Recap of Part 3
The day had been a whirlwind—Mom’s unexpected truth, her gentle but firm transformation of me into someone I barely recognized, and finally Riya’s arrival. She hadn’t teased, hadn’t laughed—only looked at me with a softness that both scared and comforted me. Mom had placed my hand into hers and whispered, “Make this date beautiful.”
Now, here I was, heart racing, as the next chapter began.
Part - 4
Riya held my hand delicately, like I was something fragile, something to be protected. Her grip wasn’t forceful—it was the kind you’d use with a girl, and that thought alone sent a shiver of nervousness down my spine.
Together we stepped out of the house and reached her scooty parked just outside. With a small smile, she took the keys, slid them into the ignition, and climbed onto the seat in one smooth motion.
She looked over her shoulder and gestured. “Come on, sit.”
I knew what was expected of me. A girl never sat with both legs across a scooty the way boys did. My heart thumped as I reached forward, fingers brushing her shoulder lightly for balance, and with some effort I swung one leg delicately across to the same side. My churidar tugged against my knee, the braid brushing my back, and at last I settled into place.
Riya checked the rear-view mirror, and her eyes flickered knowingly toward me. “Raj,” she said softly but firmly, “pull your dupatta forward—don’t let it trail behind. Keep it on your lap.”
I fumbled quickly, gathering the soft pink fabric into my lap as instructed. The gesture felt so feminine, so practiced, and yet… so new for me.
The scooty hummed to life beneath us, and just as she was about to drive off, I caught sight of Mom at the doorway.
She stood there quietly, her hands folded. When she noticed me looking, she smiled—gentle, reassuring—and raised her hand in a small wave.
“Bye, beta,” her eyes seemed to say without words.
My throat tightened. All I could do was smile faintly in return, holding the dupatta in place as the Scooty rolled forward.
The wind brushed against my face as Riya guided the scooty smoothly down the road. I held the dupatta carefully in my lap, afraid it might fly away with the breeze. My anklets chimed faintly every time my foot shifted, and my braid tapped gently against my back with each bump on the road.
My heart was already pounding, but it nearly froze when we slowed down near a busy traffic signal.
As we waited for the green light, a little flower-selling girl wandered near us, her basket filled with fragrant jasmine strands. She looked straight at me, her eyes lighting up.
“Akka, buy some flowers,” she said sweetly. “They’ll look so beautiful in your braid.”
For a second, my mind went blank. Akka. She had called me sister. My face flushed hot—I wanted to protest, to correct her—but no words came out.
Before I could react, Riya chuckled softly and pulled out some money, handing it to the girl without even asking me. “One strand,” she said, her tone casual but firm.
The girl smiled brightly, counted the change back into Riya’s hand, and then turned to me. I stared helplessly as she placed the cool, fragrant flowers into my palm.
I sat frozen, clutching them, unsure what to do. My fingers trembled, my lips parted as if to say no—but before I could, the girl leaned forward, took the flowers back from my hand, and with a practiced motion pulled out a pin from her basket.
In a blink, she tucked the jasmine neatly into my braid, securing it perfectly in place.
I gasped softly, my eyes wide. What just happened?
The girl only smiled, as if she had done me the biggest favor in the world.
Just then, the traffic light turned green. Riya glanced at the rear-view mirror, her eyes catching mine, and with a little smirk she said a quick, “Bye!” to the girl before accelerating forward.
The scooty moved again, but I couldn’t. My body felt stiff, my fingers still tingling from where the flowers had been pressed into my hand. The fragrance of jasmine floated around me, blending with the wind, making me dizzy with a mix of embarrassment, nervousness… and something else I couldn’t quite name.
The ride after that was quiet—too quiet. Neither of us spoke a word, and only the sound of the wind and the faint jingling of my anklets filled the silence. The jasmine flowers pinned in my braid swayed gently against my neck, releasing their fragrance with every movement of the scooty.
As we stopped at the next signal, I glanced around nervously. My heart skipped when I noticed a group of men standing near a tea stall, their eyes fixed on me. Not on us—on me.
The way they stared made my chest. I felt exposed, vulnerable.
Without thinking, my hands moved on their own—I adjusted my dupatta quickly over my chest, pulling it forward so it covered me more securely. The soft fabric slid into place, shielding me from their hungry gaze.
I lowered my eyes, pretending to look elsewhere, heat rising in my cheeks.
Riya, watching through the mirror, noticed everything. I could feel her eyes on me, but she didn’t say a word. She just kept her hands steady on the handle, her expression calm.
She knew. She knew exactly what had happened—and she also knew that my instinctive reaction was not of a boy pretending, but of a girl protecting her modesty.
And so, she stayed silent. She let me live that moment fully—let me face the world as the girl I was becoming, without interference.
After about an hour’s ride, we finally reached the hotel where Riya had planned lunch. My heart was still fluttering as I stepped off the scooty, my anklets chiming softly on the pavement. Riya parked the scooty and came to my side. She noticed my nervous face, and without saying anything, she held my hand. That one touch was enough—I felt a strange relief wash over me.
She guided me gently inside, her fingers never leaving mine. We walked past the reception and into a softly lit hall, where a table had already been prepared. It was decorated with flowers, and just as we sat down, a violinist nearby began to play a slow, soothing melody.
The music filled the air, calming me. For the first time since morning, I felt my nervousness easing. My lips curved into a shy smile as I allowed myself to enjoy the moment.
Riya leaned back, watching me carefully. She didn’t interrupt—she only observed, pleased that I was beginning to forget my fears.
