Bang On, Mate!

Fiction | read 03 min #shortstories #fiction #fun #friendship

I had a hectic day last night and slept around 2:30 a.m. I fell asleep quickly and woke up at 11 a.m.

I dressed in boxers, grabbed a water bottle, took a sip, and started thinking about what I needed to do today. I didn’t know where my mobile was. It had been almost 10 hours since I last checked notifications, sent a text, or received a call from anyone.

It’s usual though.

After a quick refreshment, I turned my head left and right to find the phone. No luck. I let it be—first, I needed to get up and head to the restroom to freshen up.

In the bathroom—there it was! Resting under the cupboard where all the shampoos and soaps sat. I replayed my memory to figure out when I left it there. Maybe I was half-asleep… I don’t know. Let it be. I took the phone and finished brushing.

After an hour…

I came out and went straight to my only couch, which faces my 55-inch TV. I grabbed the remote to check the latest news and realized—oh, it’s Saturday. No need to log in for work.

While flipping through channels, I started thinking about food. Being vegetarian makes it easy—paneer butter masala with naan, paneer starters, and vegetable rice. Enough for the whole day.

I opened the Pluto food app with the tagline “Just order, we deliver” and picked my usual menu from a new restaurant offering 50% off the first delivery. The ETA said about 30 minutes—more than enough to get my mouth watering.

The assigned delivery boy’s name was Chintu Bhai. I wondered who that “Bhai” might be and set the phone aside, continuing to watch TV. My DTH and internet plan had every channel and OTT service I could want, all bundled together—plenty of entertainment. Meanwhile, on TV, a group of friends were planning a birthday gift for one of their buddies.

Suddenly—tring tring! The doorbell. Probably my order. I paused the TV, opened the door, and saw a man looking down at his phone.

“Sir, are you Rahul Thotamala?” he asked, still looking down so I couldn’t see his face clearly.

“Yes, that’s me,” I said, and I offered to give him a tip. He looked up—and I was shocked. It was Sailesh, my engineering classmate.

“What da! How come you’re here?” I blurted out.

He laughed. “Rahul, it’s you! I thought it might be, but later I told myself this only happens in movies.”

We greeted each other, and I asked if he could come inside or if he had more orders to deliver.

“It’s okay, I need to have lunch too,” he said, so I invited him in. I patted his shoulder, and we walked straight to the couch.

Before we talked much, I gave him water and asked about his life. But before answering, he asked me to give him a delivery rating. I laughed, agreed, picked up my phone, and gave him five stars. While I was about to check my notifications, he grabbed the remote and unpaused the movie scene.

A Google Photos memory popped up—a picture of us together from three years ago. I showed him. He smiled, but I could see something bothering him. Then it hit me—it’s his birthday! He nodded.

I felt a little guilty. Here I was, an IT professional, and my friend was working as a delivery boy. But I believe both deserve equal respect. Still, the contrast hit me.

In the background, the movie friends gave their birthday buddy a few playful punches before hugging him. I wondered what I could gift Sailesh. I’m not into birthdays or celebrations—I only want to celebrate the day I achieve my goals. But still, I turned to him.

“So, how’s life?” he asked.

“Pretty boring,” I replied.

“Any plans to get married?”

“Long way to go,” I said.

On TV, the friends were giving playful birthday bumps. We looked at each other and it reminded him of an incident.

“Rahul, remember how I hit you on your birthday?” he laughed.

Without thinking, I playfully hit him on the shoulder.

“Was that a birthday bump?” he grinned.

“Maybe yes!”

He suddenly pushed me onto the floor. I got up, ready to spar. We started mock-fighting—wide camera angle in my mind, slowly circling in, then close-up shots. I hit him in the lower chest, he tried under my chin, I slapped left and right, and he bent dramatically to hit me in the thigh.

Between moves, I asked how he got into delivery work.

“Couldn’t find a job,” he said, and we continued our goofy fight.

After about 20 minutes, we were exhausted and hungry. We flopped on the couch, still pretending to be mad, then burst out laughing.

“Happy birthday,” I said.

“Thanks for the gift,” he replied with a smile.

We dug into the food. And as for the rest—you can probably guess.

And if it’s your birthday today while reading this—have a great one.

Bang on!

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