The first pale light of dawn crept through the curtains, painting soft gold streaks across the room.

  Kiran y still, staring at the ceiling, the events of the two days since he had woken up in this body—and especially the events of st night—looping endlessly through his mind.He hadn’t slept at all.

  Every time he had closed his eyes, he had felt the ghost of Raj’s touch, the heavy, aching weight of anger, confusion, and helplessness pulling at him.Sleep had become impossible.

  Carefully, Kiran turned his head.

  Raj y beside him, his broad back rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looked peaceful—vulnerable even—in sleep.Quietly, Kiran swung his legs off the bed, careful not to disturb the man who didn’t know that someone else had taken over his wife's life.

  He padded into the kitchen, the cool tiles shocking against his bare feet.The house was silent, holding its breath.

  Kiran moved on autopilot, reaching for the coffee pot, setting water to boil.The motions were calming in a way. Familiar.

  When the coffee was ready, he poured himself a mug, gripping the warm ceramic with both hands, and made his way to the small balcony off the living room.He slid the door open and stepped into the morning—the air crisp, smelling faintly of earth and dew.

  Sitting down on the cold metal chair, Kiran took a slow sip.The bitterness cut through the lingering fog in his mind.Slowly, steadily, the numbness ebbed away, and the truth of the situation settled in.

  This is real.This body, this life—it’s all real.

  He looked down at his hands—slender, delicate, with nails neatly shaped and a faint sheen of pink polish.Hands that weren’t his, yet somehow obeyed his every command.He flexed his fingers slowly, watching them move.Then his gaze shifted to his chest—to the breasts peeking through the nightgown.Unmistakably, undeniably a woman.

  By some cruel twist of fate—or perhaps something beyond even fate—he had been dropped into this body.A body that came with memories, instincts, emotions that weren’t truly his, yet lived inside him now, woven so deeply he couldn’t tell where he ended and this Kiran began.

  But I am still me.

  The thought began as a small spark inside his mind, a tiny light growing brighter and sharper.

  He was not this Kiran—not the woman who had been Raj’s wife, who had lived this life until two days ago.He was himself—the Kiran of another world.The person known for never giving up. For fighting till the end. A determined soul.

  And he would not be broken now.

  A slow, deep breath expanded his lungs.

  He couldn’t live by the rules of someone else’s life.He couldn’t simply slip into the expectations tied to this body, no matter how natural the memories tried to make it feel.He had to live as himself—no matter what form he wore.

  The realization filled him with a quiet, steady determination.

  He might have lost his body, but he hadn’t lost his spirit. His soul.That part of him remained untouched.And that would be his anchor.

  Kiran took another sip of coffee, feeling its warmth settle in his chest.

  I will live this life on my terms.As me. Even if I have to live as a female.

  For the first time since waking in this alien world, Kiran felt something stir inside him.Strength.Resolve.Hope.

  The morning light grew stronger, painting the world in richer colors.

  Setting down his empty cup, he straightened his shoulders.Today, he would begin.He would live this life, in this world, on his own terms.

  -----------

  The sharp ring of the doorbell broke the morning calm.

  Kiran blinked and stood up, setting his empty coffee mug on the balcony railing. He already knew who it was.The cook came every morning at exactly 7 a.m to prepare breakfast and lunch before Kiran left for college.

  He opened the door.

  “Didi, what should I make today?” the cook asked cheerfully, stepping in and adjusting the pallu of her sari.

  Kiran took a second to respond.“See what’s in the fridge,” he said.

  The woman shuffled to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, poking through the contents.“There’s cauliflower. Should I make a sabzi?” she asked, using the common Indian word for a dry vegetable dish.

  “Yes, ok.”

  "And dal and roti?”

  Kiran nodded again. “Yes”

  “I’ll just take a bath and get ready for college,” he added, his voice casual.

  “Ok, Didi.”

  He went back to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. His fingers ran over the array of neatly folded kurtis and salwars. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked out a light blue cotton kurti with matching salwar—simple, pin, and modest. Nothing that drew attention to his curves or accentuated the lines of the body.

  He headed into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Stripping off his nightgown, he stepped under the water, trying not to focus on the unfamiliar contours of his body. It was easier that way. He washed quickly, methodically, and toweled off with practiced efficiency

  He came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, below the waist wearing the kurti . Raj stirred in bed at the sound of the door opening.

  Kiran froze for a second, but Raj just blinked sleepily and turned to the other side, murmuring something under his breath.

