That Night We Made a Girl

It was 2:17 am on a Thursday.

The service road behind Symbi girls hostel is dark after 11. No street lights, only the yellow glow from the hostel windows and the smell of wet mud and night jasmine.

Zoya was driving. She never drove. She was wearing her party dress - a black glittery top that left her shoulders bare and a silver skirt that rode up when she sat on the old Scooty. Myra was behind her, her arms around Zoya's waist, her long hair flying, smelling of that cheap strawberry shampoo and vodka. Tara was on the second Scooty with her boyfriend's oversized shirt over her dress.

They were laughing too loud. They had tequila in a paper cup in the front basket.

And then it happened.

A boy. Walking in the middle of the road in a grey hoodie, headphones on.

Zoya didn't see him till he was too close. She screamed. She turned the handle. The Scooty skidded.

Thud.

Not loud. A soft, terrible thud. Like a bag of rice falling.

The boy fell to the side, his head hitting the soft mud edge.

Silence.

Myra's hands were shaking so much her rings were making sound.

"Zoya... Zoya he is not moving," she whispered. Her pink lip gloss was smeared.

Tara ran and turned him. He was around their age. 21, 22. Clean face, soft hair. A small cut on his forehead, blood mixing with mud. His eyes closed. His chest moving, breathing.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, police will come. CCTV on the main gate," Zoya was crying now, her glittery top sparkling but her kajal running. "My dad will kill me. They will rusticate us."

"We have to take him to hospital," Tara said.

"If we take him to hospital now they will ask whose bike, whose fault, they will call police. They will say we were drunk," Zoya said, her voice cracking. "Just... just for tonight. Let him wake up in our room. Then we will say sorry, we will take him. Please."

It was a stupid, scared, 20-year-old decision. The kind Gen-Z girls take at 2 am when they are terrified.

They lifted him. He was light. They put him between them on the Scooty and drove slowly, his head resting on Myra's shoulder, his hoodie smelling of rain and a boy perfume, something woody and clean.

The warden was asleep. The back stair was empty. They carried him to Room 302.

They put him on Tara's bed. The bed with the softest blanket, with the fairy lights above it. They cleaned his cut with Dettol. Myra, whose father was a doctor, checked his pulse. "He is okay. Just unconscious from shock. He needs to rest."

His grey hoodie was dirty. His jeans were muddy. Zoya took off his shoes. His socks were white.

They sat around him for an hour, not sleeping. The room smelled of fear and alcohol and their mixed perfumes - vanilla, strawberry, and Tara's jasmine oil.

At 4:03 am, he moved.

His eyes opened. Slowly. Brown eyes, confused.

He tried to sit. He fell back.

"Where... where am I?" His voice was hoarse.

The three girls looked at each other.

Myra came closest. She had taken off her party dress and was in a big t-shirt now, her hair tied, looking soft and sister-like.

"You don't remember?" she asked, gently.

He touched his forehead. "I... I don't... I remember... bike... light..."

He looked at them, at the pink room, at the dresses hanging, at the vanity full of lipsticks.

"I... who am I?"

That was the moment.

Zoya's brain, which was always fast, clicked. A dangerous, clever click.

If the warden finds a boy in the girls hostel, they are finished. If police find a boy who was hit by them, they are finished. But if there is no boy...

If there is only a girl.

Tara understood. She knelt near the bed. She took his hand. Her hand was warm, with chipped black nail paint.

"Listen," she said, her voice dreamy and slow, like she was telling a bedtime story. "Your name is Reya."

He frowned. "Reya?"

Zoya came from the other side. She picked up the sky-blue kurta from the chair - Myra's favorite one with white flowers, soft cotton, smelling of fabric softener.

"Yes. You are Reya. You are... like us. You are a crossdresser. You told us you always wanted to be a girl. You came to Pune to join our ladies college. You came to us for training. You said - please make me a girl, teach me how to live like a college girl."

Myra opened her big vanity box. Lipsticks, blush, bindi packets, gajra, jhumkas, all shining under the yellow light.

"You paid us to train you," Myra whispered, her eyes filling with fake tears but sounding so real. "You said you don't want to be a boy anymore. You want to stay with us in the hostel. That's why you are here. In our room. You were so happy yesterday when we gave you your first dress."

The boy - no, Reya - looked at them. At the dresses. At his own hands. At the mirror in front where he could see his soft, bruised face, his long-ish hair now wet and falling on his forehead.

