Sunlight spilled across the tiled patio of Saffron Art Café, painting dappled patterns over bright cushions and half-finished paintings. Arohi arrived early, her heart thudding with the kind of excitement that only brand-new ventures bring. She wore her latest system reward—a soft, indigo linen shirt and crisp white sneakers that were as comfortable as they were stylish.
As she entered, Priya stood at the espresso machine, hair tied in a messy bun, eyes bright with both stress and optimism.
Priya: "You showed up before any staff! That's a good omen. Let me show you how much paperwork a café can drown you in."
Arohi laughed, rolling up her sleeves.
> **Arohi:** "Show me the dragons. Slaying is my unofficial hobby now."
Together, they tackled invoices, tasted a new almond-cardamom cake, and brainstormed a weekly open mic event to draw in more customers. Priya explained their hopes of supporting local students and artists—Arohi suggested creative reward systems, social media campaigns, and offered her newly boosted negotiation skills to wrangle better rates from suppliers.
After a few hours, Shruti arrived, sketchbook in hand, her cheeks pink with purpose.
Shruti: "Priya, can the mural face the street? I want everyone to see color even in Mumbai's gloomy traffic."
Priya (smiling): "With you two here, we'll have this place on the city map before month's end."
The morning was a flurry of latte art competitions, impromptu taste tests, and laughter—Arohi reveled in small wins: calming a jittery waitress, suggesting cost-saving menu tweaks, fielding local college students seeking weekend jobs.
Her system's new "people skills" made every conversation flow easier, every fumble turned into a moment of connection. She felt at home—busy, important, free.
At noon, a delivery arrived:
A matte-black helmet and key with a brass tag—System Reward: Custom Off-Road Bike (Mahindra Mojo 2009 Edition). The handwritten note read:
"Adventure is the best reason for mobility. Free parking slot included. Ride when your heart needs open roads."**
Arohi showed Shruti the helmet, eyes twinkling.
Arohi: "Ready for a weekend road trip, partner?"
Shruti (mock stern): "Only if I get to DJ."
News Travels Home
Back at the villa, word trickled in that Arohi was now a "co-owner" (or, as Savita Chachi spelled it: 'café consultant').
Savita Chachi (to anyone who'd listen): "There was a time when our girls embroidered, not opened businesses."
Mini (quietly, on her phone): "And now there's a time for both."
Uncles muttered about property deeds; cousins gossiped that maybe Bhushan wasn't missed as much as he thought.
As evening drew near, Arohi stood outside the café, helmet in hand, Mumbai's golden hour kissing her cheeks. Shruti danced barefoot across the terrace, painting the first bursts of mural color—a narcissus, not a marigold.
Arohi took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her decisions settle into something warm and light.
Her phone buzzed—system prompt:
[Tomorrow's sign-in: Choose—One: Short Italian Language Immersion with private tutor. Two: Gourmet dinner voucher for four at city's best restaurant.]
She grinned, watching people gather at the café—artists, college students, neighbors drawn by music and laughter.
Arohi (quietly to herself): "For all their drama, this world isn't so bad when you're holding the pen."
She waved Shruti over, and together they planned tomorrow's surprises—bold, cheerful, full of promise.