I sat in front of the bedroom dressing table and applied a soft pink shade to my lips.

  The movement had become almost effortless now. A slight tilt of the chin. A careful stroke along the lower lip. Press. Blend. Perfect.

  I was getting ready for a “date” with Aarav.

  The thought made me ugh.

  The ugh came out as a giggle.

  I paused, staring at my reflection.

  It had been nearly two weeks since the jewellery store incident. Two weeks since that long shower. Two weeks since vodka and confessions and the strange softness that had settled between us afterward.

  Somewhere in those days, we had become… friends.

  Not just co-conspirators.

  Friends.

  Friends who teased each other. Who ughed.

  The morning after our drinking session had been proof of that.

  Aarav had woken up close to noon with a brutal hangover — and with red lipstick smeared across his lips and faint blush streaked on his cheeks.

  The servants had struggled to maintain composure. I had failed entirely.

  It was I who had done it.

  He had been snoring heavily in the night, utterly unaware, when I had leaned over him with mischievous determination. His words from earlier — You have a feminine side. I can feel it. — had echoed inside me.

  Just because I had been dressing up as a woman for the past week did not mean I had a feminine side.

  And so, in my slightly tipsy stubbornness, I had decided to prove it.

  If anyone looked feminine the next morning, it would be him.

  He hadn’t noticed for nearly an hour. He had walked around the house barking instructions, drinking water, holding his head dramatically.

  Then he had caught his reflection in the mirror.

  “What the hell!” he had shouted.

  I had burst into ughter.

  He had looked at me — really looked — and understood immediately.

  That gre.

  I had walked toward him slowly and leaned closer, lowering my voice into a whisper near his ear as if sharing something scandalous.

  “So… who has a feminine side now?”

  For a second, he had tried to remain annoyed.

  Then he had ughed.

  And I had ughed with him.

  “But it looks better on me than you,” he had added casually.

  I had punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  He had clutched it theatrically as if wounded before marching off to the bathroom to wash his face.

  That morning had shifted something.

  The air between us had grown lighter.

  A few days ter, he had been sprawled on the sofa, flipping through channels before settling briefly on an old comedy movie — my favourite from years ago.

  He had watched for five minutes.

  Then changed it.

  “Let it be,” I had protested immediately.

  “It’s a silly comedy,” he had replied dismissively.

  I had snatched the remote from him and switched it back.

  He had grumbled dramatically about being forced to endure nonsense. But within minutes, he had been ughing harder than I was.

  It had startled me.

  The sound of his ughter. The easy way he leaned back, rexed.

  For a moment, we had simply been two people sharing a movie.

  Not Sameera’s husband and her fake repcement.

  Just… us.

  And then there had been another drinking session four nights ago.

  That time, it was I who had drunk too much.

  The vodka had loosened things I had kept tightly sealed. Words about Bhai. About debt. About agreeing to this charade because I had no other choice.

  I still remembered the way Aarav’s expression had changed when I mentioned the threats.

  Concern. Real concern.

  “How much is left?” he had asked quietly.

  I had shrugged, careless in my drunkenness. “Enough.”

  He had promised he would see what he could do.

  I had thanked him.

  Then I had started rambling about God being unfair. About destiny being a cruel scriptwriter.

  He had helped me to the bedroom that night, steadying me just as I had steadied him before.

  And I had dreamed.

  In my dream, Bhai’s men were chasing me through dark streets.

  I was running — but not as Sam.

  As Sameera.

  My hair loose. My body lighter.

  I had stumbled into Aarav’s arms, and in full dramatic Hindi film style, he had fought them off.

  I had woken up amused.

  Until I realized something.

  In the dream, I had been Sameera.

  The realization had unsettled me for a long while.

  On the professional front, the pressure was mounting.

  Aarav had been buying time with VK, deying the shooting schedule as long as possible. But deys could not stretch forever.

  There had been costume discussions with the designer and her assistant — fabrics draped over my shoulders, pins pricking, measurements taken with professional detachment.

  Then fittings.

  Standing under bright lights while strangers adjusted the fall of a blouse across my fake breasts.

  Script reading sessions with the director and the main cast.

  And Kabir Khan.

  Kabir had been himself.

  He had tried the familiar touches, the suggestive jokes, references to his “memories” with Sameera during their st outdoor shoot.

  But this time, I had been prepared.

  I had looked him straight in the eye.

  “What happened before doesn’t mean it has to happen again.”

  My tone had been cold enough to freeze him momentarily.

  He had been shocked into silence.

  Only briefly.

  Kabir was not a man easily discouraged.

  There had also been still photo sessions for promotional material. Thankfully, Aarav had managed to postpone the couple shoots with Kabir.

  But VK had finally drawn a line.

  Shooting for both films would begin on the first of next month.

  Two weeks from now.

  And then this morning, Aarav had received the call.

  The doctor in the US.

  Sameera’s bandages would be removed in a couple of days.

  Aarav was flying out in the morning.

  He would return in a week.

  With her.

  My role was about to end.

  I felt a sense of relief — and something else I couldn’t understand, couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  And then, casually, Aarav had suggested dinner and fun tonight.

  “A fun date,” he had called it.

  “I have no desire to go on a ‘date’ with another man,” I had told him dryly.

  He had ughed.

  “It’s dinner with a friend. Have a good time. For the memories. Is that acceptable?”

  I had hesitated.

  Then relented.

  “I’m wearing the least feminine thing I can find in Sameera’s wardrobe,” I had said.

  “You can wear my clothes if you like,” he had said with a grin. “You’ll still look gorgeous.”

  I had rolled my eyes at that.

  And now here I was.

  In a unisex T-shirt and jeans.

  Looking, annoyingly, undeniably feminine nonetheless.

  I had debated whether to apply makeup.

  I only had a few more days left in this role.

  I needed to keep up appearances, I had decided.

  I had applied soft makeup, which I had learned to do over the past three weeks. The light pink lipstick added just enough warmth.

  I leaned closer to the mirror.

  Was I beginning to enjoy the pretending just a little too much?

  I pressed my lips together gently, perfecting the shade.

  No harm in getting it right, was there?

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  That's the end of Chapter 14. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely. Drop a like if you enjoyed reading it.

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  > ? Moon Winters, 2025. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, pces, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resembnce to real people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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