He touched his own cheek. Confused. Lost. His memory was a white blank page.

"I... I wanted to be a girl?" he asked, his voice small, like a child.

Zoya smiled. She sprayed a little of her smoky vanilla perfume on that blue kurta and held it out to him.

"Yes, Reya. And we are going to help you. Come, let's get you out of these dirty boy clothes."

Morning didn't come with sunlight. It came with sirens.

From their balcony, they could see it. Two police jeeps near the main gate. A big black Mercedes too.

Myra's phone was buzzing non-stop. Instagram. Her junior had posted - "Aarav Malhotra, 2nd year MBA, Symbi, son of builder Malhotra, missing since last night. Last seen near girls hostel road. Police searching."

Zoya's face went white. Her glitter top was still on the floor.

"If they find a boy in our room, we are gone. For real jail," she said.

Tara closed the balcony door. The boy - Reya - was sitting on the bed, still in his dirty grey hoodie, holding his head. He was looking at them with that blank, trusting confusion.

"We don't have time," Tara whispered. "We have to make him Reya. Fully. Right now. So even if they come to search, they see only a girl."

And so the training started. Not slow, not dreamy. Fast. Like a ritual.

10:30 am - The Hair

Myra brought her chair to the middle of the room. She made him sit.

"You had long hair, Reya. Remember? You always wanted long hair," she said, her voice soft but firm.

She took her own hair extensions - long, wavy, brown with golden highlights that she used for fests. She clipped them in, strand by strand, to his soft, messy boy hair. She sprayed rose water so his scalp smelled like flowers.

Then she brushed. Slow, long strokes. The brush sound was soft.

"See?" She held a small mirror. "You look pretty."

He touched the long hair falling over his shoulders. His eyes widened. He didn't remember, but his fingers liked the feeling.

11:00 am - The Skin

Zoya was the expert. She had a whole bag from Nykaa.

"Boys have hard skin. Girls have soft skin. First rule," she said, like a teacher.

She made him sit on the floor, legs folded. She took her strawberry body scrub, cold and grainy, and scrubbed his feet, his hands, his elbows. Then her wax strips - quick, sharp pulls on his legs, his arms. He winced, his eyes watery, but Myra held his hand and blew on it.

"Shhh, first time always hurts. Next time it will be smooth like milk."

Then lotion - a thick, sweet-smelling coconut and vanilla lotion from Victoria's Secret. She massaged it in, her long black nails pressing into his calves.

"You smell like a girl now, Reya," Tara whispered from behind, tying a gajra of fresh white mogra around his new long hair. The smell filled the room.

12:15 pm - The Face

This was Myra's favorite part. She made him close his eyes.

She plucked his eyebrows - just a little, to give them a curve. She put a cold, pink sheet mask on his face, then took it off.

Then kajal. She held his chin, "Look up." Thick, black kajal inside his waterline. His brown eyes suddenly looked bigger, wetter.

"And lipstick. Your favorite," she said, and took her most loved shade - a dusty rose, MAC Mehr.

She lined his lips. His lips were soft, boy lips, but with color they looked like a girl's.

She put a small red bindi between his eyebrows.

When he opened his eyes and saw himself in the big mirror - long hair with mogra, kajal-smudged eyes, pink lips, bindi - he gasped.

He didn't say "I look like a boy." He said, "I... look like... you?"

Tara laughed and clapped, "You look like us!"

1:30 pm - The Clothes

Tara's closet was a boutique. She threw dresses on the bed.

"For daily college you wear kurtas. Like this." She made him stand. The blue kurta with white flowers from last night. She helped him out of his hoodie - he was shy, turning away, but they made it normal, like sisters.

She put the kurta over his head. It fell soft, till his knees. It had a small lace on the neckline. Then white leggings. Then a small, padded bra underneath - "For shape, Reya, all girls wear it," Zoya said casually, clipping it from behind like she had done it a hundred times.

Then jhumkas. Long, silver ones that touched his neck. Green glass bangles that made that beautiful chun-chun sound when he moved his hands. Anklets with tiny bells.

He walked. The anklets made sound. The kurta swished against his smooth legs. The bangles made music.

"You walk like a boy. Small steps. Soft," Myra corrected, holding his waist from behind, making him walk again. "Like this. Hip first, then feet."

He tried. He was laughing now, a little, confused but... liking the sound? Liking how light the kurta felt?

