Kiran picked up the phone. “Hello,” he said softly.

  There was a beat, then Raj’s voice, slightly hesitant. “Hey… Kiran.”

  There was an awkward pause—just long enough for Kiran to notice it.

  “I… er… called because… I have to go on an urgent tour tomorrow,” Raj said, as if bracing for a reaction. “Early morning flight to Kolkata.”

  “Oh,” he replied, trying to keep his voice neutral.

  “Yeah, it came up all of a sudden,” Raj continued quickly, trying to expin. “Just for a couple of days. I should be back by Friday night—definitely in time for Priya’s engagement on Sunday.”

  “That’s fine,” Kiran replied.

  He heard Raj shuffle on the other end. “I’ll have to leave really te tonight. It’s a six a.m. flight, so I need to be at the airport two or three hours before.”

  Kiran said nothing.

  Raj filled the silence. “Sorry for springing this on you. But to make up for it—let’s go out for dinner tonight. Your favorite pce.”

  Dinner? Kiran blinked.

  “Don’t you need to pack?” he asked cautiously.

  “That you’ll do, won’t you?” Raj replied lightly, almost teasing. “You’re the expert, after all.”

  Kiran frowned slightly.

  Yes, Kiran—the original Kiran—had packed Raj’s bags. Whenever Raj had to go out or they traveled together. She always packed for him. Folded shirts, arranged toiletries, even slipped in extra handkerchiefs he never noticed. It hadn’t been demanded—it had been done with love.

  But he had always been a bad packer. He remembered stuffing in half-folded shirts, bundling undergarments and essentials. Everything haphazard.

  “Well,” he thought with dry irony, “let’s see if the muscle memory helps.”

  Raj went on, unaware. “I’ll be home a little te—around eight. We’ll go as soon as I freshen up. Keep a T-shirt and jeans ready for me to wear for dinner and the flight. Just pack something light for two days in my bag. I’ll check it ter.”

  Kiran’s eyebrows lifted involuntarily.

  Ah. So was dinner just compensation for outsourcing the packing to him?

  He said nothing for a beat.

  He could feel resentment curling faintly in his stomach.

  Still, the words came out without resistance. “Okay.”

  “Thanks, jaan (an Urdu/Hindi term of endearment, meaning “dear” or “beloved).” Raj added, then hung up.

  Kiran lowered the phone slowly and slipped it back into his handbag.

  Roshni, who had been eyeing him with curiosity for the st two minutes, raised an eyebrow. “Raj?” she asked, already guessing.

  Kiran nodded. “He’s got to go to Kolkata. Work tour. Leaves early morning.”

  “And?”

  Kiran sighed. “Wants me to pack his clothes. Says we’ll go out for dinner tonight.”

  Roshni stared at him. “You’ve definitely pampered him too much. That dinner is a bribe.” She chuckled.

  Kiran said nothing.

  The memories in this body—soft, obedient, affectionate—rose up again. She had done it because she had wanted to. It had been love, not obligation.

  But now, with him in that pce, performing the same actions… it didn’t feel the same.

  He replied softly, “Maybe I have.”

  They sat in silence for a while, then Roshni nudged him. “Want me to drop you home? You’ll probably want to start packing, right?”

  “Nah,” Kiran said. “No rush. Dinner’s out, so I’ve got time.”

  “Come on. It’s not a big detour for me. Plus, you’ll get a little breathing space before your… dinner date,” she said with a wink.

  Kiran blinked. “Dinner date?”

  He hadn’t thought of it that way. Somehow the word “date” felt jarringly out of pce in this upside-down new life of his.

  Roshni was already unlocking her scooter.

  “Come on. Hop on. Today is your lucky day.”

  Kiran ughed. “Yes, madam.”

  He climbed on behind her, the thrum of the scooter engine rumbling to life beneath them.

  Roshni kept talking while driving, effortlessly weaving stories about teachers, students, her brother’s weird pylist, and a broken water purifier at home. Her voice was bright and unfiltered, full of life.

  Kiran found himself smiling. And ughing. Genuinely.

  Kiran had been lucky to have a friend like Roshni.

  And maybe, so was he.

  ---

  Kiran unlocked the door and stepped into the quiet apartment, the soft click of the tch echoing in the silence. The clock showed 6:30 PM. Good—he had time. Enough time to pack Raj’s clothes, get ready, and settle his thoughts before dinner.

  He kicked off his sandals, slipped into the familiar comfort of home, and went straight to the kitchen. He prepared coffee for himself. The warmth of the cup in his hands, the soft aroma of roasted beans—it gave him a moment of calm.

  Still sipping, he walked to the bedroom and changed into a loose cotton house gown. The soft fabric brushed against his skin, unfamiliar yet oddly reassuring now. Then, setting the cup aside, he opened Raj’s wardrobe.

  The task should have been daunting. And yet, as soon as his fingers brushed the shirts, a subtle memory surfaced—not just visual, but tactile. He knew these clothes. His hands reached automatically for Raj’s favorite light blue shirt, the grey one with the soft colr, the bck trousers with the better fit. He ironed them quickly, efficiently. Even the casual clothes, the toiletries, socks, undergarments—all found their pce in Raj’s overnight bag with a rhythm that didn’t need thought.

  The act of care came as naturally to him now as breathing.

  When it was done, Kiran took a step back and let a small, quiet smile escape his lips. A mix of pride and disbelief flickered through him.

  Then he id out a T-shirt and jeans for Raj to wear for dinner. For himself, he chose a baggy tee and rexed jeans—simple, modest. Comfortable.

