.

"What?! You ate like kings and now you’re telling me you don’t have money?!" he thundered, making the other customers turn their heads toward them. 

Rajeev, ever the peacekeeper, raised his hands. "Bhaiya, relax. It’s an honest mistake. We’ll figure something out—" 

"Relax?!" the owner cut him off, eyes blazing. "Tumhe kya lagta hai, main muft ka khilata hoon?! Yeh dhaba koi bhandara hai kya?" (You think I serve free food here? Is this some charity event?!) 

Raunak, always the smooth talker, leaned forward with a sheepish smile. "Bhaiya, dekho…" 

"NAHI! Koi 'bhaiya-vaiya' nahi!" the man snapped. "Paisa lao, warna bartan dhona shuru karo!" (No 'bhaiya' nonsense! Get the money, or start washing dishes!) 

"WHAT?!" the friends shouted in unison. 

"We’re not doing that!" Vinay protested. 

The owner cracked his knuckles. "Toh phir police bulaun?" (Should I call the police then?) 

The mention of police made them all sit up straight. 

Vicky groaned. "Are you serious right now?!" 

"Bilkul!" The owner pointed to a young waiter. "Oye Chotu, phone utha! Police ko bula!" (Chotu, get the phone! Call the police!) 

"NAHI!" Ishan yelped, grabbing Chotu’s hand before he could pick up the phone. "Thoda toh samajhiye, bhaiya! Hum educated log hain!" (Try to understand, we’re educated people!) 

The owner scoffed. "Educated? Phir bhi dimag nahi hai! Bina paise ke khana khaya, aur ab bakwaas kar rahe ho!" (Yet, you have no brains! You ate without money and now you’re giving excuses!) 

"Okay, okay!" Siddharth held up his hands. "Let’s not involve the police. We can solve this like gentlemen." 

"How exactly?" Ritvik muttered. 

Just then, Rajeev brightened up. "Wait! I have an idea!" 

"Please tell me it doesn’t involve dishwashing," Mihir whispered. 

Rajeev grinned. "No. It involves a little… performance." 

The others blinked.

"A performance?" Vicky repeated. 

"Yes! Ritvik is a singer, right? What if he sings for the dhaba? We’ll entertain the crowd, make the dhaba famous, and in return, we clear our bill?" 

The owner hesitated. "Hmmm…" 

Sensing interest, Ritvik jumped up. "YES! I’ll sing! And not just me—Mihir can dance! We’ll give your customers a free show!" 

Mihir’s eyes widened. "Wait—WHAT?!" 

Before Mihir could protest, Raunak clapped his hands. "That’s a fantastic idea!" 

Siddharth nudged the owner. "Imagine, people will remember your dhaba for this grand performance! More customers, more business!" 

The owner scratched his chin, thinking. Finally, he nodded. 

"Theek hai. Tumlog tamasha dikhao. Agar logon ko pasand aaya toh bill maaf. Nahi toh—" He imitated scrubbing dishes. "Samjhe?" (Alright. Perform. If people like it, I’ll waive the bill. If not… you know what to do.) 

The friends exchanged nervous glances.

No turning back now. 

"Let’s do this," Ritvik said, cracking his fingers. 

And just like that, the most unexpected show at a roadside dhaba was about to begin…

The friends scrambled to set up their impromptu show. The dhaba, though small, was packed with truck drivers, travelers, and a few locals who watched curiously as Ritvik picked up an old harmonium lying in the corner. 

"Alright, people!" Rajeev clapped his hands dramatically, stepping into full-on showman mode. "Tonight, we present an exclusive performance by none other than the multi-talented Ritvik Dalal!" 

A few truck drivers raised their eyebrows, some chuckled, and the dhaba owner crossed his arms, watching closely. 

Ritvik took a deep breath, then started singing. His voice, rich and soulful, filled the air. He picked an old classic Bollywood song, something that would appeal to the truckers and dhaba-goers alike. Within seconds, heads started nodding, feet tapped against the floor, and the murmur of approval grew. 

Mihir, reluctantly at first, got up and started dancing—a mix of silly moves and some actual choreographed steps. The crowd erupted into laughter and cheers, enjoying the unexpected entertainment. 

"Waah waah!" a driver clapped. "Maza aa gaya!" (That was amazing!) 

Not to be left behind, Raunak joined Mihir, striking dramatic poses like a supermodel, making the audience laugh even more. 

Ashok and Vinay clapped to the beat, hyping up the atmosphere. Ishan, never one to back down, dragged Rajeev in, and soon, the entire group was dancing like a pack of idiots, but the crowd loved it. 

The dhaba’s atmosphere transformed from a simple roadside stop to a full-fledged mela (fair) with people cheering, whistling, and enjoying the show. 

Even the dhaba owner, who had started the evening furious, was now grinning. 

As the song ended, Ritvik gave a theatrical bow, wiping pretend sweat from his forehead. The dhaba erupted into applause.

The owner shook his head, laughing. "Maan gaye tum sabko. Aaj tak aisa tamasha nahi dekha maine." (I’ve never seen such a spectacle before.) 

"So… does this mean we don’t have to wash dishes?" Vinay asked hopefully. 

The owner smirked. "Aaj nahi." (Not today.) 

The friends cheered in victory. 

As a token of appreciation, the dhaba owner even gave them a round of free chai, and they all sat together, sipping tea, relieved that they had escaped the embarrassing fate of dishwashing.

"That was insane," Mihir chuckled. 

"Agreed," Vicky sighed. "Next time, let’s double-check our wallets before leaving a village." 

Everyone laughed, exhausted but happy. 

Finally, after a chaotic morning, a nightmarish trek, and an unexpected dhaba concert, the friends resumed their journey, hoping the rest of the trip would be less eventful.

....

To be continued...