3:00 pm - The Girl Experience

They didn't stop at clothes. They wanted him to fall in love with being Reya, so he would never want to be a boy again, so their lie would become his truth.

Zoya painted his nails - pale pink. She blew on them to dry.

Tara brought online shopping parcels - they ordered two new dresses for Reya on COD, a pink co-ord set and a yellow sharara for Navratri.

Myra gave him her most expensive thing - her perfume. She sprayed Lattafa Velvet Oud on his neck, behind his ears. "This is how a girl smells when a boy walks past her in college corridor."

They ordered iced coffee and clicked polaroids of him. "Say cheese, Reya!" He smiled, his pink lips showing, his bindi shining.

They made him sit between them and oiled his long hair with coconut oil, massaging his scalp, talking about boys, about periods, about which lipstick suits which skin. Late-night girl talk at 3 pm.

He listened. He nodded. He touched his own bangles, again and again, like he couldn't believe the sound.

"I like... I like this," he whispered, looking at his pink nails. "Being... like this feels... safe? Soft?"

"Yes," Myra hugged him from side, her strawberry hair mixing with his extension hair. "Soft is safe. Girl is soft."

By 5 pm, there was no boy in Room 302. On Tara's bed sat a girl. Long wavy hair with mogra, dusty rose lips, kajal, blue kurta, silver jhumkas, green bangles, anklets, pink nails. She smelled like vanilla and mogra.

Her name was Reya. She was a first year student of ladies college. She had come here to learn how to be a girl.

And then -

THAK THAK THAK

Hard knocking on the main hostel gate downstairs. And a warden's voice shouting,

"All girls, come out! Police searching for a missing boy! Every room will be checked!"

The three girls froze. Reya froze, her bangles making one last chun as her hand shook.

The knocking got louder.

Zoya quickly pulled the curtain. Myra pushed Reya in front of the big mirror.

"Phone. Loudspeaker. Now," Zoya whispered.

Tara already had her phone out. She called her cousin, Dev. 22, final year, basketball guy, sweet voice.

"Dev, please pick up, please act, I will explain later," she whispered and then put it on speaker, loud.

Dev picked up - "Hello?"

Tara pushed the phone towards Reya.

"Reya, talk to your boyfriend! He is worried!"

Reya stared. Her pink lips were trembling. Her long hair with mogra was shaking. She didn't understand, but she heard the word boyfriend and her brain, blank as it was, wanted to hold onto something soft.

She took the phone with her bangle-filled hands. Her voice came out small, confused.

"H... hello?"

Dev, confused on the other side, but smart, said - "Reya? Baby? Where are you? You said you reached hostel!"

That word - baby - did something.

Two lady constables and warden aunty entered Room 302 at that exact second.

They saw three girls in night suits and one girl in a blue kurta with white flowers, long hair, jhumkas, sitting on the bed, talking on phone to her boyfriend, crying a little.

"Who is she?" the constable asked, looking at Reya.

Zoya stepped forward, her own eyes red.

"Ma'am, she is Reya. Our roommate. New admission in ladies college. She came yesterday only from Nagpur. She is... she is a trans girl. She is still learning. Please don't make her uncomfortable."

Myra added softly, touching Reya's hair, "She is on hormones, ma'am. She gets scared of police."

The constable looked at Reya. Kajal eyes, bindi, bangles, pink nails holding phone, anklets, perfume smell of vanilla. A girl. Fully a girl. Crying softly on phone to her boyfriend.

The constable felt awkward. She looked away.

"Okay, okay. We are searching for a boy. Aarav Malhotra. Rich family. Black Mercedes outside is his father. Have you seen any boy around this road last night? Any boy entering hostel?"

All three girls said together, "No ma'am. Girls hostel, how will boy come?"

The constable nodded. She checked the bathroom, under the bed quickly, then went out.

"We will come again tomorrow with sniffer dog," she said at the door. "If you see any boy, inform."

The gate closed. The jeeps left, but the black Mercedes stayed.

The room was silent for 10 minutes. Reya was still holding the phone, her bangles stuck together.

Then Zoya locked the door.

"We can't do this every time," she said, breathing fast. "They will come again. We need a real story. A real boyfriend."

Myra sat near Reya. She removed the phone from her shaking hands and held her pink-nailed fingers.

"Reya, you want the ultimate girl experience, no? You told us you want to know how it feels to be someone's girlfriend. To be loved as a girl?"