  The bathroom steamed up as he stepped into the hot shower. The water coursed over his body, washing away the day’s tension, soothing the unfamiliar aches that now came with this body. His fingers ran slowly through his long hair, slicking it back as he closed his eyes and simply... existed.

  It had been a day of so many new experiences. As every day from now on is going to be, he told himself.

  He let the hot water from the shower run over him for a long time, then began soaping his body zily.

  As he soaped, the warm ther over his breasts sent waves of tingling sensation through him. He had tried to ignore them before, suppress them as if they were not his, as if they were happening to someone else. But they were his. The breasts were his. The sensations that captured his mind were his.

  Things started happening as if they weren’t in his control.

  He found his palms slowly massaging his breasts in sensual motions. His fingers circled his nipples, which swelled under the stimution. Spasms of pleasure shot through his brain.

  The intensity was overwhelming. It was different from anything he’d known as a man—richer, more yered, more immersive.

  As the sensations increased in intensity, his thighs seemed to widen on their own.

  He looked down. His vagina was very wet. He touched it, partly out of curiosity.

  The sensation was overwhelming. His fingers began moving over it—tentatively at first, then with increasing ease. The sensations in his brain were too intense, out of control. A loud moan escaped his mouth.

  “Kiran!”

  The voice broke through his trance like a sp. Raj’s voice. From the bedroom.

  Kiran froze. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. Had Raj heard? How long had he been there? How did I let myself get so carried away…? he thought, horrified.

  “Kiran?” Raj called again. “Are you in there?”

  “Yes! Just a minute!” Kiran called back, trying to keep his voice steady.

  He slumped back against the wall, breath shaky. What just happened? The sensations had taken over before he’d even realized it. Now, with Raj’s voice breaking through, all he felt was a hot flush of guilt and confusion. This body wasn’t his—but the feelings were. And that scared him.

  He hastily put on his bra and panties , wrapped a towel around himself, his face flushed with embarrassment—he hadn’t even brought his clothes into the bathroom. Great. Now he’d have to get dressed in front of Raj.

  When he stepped out, towel wrapped tight around him, Raj was already sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

  “Hey,” Raj said, looking up with a grin.

  “You came early,” Kiran said quickly, trying to deflect.

  “Early? It’s five minutes past eight,” Raj replied, then smiled warmly. “Thanks for packing. It’s perfect, jaan. You really are the best.”

  The words brought a reluctant smile to his lips.

  “There’s a slight change in pn,” Raj said, stretching. “Sumit and Nimita will be joining us for dinner.”

  “Oh,” Kiran said, caught off guard.

  “Yeah, Sumit’s flying out with me to Kolkata. When he heard we were going out tonight, he asked if he and Nimita could join. I couldn’t say no. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Kiran paused. He scanned his borrowed memories, trying to pce the names. Yes—Sumit and Nimita. A warm, cheerful Bengali couple. They had vacationed together once. Nimita had been a delight to talk to—bubbly, curious, full of warmth.

  “No, it’s fine,” he said with a small nod.

  Raj stood and pointed toward the clothes neatly id out. “I’ll get ready. You can change now too—your kurti ( long, tunic-style top worn by women) is over there.”

  Kiran blinked. “Kurti?”

  On the bed, where he’d left his own jeans and tee, was a brand-new churidar (type of tightly fitting trouser) kurti suit. Vibrant, elegant.

  “I picked it up on the way back,” Raj said. “From your usual store. Thought you might like it.”

  Kiran stared at it. It was beautiful. Feminine. Hugging. Definitely not what he had pnned to wear tonight.

  “Thanks for the gift. It’s beautiful. But I’ll wear it some other time,” he said carefully.

  But Raj’s voice turned gentle. “Please, Kiran. I know I messed up yesterday. I didn’t listen. I didn’t respect how you felt. But… I’m trying. Please wear this tonight. If you don’t, I’ll feel like you’re still mad at me.”

  The words stopped Kiran in his tracks. Raj meant it. That much was clear. His tone, his eyes, even his awkwardness—all screamed sincerity.

  After a beat of silence, Kiran nodded. “Okay.”

  Raj’s face lit up like a child’s. “Great! I’ll go bathe—be back in five!” He reached out and caressed Kiran’s cheek on his way to the bathroom. Kiran flinched slightly, but didn’t react. Not now.

  He picked up the kurti and examined it again. The fabric was soft, the colors subtle but rich. He put it on.

  The fit was... perfect. Too perfect. The kurti clung to his curves, accentuating the swell of his hips, the dip at his waist, the fullness of his chest. The churidar hugged his legs in ways that made him feel entirely too exposed.

  He was about to take it off when Raj walked out of the bathroom, still toweling his hair.

  “Whoa,” Raj said, stopping mid-step. “You look... wow. Sexy.”

  Kiran rolled his eyes. “Too much, maybe. I don’t think I should wear this.”

  “What? No way! You can’t be serious. You look amazing,” Raj insisted, grinning.

  Kiran caught his own reflection in the mirror. A tall, poised woman stared back—nervous eyes, yes, but undeniably beautiful. The clothes did ftter him, and the strange part was... he didn’t seem to hate it.

  He sighed. “Okay. But remember what you promised. I need time.”

  “Of course. Absolutely,” Raj said, raising his hand in mock solemnity. “I’ll be away till Friday anyway. You’ll be free of me.”

  His voice held a hint of wounded drama, like a teenager hoping to guilt someone into affection.

  Kiran chuckled. “Come on, don’t behave like a sixteen-year-old now.”

  “Hehe… always sixteen at heart. Especially for you.”

  Kiran rolled his eyes again, ughing, despite himself.

  -----

  That's the end of Chapter 7. 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.

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