ch12 Bhide f'ed up

It started with a whisper.

Then a notice.

Then a furious society meeting.

Atmaram Tukaram Bhide, self-declared secretary and moral compass of Gokuldham, had lost 12 lakhs of society funds in a "high-return co-operative investment"—a scam, in simpler terms.

No one had checked. He was too proud to let them.

And now, everything was gone.

The maintenance budget. The renovation funds. Even the Ganesh Chaturthi reserves.

The society was furious. Some were ready to vote for expulsion.

Bhide tried every excuse—market fluctuation, political instability, external sabotage. None stuck.

Finally, when the shouting stopped, there was only one option left.

He knocked on the penthouse door.

Eyes sunken. Shirt collar loose. The usual fire in his voice replaced with shame.

Veyas opened the door himself.

 "You look like a man out of options," he said without emotion.

Bhide nodded once. No point denying.

 "I need a loan," he said. "I'll return it. With interest. I'll do… anything."

Veyas let that hang in the air.

 "Anything?"

Bhide looked up. Swallowed hard.

 "Yes."

---

Cut to: Madhavi, sitting on the edge of their bed, staring at her husband in disbelief.

 "You want me to what?"

 "Just dinner's!" Bhide blurted. "He said… nothing inappropriate. Just be nice. Talk to him. He'll save me. He'll save us. you just have to go on dinner's with him for a week."

 "You're whoring me out for your mistake?"

 "It's not like that—he's not like that—he just… he likes you. I think. Maybe he's lonely."

Madhavi stood up, arms crossed.

Then sat down again.

Then didn't say anything for a long time.

When she finally did, her voice was low.

 "One week."

 "Yes," Bhide said quickly. "That's all. I promise."

---

That night, the elevator opened.

Madhavi Bhide stepped out.

Hair neatly tied. Light makeup. A maroon kurta with gold trim—elegant but conservative. Not flashy. Not seductive.

But she didn't look like a woman going to a business dinner either.

She looked like someone walking into something she didn't fully understand—but had agreed to anyway.

Veyas waited, already seated, glass of wine untouched.

He stood.

 "You look sharp, Mrs. Bhide."

 "This isn't a date," she said sharply.

 "Of course not," he smiled. "This is... debt negotiation."

Her jaw clenched.

He offered her a seat.

The view of the city sparkled below.

Two glasses. One untouched.

And one woman caught between dignity, obligation, and something neither of them had said yet.

---

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