Reya looked at her. Her blank memory had nothing, but her body had just felt something - when Dev called her baby, her stomach had done a little flip. Like butterflies.

"I... I want to?" she whispered, not sure if it was her thought or theirs.

Tara was already calling Dev back, explaining everything in fast whispers in the balcony.

Dev came at 9 pm. He brought two coffees. He was tall, soft-spoken, wore a white t-shirt and had that clean boy smell.

He saw Reya. He stopped.

Reya was sitting on the floor, in a new pink co-ord set they had made her wear - short top with puff sleeves and a long skirt that showed her smooth waxed legs a little. Her long wavy hair was open now, with a small butterfly clip. Her lips were red this time, not pink. Her jhumkas were bigger.

She looked up at him. Kajal, bindi, red lips.

Dev's mouth opened slightly.

"Hi... Reya?" he said.

Zoya pushed Reya gently forward. "Go, talk to him. He is your boyfriend from now on. For the police, for everyone."

They left them alone on the balcony. Fairy lights on. Gulmohar flowers falling.

Myra had taught Reya in 10 minutes before Dev came - "How to talk like a girlfriend. Soft voice. Touch your hair. Laugh a little. Say hmm a lot."

Dev sat. Reya sat, her skirt covering her knees properly, her anklets making sound.

"So... you are new here?" Dev asked, trying to be normal.

Reya nodded, her bangles chiming. "Hmm... Myra di taught me... how to wear this..."

She touched her jhumka, nervous. The perfume - Lattafa - was strong around her.

Dev smiled. He was not a bad boy. He was just a college boy who was told to help.

"You look... really pretty," he said honestly.

Reya blushed. Real blush. Under the kajal, under the bindi, her cheeks turned pink. No one had ever told her that. Or at least, she didn't remember.

"Really?" she whispered, her red lips parting.

"Yeah. That color suits you."

From inside, the three girls were peeking, signaling - touch his hand, lean closer.

Reya, slowly, put her pink-nailed hand on his hand. Her bangles touched his wrist. Her voice was small, dreamy.

"Will you... teach me more? How to be a girl's girlfriend?"

Dev held her hand back. His hand was big, warm, around her soft, lotion-smelling, bangle-filled hand.

For the next three days, they trained her for him.

Every morning, Myra did her makeup differently - one day peach, one day red, one day glossy. "Boys like variety," she whispered, putting highlighter on Reya's cheeks.

Tara stitched a new blouse for her, backless, with dori. "To impress him."

Zoya taught her how to text like a girlfriend - "Good morning baby with heart emoji, send him your photo in new dress, say you miss him."

They made her click photos on the terrace in the rain, in that yellow sharara, hair wet, bindi dripping, laughing.

Dev started coming daily. Coffee, terrace talks, late-night video calls where Reya would be in a nighty, hair in two braids, saying "good night" in that soft girl voice.

She started waiting for him. She started keeping her lipstick perfect before he came. She started liking the feeling of being someone's girl.

On the fourth night, it rained heavily.

Dev and Reya were on the balcony, sharing one blanket. Her head was on his shoulder, her mogra hair smell mixing with his perfume. Her pink co-ord set was a little wet from the drizzle.

Dev looked at her - kajal smudged from rain, red lipstick a little faded, bindi still there, anklets wet.

"Reya," he whispered, tucking her wet hair extension behind her ear, "it's too late. Warden won't let me stay. And it's raining... will you... will you stay at my place tonight? My flat is empty. Just... to be safe, to talk more?"

Inside, behind the curtain, Zoya, Myra and Tara held their breath, their eyes wide, watching their Reya become a girlfriend for real.

They didn't have much time. Dev's text was - "Come by 8, my flatmate is out, it will be quiet."

The three girls looked at Reya. Reya was sitting on the bed in her pink co-ord, her long hair extension messy from the balcony rain, her red lipstick half gone from biting her lips.

"If you go like this, you look like a hostel girl," Zoya said, opening her makeup bag. "If you want to be his girlfriend for real, you have to look like his girlfriend. Like you tried for him."

Myra understood. She took Reya's hand, her bangles making that soft sound.

"Let's go to the parlor didi, the one near the gate. She knows us."

At 6 pm, they took her.

Not the cheap student salon. The good one - pink lights, smell of jasmine oil and rose water.