When the waiter arrived, he greeted us politely: “Good afternoon, madams. What would you like to order?”
I was too lost in the violin’s charm to notice the word madams. I simply ordered quietly, while Riya hid her amused smile.
When the food came, I ate slowly, savoring each bite with the music, while Riya had her meal in silence, her eyes lingering on me. I didn’t realize what she was doing—her only wish was for me to blend naturally, to live these moments not as an act, but as myself.
After lunch, Riya asked lightly, “So, how was it?”
“Good,” I replied with a satisfied smile.
She nodded, settled the bill, then once again took my hand. “Come, we’re going shopping.”
“Shopping?” I asked, puzzled.
“Yes,” she replied, grinning. “I need to buy a dress for myself. My birthday is coming.”
We walked into a nearby shopping mall. First, she led me straight to the western wear section. I watched as she picked up a smart shirt and tight jeans, then disappeared into the trial room. When she stepped out, I had to admit—it suited her perfectly. She checked the fit in the mirror, nodded to the salesgirl, and asked her to keep it aside.
Then, without warning, she pulled me toward the traditional section. “Now your turn.”
“What?” I blinked, confused.
She ignored my question and told the salesman, “Show us your latest designer half-sarees.”
I hesitated, trying to keep my eyes away, but curiosity betrayed me. Soon enough, I was sitting beside her, looking at the colorful half-sarees he spread before us. She nudged me gently. “Come on, Raj. Choose one.”
Almost against my own will, I got involved. After fifteen minutes of careful looking, my hand landed on one that made my heart skip—a beautiful half-saree with a deep blue skirt and blouse, paired with a contrasting saffron dupatta.
“This one,” I whispered.
“Perfect,” Riya said, without a second thought. She immediately paid the bill.
The salesman explained, “Blouse is designer piece—i
t needs alteration. Tailor is in the basement. Show him the bill.”
We went down, and I froze when the tailor asked, “Whose measurements?”
To my shock, Riya pointed straight at me.
My breath caught. My chest tightened. But I didn’t dare protest—one wrong move, one loud word, and I’d risk exposing myself in public. So, silently, I stood there while the tailor measured me.
He worked quickly, his hands professional, and within ten minutes, the blouse was altered. As he handed it over, he looked at me with a warm smile. “Nice selection. You’ll look great in this half-saree.”
I lowered my eyes, a blush creeping over my cheeks. Bless his words, I thought silently, praying no one noticed how flustered I was.
Riya saw everything—my panic, my blush, my silence—but said nothing. She only smiled faintly and held the packet in her hand.
For the rest of the evening, she took me to different stores and stalls. At first, my heart trembled with every step, afraid someone would notice, afraid someone would laugh. But as minutes turned into hours, something shifted.
The world around me treated me like a girl. Strangers saw only what was in front of them—a young woman in churidar with jasmine in her hair, anklets on her feet, and nervous eyes learning to belong. Slowly, I began to accept it. Slowly, I began to breathe as her.
By the time we stepped out of the mall, the sun was already turning gold on the horizon. My feet ached, but I didn’t complain. Riya carried the packet with the half-saree, her eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction.
“Just one last stop,” she said as we reached her scooty. “We’ll get some matching accessories for this. Otherwise your mom will scold me.”
I wanted to protest, but the words never came. I simply nodded and climbed behind her again. The ride back felt lighter than the morning one — the wind played with my dupatta, the scent of jasmine from my hair mixing with the evening air.
When we stopped near a small boutique close to home, Riya tugged me along. Inside, she moved with easy confidence, pointing out what would match my outfit. Before I knew it, she had chosen pink-and-gold bangles, delicate jhumkas, a slim waist chain with tiny bells, and a matching bindi pack. I could only watch in stunned silence as she paid for everything.
“You’ll thank me later,” she said with a wink as she handed me the packet.
A few minutes later, we finally reached home. I felt my heartbeat pick up again as we stepped through the gate. Mom was waiting near the doorway, her eyes immediately falling on the packets in my hands.
“Oh?” she said, smiling knowingly. “So the celebration continued?”
Riya grinned. “Aunty, I couldn’t stop him from picking this one. He looked too perfect to resist.”
Mom took the packet gently and unwrapped it. The moment she saw the blue-and-saffron half-saree, her eyes softened. “Beautiful choice,” she murmured. Then she noticed the matching accessories and chuckled. “And you bought everything too? Jhumkas, bangles, even a waist chain?”
Riya laughed. “Of course. What’s a look without the details?”
I stood there awkwardly, heat rising to my face. Mom glanced at me, her smile deepening into that teasing, affectionate one I’d come to know too well.
She touched the fabric lightly and looked back at me. “My, my… someone’s turning into a proper young lady faster than I thought.”
“Mom…” I murmured, embarrassed.
She only laughed softly and set the saree aside. “Alright, no more teasing. But I’ll say this—” she paused, giving me that playful mother’s look— “I can’t wait for Riya’s birthday. Then we’ll finally get to see my daughter dressed completely.”
Riya burst into laughter, while I could only hide my face behind my dupatta, cheeks burning.
Mom reached out and gently fixed a strand of hair that had fallen loose from my braid. “You’ll look beautiful, beta. Just wait and see.”
Her words echoed softly in my heart, mixing embarrassment with a warmth I couldn’t deny.
And as I stood there between them—Riya smiling beside me, Mom’s gentle hand on my shoulder—I realized something quietly powerful:
Maybe, for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of what was coming next.
Because now, both of them were walking this path with me.
To be continued…
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