  Relieved, Kiran slipped on the salwar and stood in front of the dressing mirror. He reached for the hairbrush and began working it through his long, thick hair. His fingers moved deftly, as if they had done this for years.

  Then his hand hovered over the makeup box on the dresser.

  He paused.

  The muscle memory was strong—he could feel the instinct to apply kajal (a type of eyeliner), a dab of foundation, a touch of lip color. But he pulled his hand back.

  Not today.

  He turned and made his way into the kitchen.

  The cook was at work, flipping chapatis—ft Indian bread—over the hot skillet. The aroma of spiced cauliflower and simmering lentils filled the air.

  She looked up as he entered. “I washed the tiffin boxes for you to pack lunch” she asked. “For you and bhaiya”

  Kiran blinked. Of course. Every morning, he—well, she—packed lunchboxes for both herself and Raj.

  He gnced at the clock. Nearly 8:00 AM.

  The bus would arrive in five minutes.

  He filled them in haste—one with chapatis and sabzi, the other with rice and dal—just as Raj wandered into the kitchen, now fully awake and still a little groggy.

  “I’ll do it,” he said quickly, grabbing the stainless steel tiffin boxes from the shelf. He filled them in haste—one with chapatis and sabzi, the other with rice and dal—just as Raj wandered into the kitchen, now fully awake and still a little groggy.

  Raj entered the kitchen, stretching. “Don’t worry about mine,” he said. “I’ll fill it. You’re getting te.”

  Kiran shook his head, closing the lid with a click. "It's done".

  He smiled—just a little—and handed over Raj’s tiffin before hurrying out of the kitchen, bag slung over one shoulder.

  Outside, the college bus was already waiting by the stop. The driver gave him a mock-scolding look, "Madam, te again"

  Kiran gave a tight smile and climbed in, breath slightly rushed.

  The bus was full of students, chatting, ughing, shuffling bags. A few voices called out.

  “Good morning, madam!”

  He nodded in return, forcing a polite smile.

  Didi. Madam.The words grated against him like sandpaper.

  But he had made a decision. This was a fresh start.

  This was his life now.

  And he would live it.

  One step at a time.

  -------------

  The college gates loomed ahead—familiar and yet strangely new. Kiran stepped off the bus, adjusting the strap of his handbag on his shoulder. The handbag felt alien and familiar at the same time. The morning had already been full—cooking, rushing, trying to remember a life that wasn’t his—and now, this.

  “Wow,” a voice called out as he walked toward the staff building. “Look who showed up dressed like someone’s retired aunt.”

  Kiran turned to find Roshni grinning, eyes sparkling with mischief. She wore a chic, form-fitting kurti with a scarf draped loosely around her neck, her makeup subtle but precise.

  “Come on,” she added, linking her arm with his. “You’re way too young to look this…”

  Kiran smiled faintly, amused despite himself. “I wasn’t really aiming for stylish this morning.”

  They entered the staff room, where the buzz of conversation and clinking teacups filled the air. A few lecturers greeted Kiran with warm familiarity.

  “You okay, Kiran?” one of the women asked. “You look… tired.”

  Before Kiran could answer, Roshni jumped in with practiced ease, “She’s been burning the candle at both ends—fever st night, all thanks to stress from her sister’s engagement. It’s been madness at her pce.”

  Kiran gave Roshni a look, but she only shrugged. “What?” she said. “You do look terrible. And we don’t want people guessing the truth—that maybe you and your husband had a fight.”

  “We didn’t,” Kiran said, caught off guard.

  “Then maybe you should,” Roshni teased. “Get whatever’s bugging you out of your system.”

  Kiran sighed. “I just need coffee.”

  “And a little something on your face,” Roshni added, already pulling out a lipstick from her purse. “Here. A little color won’t kill you.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Shh. Trust me.”

  Reluctantly, Kiran let her dab the lipstick on. It felt strange, oddly intimate, but he didn’t pull away.

  A moment ter, a peon arrived at the door with a message. “Kiran ma’am, the principal is asking for you.”

  Roshni rolled her eyes. “That creep again?”

  Kiran stiffened. His stomach twisted. The memory surfaced—of the principal leaning too close, pretending to need help with spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations, trying to brush against her..his body too often. His skin crawled just thinking about it.

  But he nodded and made his way to the principal’s office. He remembered—Kiran was still on probation. A year to go before her job became permanent.

  He knocked softly and stepped inside.