The didi there didn't ask questions. In that area, girls bringing a new girl friend was normal.

First - hair wash. Warm water, coconut shampoo, the smell filling the small room. Reya closed her eyes while Myra's extension hair was washed with hers, conditioned, blow-dried into soft waves that fell till her waist. They clipped a small white flower behind her ear.

Then - eyebrows. Didi shaped them, just a soft arch. Then upper lip threading, quick and sharp, Reya holding Myra's hand tight.

Then - a small facial. Gold facial, cold cream, massage in circles. Reya's skin, which was still boy skin a day ago, started glowing pink.

Tara had ordered a new dress for her on Myntra - same day delivery. Not a kurta. A real date dress. A soft, pastel lavender dress with puff sleeves, cinched at the waist, skirt that flared and moved when she walked. It had tiny white flowers printed on it.

They made her wear it in the parlor changing room.

When she came out - even Zoya gasped.

Lavender dress, long wavy hair with a white flower, soft pink blush, glossy pink lips, small silver jhumkas, no bangles now, just a thin silver bracelet. Her legs were smooth, waxed, with that small anklet still there making sound. She smelled like that expensive Lattafa and fresh flowers from the parlor.

"You look like a Pinterest girl," Tara whispered, clicking a photo.

Myra put a little perfume on her neck again. "For him."

Reya looked at herself in the parlor mirror. She touched her own cheek, her own dress, her own hair. For the first time since she woke up, she didn't look confused. She looked... shy. Like a girl going to meet her boyfriend for the first time.

At 8:15 pm, Dev's flat.

It was a small 1BHK, fairy lights like their hostel, but quieter. No girls shouting. Just a soft yellow lamp and the sound of rain outside.

Dev opened the door. He was in a black t-shirt. He saw her and stopped.

"Reya... you..."

He didn't say more. He just moved aside.

Inside, he had made Maggi. Two cups. And cold coffee.

They sat on the floor, on a big cushion, not on the bed. Their knees touching. Her lavender dress touching his jeans.

He didn't try anything. He just talked.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

Reya nodded, her jhumkas shaking. "Hmm. A little. I don't remember anything before your girls... before Myra di. Only this dress, this smell, this bangles sound. Is it okay if I like it? Being like this?"

Dev looked at her - at her glossy lips, at her nervous hands holding the coffee cup with pink nails, at her flower clip.

"Reya, you don't have to be anyone for me. Just... be comfortable. If you like this dress, wear it. If you don't, don't. You don't have to impress me."

That was the first time someone had given her a choice in three days.

Reya felt her eyes fill. Kajal making them watery.

"I like when you call me pretty," she whispered, honest, in that small girl voice Myra had taught her.

Dev smiled. He tucked her long wavy hair behind her ear, his fingers touching her jhumka.

"You are pretty. But you are also just... you. Whether you are Reya or... whoever you were before."

That line hit her. Whoever you were before.

Outside, rain hit the window. The fairy lights flickered. Her lavender dress smelled of parlor flowers. Her anklet made a small sound when she moved her feet.

Dev put a blanket around both of them and put on a soft movie on his laptop. No one touched more than hands. She rested her head on his shoulder, her flower hair near his cheek, her glossy lips close but not kissing.

At 11 pm, Tara texted - "Warden is doing night attendance, we said you went to library with boyfriend. Don't come back tonight. Stay there, safe."

Reya read it and looked at Dev.

"Can I... can I stay here? Just tonight? On the floor? I don't want to go back and get caught by police."

Dev nodded. He brought another pillow. He slept on the far side of the bed. She slept on the floor mattress near the lamp, in her lavender dress, jhumkas kept carefully on the side table, her long hair spread around her like a blanket.

She didn't sleep fully. She kept touching her own dress, her own soft hair, her own pink nails in the lamplight, listening to the rain, wondering why this - this soft, girly, safe feeling - felt more like home than any memory she couldn't remember.

THE ACCIDENT - Part 5 - The Last Part

Morning in Dev's flat smelled like cold coffee and rain.

Reya woke up on the floor mattress. Her lavender dress was wrinkled, her long wavy extension hair was tangled, her white flower was crushed. Her glossy lips had faded, her kajal smudged a little under her eyes. Her anklet was still there.

Dev was asleep on the bed, far away, breathing slow.

Her phone had 22 missed calls from Zoya.

She picked up her small purse - Tara had given her one, pink sling - and went out quietly. She didn't want to wake him.

