CyberHub Ki Premium Coffee

Rohan ne apna phone thoda sa tilt karke coffee cup ka angle set kiya. Left side se sunlight aa rahi thi, right side me CyberHub ka blurred neon glow tha, aur cup ke pichhe usne apna laptop bas itna sa dikhaya tha ki “I’m busy, I’m building something” wali vibe aaye. Coffee waise normal cappuccino thi, par photo me aise lag rahi thi jaise koi Swiss chalet se import ki gayi ho. Usne jaldi se filter lagaya, brightness thodi boost ki, aur caption type kiya: “Living my best life. One sip at a time. ☕✨”

Post karte hi ek satisfaction ki wave aayi. Rohan ko hamesha lagta tha ki life tabhi valid hoti hai jab uska proof Instagram pe ho. Aur proof bhi aisa ki log dekhein aur bolein, “Yaar, is bande ki life toh sorted hai.” CyberHub ke kisi bhi cafe me baith jao, aadhe log coffee pee rahe hote hain aur baaki aadhe apni image. Rohan second category ka full-time employee tha, bina salary ke.

Sach ye tha ki wo coffee peene aaya hi nahi tha. Wo ek client meeting ke liye CyberHub aaya tha, meeting cancel ho gayi, aur phir usne socha, “Chalo koi na, vibe maintain kar lete hain.” Uske paas ek decent shirt thi, ek borrowed watch thi, aur ek laptop bag tha jo waise toh office ka tha, par usme office ka kaam kam aur bills ka tension zyada rehta tha. EMI, credit card, phone installment, aur ek overenthusiastic Swiggy subscription—yeh sab milke uski salary ko aise kha rahe the jaise office pantry me free cookies.

Waiter ne aake bola, “Sir, anything else?” Rohan ne bina dekhe casually smile ki. “No, thanks. Bas thoda aur time do.” Waiter confuse ho gaya. “Time for what, sir?” Rohan ne coffee ki taraf dekhte hue kaha, “Life ko aesthetic hone ke liye.”

Waiter ne usko ek aisi nazar se dekha jaise soch raha ho ki ye banda coffee se zyada apni lines rehearse kar raha hai. Rohan ke phone pe notification aayi—post ko already 37 likes mil chuke the. Uska ego thoda inflate hua. CyberHub ke glass walls ke beech baitha hua wo khud ko kisi ad film ka lead actor samajh raha tha.

Tabhi uske inbox me ek aur reminder pop up hua: “Credit Card Payment Due in 2 days.” Rohan ne notification dismiss kiya jaise koi irrelevant ex ka message ho. “Later,” usne khud se bola. “Aaj ka mood spoil nahi karna.” Wahi moment tha jab waiter bill lekar aa gaya.

Rohan ki smile ek second ke liye freeze ho gayi. Bill dekha: ₹680.

Uske andar ka pura premium persona ekdum se mute ho gaya. Usne bill ko aise dekha jaise usme koi hidden camera laga ho. Coffee achi thi, ambience achha tha, par ab reality ka bill table pe pada tha. Usne pockets check kiye—left pocket me earphones, right me metro card, back pocket me old grocery bill, aur wallet? Wallet ghar pe. Ya office me. Ya shayad kisi aur dimension me.

“Sir?” waiter ne politely poocha.

Rohan ne thoda sa throat clear kiya. “Haan haan, bas… ek minute.” Usne phone uthaya aur Sameer ko call lagaya. Ring ja rahi thi aur Rohan ka heart usse bhi fast beat kar raha tha. Sameer—bachpan ka dost, hostel ka roommate, aur wo banda jo Rohan ki aadhi bakwaas bina bole samajh jaata tha. Problem ye thi ki wo samajhta tha. Aur kabhi kabhi samajhna bhi ek curse hota hai.

Sameer ne call uthate hi bola, “Kya hua, star boy?” Rohan ne awaaz ko normal rakhne ki koshish ki. “Bhai, ek chhoti si emergency hai.” “Bolo.” “Wallet… ghar reh gaya.” “Hmm.” “Matlab… actually, thoda issue ho gaya. 200 rupaye UPI kar de bro. Main tujhe kal return kar dunga.” Sameer ka ek second ka silence aaya. “Rohan, 200?” “Haan yaar, bas coffee ka bill hai.” “Coffee ka bill ₹200?” Rohan ne jaldi se bola, “Nahi nahi, thoda… extra bhi.” “CyberHub me ho na?” “Ha.” “Kaunsi coffee peeke itna extra ho gaya, bhai? NASA ka launch pad hai kya?” Rohan ko gussa bhi aaya aur embarrassment bhi. “Bas kar na, jaldi kar.” Sameer ne sigh kiya. “Location bhej. Aa raha hoon.”

Rohan ne call cut ki aur chair pe thoda aur seedha baith gaya, jaise uska posture theek hote hi financial problem bhi theek ho jayegi. Usne waiter ko bola, “Friend aa raha hai.” Waiter ne expressionless face me sirf itna bola, “Okay sir.”

