menus, clicked photos, and greeted guests with playful one-liners.
“Basanti ke ghungroo toot gaye hote, lekin service kabhi nehi rukti!”
“Gabbar ke darr se zyada bill ke darr hoti hai, hai na?”
“Basanti on duty, madam. You relax!”
The manager, watching from the side, nodded approvingly.
What started as humiliation was slowly turning into applause.
But it wasn’t all smooth.
At one point, Rohan accidentally dropped a tray of mocktails. The glasses shattered, and he froze in panic. A hush fell. But before anyone could react, he dramatically bent down and whispered, “Basanti ka haath kaanp gaya, thoda pyaar chahiye!”
The guests burst into laughter.
One of the supervisors even gave him a pat on the back.
By the time his shift ended, Rohan was exhausted — emotionally, physically, and spiritually.
He changed out of the Basanti outfit slowly. When he removed the wig, it felt like shedding a second identity. He unhooked the bra, peeled off the skirt, and washed the makeup off his face.
Looking at himself in the mirror — just Rohan again — he felt... oddly proud.
What he thought would break him had become a strange victory.
Hari waited for him with a water bottle.
“Well?” he asked.
Rohan smiled and said, “I don’t know what I became in there… but I think I survived.”
Hari laughed. “You didn’t just survive. You killed it. Manager said you were the best character of the night.”
Rohan shook his head. “I was Basanti for four hours, bro. And I don’t think I’ll ever look at dupattas the same again.”
They both laughed.
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