30 Minutes to Honesty

A delivery boy. A double life. And a deadline that smells like biryani.

Nov 08, 2025

A delivery driver covered in biryani standing on a busy Indian street as bystanders run away from the smell, holding a phone showing a one-star review.

Image generated with gemini AI

“Dude, check your phone. It’s buzzing—you’ve got an order!” Sachin tapped Ritesh’s arm as he rushed to grab another delivery from the counter.

Ritesh looked down. His brain started pounding against his skull, apparently trying to escape before he saw the name on the screen.

Ritesh had built an empire—or at least an illusion of one.

On Instagram, he was the visionary CEO of SnackVerse, a “food innovation startup revolutionizing urban dining.”
In real life, he was the guy delivering SnackVerse’s food… for ₹42 a kilometer, and the only thing he’d revolutionized was traffic lights.

The company’s real CEO had resigned months ago. Until they found a replacement, Ritesh had decided to fill in—at least in spirit. Every morning, he put on the red uniform, zipped a jacket over it, and rode across the city pretending to be the founder inspecting “logistics operations.”

That’s how he’d met Tanya—the prettiest girl in the society and the only person who thought “logistics operations” sounded sexy.

She was so impressed with Ritesh’s “business” that she almost poisoned her fiancé, Ashish, by ordering stale food from SnackVerse—just to have a reason to break up with him and be with Ritesh. Poor Ashish had to eat the bad biryani and still lose the girl.

Ritesh had dumped his own girlfriend, Priya, the same day. For him, it wasn’t betrayal—it was a business merger.

Once, Tanya hugged him and said, “You’re so driven.”

Driven was right. Ritesh was driven—mostly by other people’s hunger and his own insecurity.

He smiled, but a thought slipped in like bad cold drink: Would you still hug me if you saw this uniform?

***

A second later, the app buzzed again.

Ritesh glanced at the screen—and froze.

NEW ORDER: SnackVerse Premium — Delivery to Tanya Singh, Silver Orchid Apartments.
ASSIGNED TO: RITESH K.

For a moment, he just stared. Then the truth hit him like a falling tiffin box.
His girlfriend had just ordered from his own lie.

Before he could blink, another notification popped up.
Tanya: “I’ve ordered something special from a special place. There’s a surprise waiting for you at my flat 😘 Come soon!”

Ritesh’s stomach dropped. He knew exactly what that meant. Their “surprise code.” The one that didn’t involve food—it involved finally taking their relationship to the next level.

It was supposed to be his big night. But Tanya’s romantic gesture had just turned into a death sentence for his double life.

If he showed up in his delivery uniform, he’d lose her.
If he didn’t show up at all, he’d lose her anyway—and probably his job too.

Also, if he missed this “surprise,” the next opportunity might come around the same time as Halley’s Comet.

He had 30 minutes to deliver the food without delivering the truth.

For one fleeting second, he thought, Maybe I should just tell her everything.
But then he remembered how much Tanya hated lies—and how much she hated liars even more.

He couldn’t lose her. Not on their anniversary. Not when the snacks were literally from SnackVerse.

So, instead of facing the truth, Ritesh did what he always did best—he decided to manage the problem.
Starting with his manager.

***

Ritesh sprinted to his manager’s desk, panting like a dying scooter.
“Bro, please—reassign order 5473. Emergency!”

The manager didn’t even look up from his phone. “You already accepted it. Cancel it and lose today’s pay.”

“I didn’t accept it!” Ritesh protested. “It automatically got accepted! My phone has anxiety issues.”
He took a deep breath. “Fine, no problem. I’m ready to lose the day’s pay.”

The manager finally looked up, scanned the room, and found not a single free rider.
“Lose your pay? You’ll lose your job. Now go deliver it. I’ll see what I can do meanwhile.”

That line—see what I can do meanwhile—was corporate for I’ll do absolutely nothing.

Ritesh clenched his fists. For one divine moment, he imagined picking up the stalest samosa in the kitchen and delivering it straight into the manager’s mouth.

But he resisted. Because destiny had already decided the menu for him.

He grabbed Tanya’s order and stormed out, muttering under his breath,
“Great. I’m about to deliver food, lies, and possibly my breakup—all in one packet.”

***

Ritesh parked two lanes away, yanked off his red shirt, and dug out a black blazer stuffed in his delivery box—a leftover from a cousin’s wedding that smelled faintly of regret.

He sprayed deodorant like sanitizer and practiced his “founder voice.”
“Good evening! I’m Mr. Ritesh Khanna, founder of SnackVerse.”
He nodded to himself. “Perfect.”

Then he froze. The helmet slung across his back proudly read:
RITESH K. — DELIVERY STAR OF THE MONTH.

Panic shot through him. He turned it backward to hide the name… and promptly rode straight into a garbage bin.

When he crawled out, he wasn’t alone.
A rat, sweating and panting for its life, bolted out like Usain Bolt on Red Bull. Then came Ritesh—covered in stale vegetables and chutney, reeking so bad even the flies filed complaints. The smell clung to him like loyalty.

He looked around desperately for help and spotted Sameer at a tea stall.