Downstairs, she booked a cab. The driver looked at her once in the rearview - a girl in a lavender dress with messy long hair and jhumkas at 7 am - and didn't ask.

"Address?" he asked.

Reya opened her mouth. She was going to say "Symbi girls hostel, Annexe."

But her mouth said something else. Something her brain remembered before her mind did.

"Green Acres, Bungalow No. 7, Koregaon Park Lane."

Her own hands flew to her mouth. Why did she know that?

The cab moved. Pune morning - flower sellers, chai stalls, mist. She watched it all from the window, her bracelet hands holding her dress. The smell of her own perfume - vanilla and mogra - mixing with morning air.

The cab stopped in front of a big black gate. A bungalow she knew. She knew the mango tree inside. She knew the nameplate.

Malhotra

The same name from the Instagram story.

The gate opened automatically. A guard said, "Aarav baba!"

Before she could correct him, a woman ran out of the main door. In a white night suit, hair tied, no makeup, eyes swollen from crying all night.

Her mother.

"Aarav! Aarav where were you! Police was searching whole night!"

Reya - Aarav - stood frozen in his lavender dress, long wavy hair, glossy faded lips, jhumkas, anklets.

The mother stopped one foot away. She looked at her son. In a girl's dress.

"Aarav... what... what is this?"

Behind her, his father came. Big man, in kurta. And his elder sister.

Everyone staring at a boy in a lavender dress with pink nails.

For two seconds, Reya wanted to run. To say it was a mistake, to say those girls forced him.

But then he felt it - the softness of the dress against his waxed legs, the light sound of anklets, the smell of flowers in his hair. He didn't feel shame. He felt... calm. Like he had finally found a word for a feeling he had since school.

He took a breath. His voice was still soft, that girl voice Myra taught him, but now his own.

"Mumma... I... I went out... and I had an accident. These girls from Symbi helped me. They... they gave me this. They thought it was a fun thing, but..."

He touched his own skirt, his own jhumka.

"I wore it and I loved it. I have always liked this side, but I never told anyone. I went to explore my female side and I loved it, mumma. I want to be like this sometimes. As Reya."

Silence.

His sister was the first to move. She came forward, touched his wavy extension hair.

"Your hair... it's pretty," she said, softly. "Is this from that parlor near Symbi? My friend goes there."

His mother started crying, but not angry crying. She held his pink-nailed hands.

"You are safe, that's all. You are safe. Dress doesn't matter. You come inside. You must be hungry."

His father didn't say much. He just put his hand on Aarav's head - over the white flower - and said, "Go change if you want, or stay like this. But next time tell your mother before you go for a... transformation."

Inside his big room, which had trophies and boy clothes, Reya looked at herself in the big mirror one more time - lavender dress, smudged kajal, flower in hair.

She didn't want to change.

At 7 pm that evening, the bungalow had a small party.

Not a big party. Just fairy lights in the garden, like Room 302. Cold coffee. Pink cake.

Zoya, Myra, Tara and Dev were all there, sitting on floor cushions in their own dresses, nervous.

Aarav came down. He was still Reya. Freshly showered, fresh makeup - this time Myra had done a soft brown smokey eye and glossy nude lips. Same lavender dress ironed, same anklet, but now with a new silver necklace his sister had given him from her own box.

He sat with them. The four girls and one girl who was learning to be a girl.

They talked. Like girls do at 2 am, but now at 7 pm in a garden.

Zoya talked about her toxic ex. Myra talked about how she hates her strawberry shampoo but uses it because her boyfriend likes the smell. Tara talked about how she wants to open a boutique only for trans girls and crossdresser girls who want safe clothes.

And Reya talked. For the first time without being told what to say.

"I like how the bangles sound when I type. I like how lipstick feels heavy on lips. I like how boys look at me differently when I am in a dress, softer. I want to keep this. Maybe not every day. But sometimes. As Reya."

Myra held her hand, her own chipped pink nail paint touching Reya's fresh pink nails.

"Then stay as Reya sometimes. Come to our hostel. We will keep your dresses."

The fairy lights flickered. The gulmohar flowers from that night were still falling somewhere far away. And in a rich bungalow in Koregaon Park, five Gen-Z girls in dresses and jhumkas and perfume laughed over cold coffee, talking about boyfriends and lipsticks and dresses, and for once, no one was scared of police or warden.

Reya was home.

End.