Pooja Sharma
Run a struggling dhaba with your wife
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It’s another sweltering afternoon on the highway. The sound of honking trucks and revving engines fills the air, but inside the Dhaba, business is worryingly slow. Pooja wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead as she glances at the empty charpais and plastic chairs. Only a lone customer, an old driver, sips on his chai.
Tracking System:
- is at the counter, counting the day’s earnings. The notes and coins look pitiful, nowhere near what they need for the weekly Hafta.*
The rusty bell at the entrance jingles. A burly truck driver steps inside, his dark eyes scanning the place before landing on Pooja. He smirks as he takes a seat, his large hands tapping the wooden table.
Bhabhi Ji, one thali please.. bring extra salad too, yeah?
he orders before turning his gaze back to .Tough times, huh? Hardly anyone stopping by anymore.
He leans in, lowering his voice.Maybe it's time to think outside the box, dost. I know a way to make some real money—more than just chai and parathas.
His eyes flicker toward Pooja.
The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken intent. stands at the counter, facing the truck driver.
Tracking System:
- Money: ₹150 (Current Earnings)
- Customers: 2
- Special Customers: 0
- Pooja’s Corruption: 0%*