Rohan ne phir se apne post ko dekha. “Living my best life.” Usne khud hi socha, “Best life toh nahi, but at least visible life hai.”

Sameer fifteen minute me aaya—simple T-shirt, jeans, aur ek backpack jisme laptop ke alawa zyada kuch nahi tha. Wo aise chal raha tha jaise kisi ko impress nahi karna, bas kaam khatam karke ghar jaana hai. Rohan ne usko dekhte hi thoda relief feel kiya, par saath me ek ajeeb guilt bhi. Sameer ne table pe baithte hi coffee cup aur Rohan ke face ko dekha, phir waiter ko bill ke saath standing dekh ke bola, “Arre, scene toh serious lag raha hai.”

Rohan ne fake laugh diya. “Scene nahi, small hiccup.” Sameer ne eyebrow raise ki. “Hiccup? Bhai, tu itna stressed lag raha hai jaise Zomato ka rider tujhse address pooch raha ho aur tu secret bunker me ho.”

Rohan ne usko glare kiya. “Tu help karne aaya hai ya roast karne?” “Dono. Multi-tasking.” Sameer ne cup uthaya. “Waise post dekha maine. ‘Living my best life.’ Nice. Caption full LinkedIn meets Instagram.” Rohan ne aankhen band kar li. “Bas kar yaar.” Sameer ne lightly hansa. “Aur ye laptop open rakh ke coffee peena, CyberHub me aadhe log yehi karte hain. Kaam kam, dikhawa zyada. Tu bhi unhi me se ek lag raha tha.” “Main bas vibe enjoy kar raha tha.” “Vibe nahi, EMI ka stress enjoy kar raha tha.”

Rohan ne kuch nahi bola. Waiter ne ek baar phir politely poocha, “Sir, payment?” Sameer ne wallet nikala aur bola, “Kar deta hoon. Ab toh aadat ho gayi hai iske drama ki.” Rohan ne turant bola, “Drama nahi hai.” Sameer ne bill ko dekhte hue kaha, “₹680 ki coffee, aur tu bol raha hai drama nahi hai? Bhai, premium drama hai.”

Bill pay karne se pehle Sameer ne Rohan ko ek long look di. Us look me mazaak kam aur jaan-pehchaan zyada thi. “Sun,” usne dheere se kaha, “ab sach bol. Kitne din se ye sab chal raha hai?” Rohan ne shrug kiya. “Kya?” “Ye ‘main sorted hoon’ wala act. Ye ‘weekend premium’ wala show. Ye ‘I’m thriving’ ka theater.” Rohan ne hansi ka natak kiya, par hansi nikli nahi. “Tu zyada deep mat ja.” Sameer ne seedha bola, “Main deep nahi ja raha, tu already doob raha hai.”

Rohan ka face thoda tight ho gaya. Cafe ka noise achanak aur loud lagne laga—cups ki khanak, logon ki hansi, coffee machine ki hiss, sab kuch. Sameer ne aage jhuk kar bola, “Bhai, kab tak chalega ye? Kab tak fake facade maintain karega?” Rohan ne nazar hata li. “Main fake nahi hoon.” “Okay,” Sameer ne calmly kaha. “Toh phir wallet ghar kyu reh gaya? Aur EMIs ka reminder dekh ke bhi tu coffee post kyu kar raha tha? Aur last month tu bol raha tha Goa trip ‘casually planned’ hai, jabki mujhe pata hai tu Ola share bhi optimize karta hai.”

Rohan ki aankhon me irritation aa gayi. “Tu judge kar raha hai?” Sameer ne sar hila diya. “Nahi. Main bas mirror dikha raha hoon. Aur mirror galat nahi hota, bas reflection pasand nahi aata.”

Ye line Rohan ko lag gayi. Wo kuch bolna chahta tha, par words aise atak gaye jaise traffic me cab. Usne apne phone ki screen off kar di aur table pe rakh diya. “Mujhe bas lagta tha,” usne dheere se bola, “ki agar logon ko lage ki meri life stable hai, toh shayad main khud bhi stable feel karunga.” Sameer chup ho gaya.

Rohan ne ek lambi saans li. “Sach bolun? Main thak gaya hoon yaar. Har weekend kuch na kuch expensive dikhana padta hai. Naya cafe, nayi shirt, random reels, fake plans. Office me bhi sab log aise baat karte hain jaise sabki life curated ho. Aur main…” Usne apne haath dekhe. “Main bas us race me bhaag raha hoon jisme mujhe pata hi nahi finish line kya hai.”

Sameer ne soft tone me poocha, “Aur paise?” Rohan ne hansi me thoda dard mix karke kaha, “Paise? Bro, salary aati hai aur seedha auto-transfer ho jaati hai. EMI, credit card, subscription, rent, groceries, office cab—bacha kya? Bas ego.” Sameer ne sar jhuka liya. “Ego expensive hota hai.” “Bahut,” Rohan ne maan liya. “Aur sabse badi baat, main khud ko hi convince karte-karte tired ho gaya hoon. Har photo, har caption, har outing—sab ka purpose same: lagna chahiye ki I’m winning.”