  The principal looked up, a smile spreading across his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Ah, Kiran! Just in time. I’ve been struggling with this Excel sheet—you know I’m hopeless with these things. You’re the expert, right?”

  He stood and motioned for Kiran to take his seat at the computer. Kiran hesitated a moment, then complied.

  But the principal didn’t return to his desk. Instead, he stood behind Kiran, far too close. His hand rested on the back of her chair, his breath disturbingly warm against the side of Kiran’s neck.

  Kiran froze.

  His fingers hovered above the keyboard. The room felt too tight. He could feel the man’s eyes on him—not on the screen, but on him. On his back, his side, his profile.

  “You always look so focused when you’re working,” the principal said, his voice low and casual.

  Kiran forced a polite smile. “Let me just fix this. It won’t take long.”

  He clicked through the data quickly, posture stiff. But the unease lingered. The man didn’t move. His presence was suffocating. Kiran became acutely aware of the neckline of his kurti—too wide, too open at the back. He suddenly felt vulnerable. The smell of the principal’s cologne mixed with his breath, and a cold sweat gathered on the back of Kiran’s neck.

  And then—a hand, light but unmistakable, brushed against his exposed skin.

  Kiran flinched. The principal just moved to the side to the telephone pced on his desk, as if nothing had happened.

  "Let me order some coffee for us, he said, picking up the receiver.

  “I’ve completed the task,” Kiran said, hurriedly.

  The principal just smiled, unfazed. “You’re amazing, Kiran. So efficient. Please, sit. The coffee will be here —”

  “I have a css,” Kiran interrupted, voice firmer now. “I’m already te.”

  “You always rush away,” the principal said with a chuckle. “Okay, okay. Coffee some other time, then.”

  Kiran didn’t answer. He stepped out quickly, unsure whether what filled him was anger or fear—or both.

  Back in the staff room, Roshni was waiting. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Creepy again?”

  Kiran gave a tight nod and slumped into his seat.

  “You should sp him if he ever tries something again,” Roshni said, her casual tone failing to hide the simmering fury beneath.

  “Maybe next time I will,” Kiran muttered.

  “You call me too. I’ll throw in a few punches and kicks for good measure.”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Roshni ughed. “That’s more like it.”

  The day moved on. Kiran had a lecture with the second-year students. Teaching didn’t feel as alien as he’d feared. His other self—this female Kiran—had clearly enjoyed it. And to his surprise, he didn’t find it too bad either.

  What did bother him, though, was the steady gaze of a few male students—not on his face, but lower—lingering at his chest, visible beneath the soft, clingy fabric of the blue cotton kurti.

  He instinctively adjusted the dupatta (a long scarf) draped across his front, pulling it higher and tighter over his chest. It was a practiced motion—the kind born of habit and repetition. The female Kiran had probably done this countless times. She had grown used to being looked at this way. But for him, it was new—raw, intrusive, and deeply unsettling.

  The stares weren’t just gnces. They were assessments—curious, entitled, unashamed.

  Kiran’s skin crawled.

  He had done nothing to invite this. He was wearing loose, modest clothes. Little makeup, no fir.He gnced around the cssroom. Some of the girls wore tight jeans, cropped tops, even sleeveless blouses. They ughed, joked, took notes, barely blinking at the attention they might be getting.How did they handle this...? he wondered.

  The clock crept toward four. In the staff room, he sipped coffee with Roshni, letting the warmth settle his nerves.

  The senior lecturer, D’Souza, approached.

  “We’ve found a repcement for the physics lecturer who left,” he said. “Should be joining in a day or two.”

  “Who is it?” Roshni asked.

  “No idea yet,” he replied, then turned to Kiran. “I must say—you came in looking half-dead, and now you’re glowing. You look beautiful when you are smiling, Kiran-ji, not when you are sad”

  Kiran gave him a ft stare.

  Roshni nudged him. “It’s just a compliment. Don’t gre at him like that.”

  “Why should I tolerate such things?” Kiran replied—not with anger, but with quiet resolve.

  Roshni ughed. “If we reacted to every harmless flirt, men would be walking around in suits of armor. Come on. You know how life is.”

  Kiran looked out the window.

  No, he thought. I don’t know how this life is. But I’m learning.

  One day at a time.

  The phone rang. It was Raj. Why was he calling at this time, he wondered.

  --------

  That's the end of Chapter 6. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely.

  Thankyou

  ------------------------------------------

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  > ? Moonmars15, 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.

  No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.