“Bro! Huge favor,” Ritesh yelled, running over. “Deliver this for me—double payment!”

Sameer raised his cup, took one whiff, and almost vomited the tea through his nose. Without a second’s thought, he grabbed a bucket of utensil water and flung it at Ritesh, baptizing him in leftover chai and dish soap.

The tea seller and Sameer clutched their noses, trying to identify the exact combination of odors. Then their stomachs surrendered—they both puked like synchronized swimmers.

Meanwhile, Ritesh stood there in pure panic, pouring another bucket of clean water over himself like a man performing his own last rites.

Sameer finally regained his breath. “Bro,” he coughed, “even God can’t save you from Tanya. You should just tell her the truth.”

For a split second, Ritesh actually considered it. But then he remembered how much Tanya hated lies—and how much she hated liars even more.
That brought him back to his senses.

Maybe I can fake an issue, he thought.

He opened the app: Report Problem → Rider Accident.
His thumb hovered over Submit.
What if customer support calls her? They’ll fire me instantly.

He sighed. “Even my lies don’t have customer care.”

So he tried something else.

***

Ritesh wrapped a muffler over his mouth and forced the hoarsest voice he could manage. He dialed Tanya.

“Madam, this is Sameer from SnackVerse. I met with an accident. Can you please cancel the order?” he croaked.

Silence at the other end. Then Tanya said quietly, “Why do you sound like someone I know?”

Heat rushed to Ritesh’s face. He jammed another muffler over his mouth to muffle his voice more. “All of us sound the same…company training. Our CEO — Ritesh sir — teaches us to sound professional.” He swallowed hard. “Please, can you cancel the order?”

There was a sharpness in her voice now. “Look, this delivery is for your CEO. If you don’t bring it to me in seven minutes, I will make sure your CEO fires you personally.” She hung up.

Ritesh stood on the roadside, heart thudding. Nearby, a group of women glanced his way, frowning. One of them started dialing the police — or perhaps a neighbour with a stronger vocabulary. Ritesh wondered which would be worse: being reported or being fired by the man he was pretending to be.

***

Ritesh reached Tanya’s building with five minutes left. He wrapped a muffler over his face like a clumsy bandit and rang the bell.

“Delivery for Miss Tanya,” he said in the deepest voice he could manage.

Tanya opened the door, smiling. “Oh! My boyfriend owns this brand. He’s amazing.”

“Ah yes, ma’am. Very amazing. Great boss. Handsome too,” he mumbled.

“Funny,” she said. “You sound just like him.”

“Company training, ma’am. We all sound same.”

“Wait—I’ll call him! You can meet him!”

Just then, Ritesh’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Tanya’s eyes narrowed.

“Why is your phone vibrating?”

“Company phone… synchronization system,” Ritesh stammered, taking a quick step back.

But before he could run, Tanya grabbed his muffler and yanked it down.

“Ritesh?”

He froze. His disguise, his lies—everything—lay exposed.

“You’re… the delivery guy?” she said quietly.

He swallowed hard, searching his brain for something—anything—to say.
Then he remembered the old CEO who once delivered food himself to “understand ground problems.”

Ritesh took a deep breath. “Yes, for you. I decided to deliver the food myself for my special one on our special day. Plus, it helps me understand what my delivery team faces.”

Tanya’s frown slowly softened into a smile.

Ritesh pulled out a rose and a small box of chocolates. “Happy anniversary,” he said, handing them to her with the delivery bag.

Tanya melted. She threw her arms around him, kissing him. For the first time, Ritesh felt he’d managed to deliver something right.

Then his phone buzzed again.

Tanya pulled it from his pocket. “NEW ORDER: SnackVerse Premium — Delivery to Priya Singh, Gold Orchid Apartments.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re cheating on me with your ex?”

Ritesh’s stomach dropped. “No! That’s not—”

“I remember this day very clearly,” she snapped. “The day we both broke up with our exes to be with each other. But it looks like you’re still together!”

Before he could explain, another notification appeared.

Manager: Sorry Ritesh, couldn’t change the delivery on time. I had to approach Ashish Sir, our new CEO. He personally ordered food for someone named Priya Singh and assigned it to you.

Ritesh’s head spun. Ashish? The new CEO? Tanya’s ex?
And he’d just sent food to my ex, Priya to screw my relationship with Tanya.

His brain painted the picture before he could stop it — Ashish and Priya celebrating their reunion dinner with surprise sex, and his delivered biryani as the side dish.

He looked at Tanya, helpless. There was no way to explain this without digging a deeper grave.

Tanya shook her head, her jaw tight, her hands gripping the delivery box.

Ritesh sighed. He had nothing left—except his dignity, and even that was on discount.

He turned to leave, then paused. Maybe he could still save something- his job.

“Before you throw that,” he said weakly, “can you please give five stars for the delivery? It’ll really help my career.”

Tanya delivered the box straight into his face.

Biryani rained down his blazer like poetic justice with extra masala.
Within seconds, the rotten smell from the spilled biryani spread across the street, making bystanders gag and run for cover. It looked like a full-blown Puking Olympics.

Later, while riding back, his phone buzzed again.

New rating: 1 star — ‘Liar in disguise.’