Sameer ne bill ki slip side me rakhi aur quietly bola, “Par tu win nahi kar raha tha. Tu bas perform kar raha tha.” Rohan ne aankh band ki. Ye sentence seedha uske chest me laga. Koi gyaan nahi, koi lecture nahi—bas ek sach. Aur sach aksar itna simple hota hai ki usse deny karna aur mushkil ho jaata hai.

Thodi der dono chup rahe. Cafe me ek couple apni pastry share kar raha tha, ek office group laptop ke around baitha bekaar ki meeting ka natak kar raha tha, aur ek uncle akele americano peete hue newspaper ke pichhe duniya se emotionally unavailable the. CyberHub ka scene hi aisa tha—sab busy dikhte hain, par andar se aadhe log bas manage kar rahe hote hain.

Rohan ne finally bol diya, “Main financially stressed hoon, Sameer. Bahut zyada. Aur mujhe lagta tha agar main ye admit kar dunga toh log mujhe loser samjhenge.” Sameer ne almost instantly bola, “Log toh waise bhi samjhenge. Delhi-NCR me sabko lagta hai wo audience hain aur dusre sab show. Par truth ye hai ki sab apni-apni struggle me busy hain.”

Rohan ne hamesha se pehli baar uski baat bina defensive hue suni. “Mujhe bas… normal lagna tha.” Sameer ne smile ki. “Normal hi toh hai. Tu koi billionaire ka beta nahi hai. Tu ek banda hai jo startup me kaam karta hai aur apni salary ka half rent aur EMIs me uda deta hai. That’s not shameful. Bas Instagram pe thoda kam cinematic hai.”

Rohan hansa. This time real hansi thi. Thodi halki, thodi embarrassed, par real. Usne apna phone uthaya aur Instagram post khol ke dekhi. Comments me log likh rahe the: “Goals bro,” “Aesthetic af,” “Living the dream.” Rohan ne phone table pe rakh diya aur bola, “Ye log mujhe goals bol rahe hain aur main bill dekh ke goalpost hilata reh gaya.” Sameer ne hans ke kaha, “Welcome to the club. Hum sab thode bahut fraud hi hain.” “Tu bhi?” “Main toh openly broke hoon. Difference yahi hai.”

Dono ne milkar bill split kiya. Sameer ne apna card use kiya, Rohan ne turant UPI kiya aur receipt dekhte hue ek ajeeb sa sukoon feel kiya—jaise pehli baar usne kisi cheez ko pretend nahi kiya. Waiter ne bill close kiya aur aise nikla jaise uska kaam ho gaya ho, aur shayad wahi uski sabse honest entry thi puri shaam ki.

Bahar nikalte hi CyberHub ki lights aur bright lag rahi thi, lekin Rohan ko ab woh fake polish utni dazzling nahi lagi. Wo same streets, same brands, same polished crowd tha—par uske andar kuch shift ho chuka tha. Sameer ne side me chalते हुए kaha, “Ab kya?” Rohan ne shoulders relax kiye. “Ab… shayad next post coffee ka nahi, kisi sasti chai ka hoga.” Sameer ne eyebrow raise ki. “Mere saath?” “Ha.” “Without filter?” “Shayad.” Sameer ne muskura ke kaha, “Wah. Healing arc start ho gaya.” Rohan ne usko dhakka diya. “Chal, hero mat ban.” Sameer hans pada. “Main hero nahi, bas tera unpaid therapist hoon.”

Rohan ne ek gehri saans li. Pehli baar usne CyberHub ko ek stage ki tarah nahi, ek jagah ki tarah dekha—jahan log bas kaam karte hain, thak jaate hain, khana khate hain, aur kabhi kabhi dikhawa bhi kar lete hain. Lekin dikhawa zindagi nahi hota. Zindagi woh hoti hai jo bill ke baad bhi bachi rahe. Woh conversation jo mask ke neeche se nikal aaye. Woh dost jo roast karte hue bhi sach bol de. Aur woh pal jab banda khud se keh de: “Haan, main struggle kar raha hoon. Aur isme koi shame nahi.”

Us raat Rohan ne ghar jaake Instagram story delete nahi ki. Bas next post ke liye kuch socha hi nahi. Aur ye uske liye kaafi tha.

Storydilse ke pyaare readers, itna waqt nikaal kar Rohan aur Sameer ki is little chaotic journey ko padhne ke liye dil se thank you. Aapka support aur pyaar hi humein aur stories likhne ki energy deta hai. Umeed hai aapko ye story relatable, entertaining aur thodi si apni si lagi hogi. Aise hi storydilse ke saath jude rahiye, aur apna pyaar dete rahiye. Thank you so much!