Joy Family

Becoming Jerusha - Joy Family

Part 15: “The Bargain Made Beneath the Cross”

Two days passed.

Two full days after the church.

And he was still her.

Still in her body. Still in her room. Still wearing her clothes.

Not once had Maria or Stephen mentioned the prosthetics. They hadn’t even suggested calling the professionals back. There had been no appointments, no sign that this appearance was temporary. They spoke to him only as Jerusha - always with a smile, always with a softness that felt too real to question.

Kathir hadn’t dared to bring it up.

Not until that night.

The Calm Before

That evening, dinner was a simple affair.

He wore a short cherry-pink cotton nighty with tiny white bows at the shoulder. Underneath was the usual lilac camisole that now felt almost natural against his prosthetic skin, and a plain white panty with the Joy tag on the inner hem. The anklets remained - part of the family rhythm now.

They sat cross-legged on the floor in the prayer room for dinner. Maria had made rasam sadam and masala seppankizhangu fry. Stephen poured him buttermilk and kept smiling through the meal like he was living inside a prayer.

Kathir barely ate.

His throat had a knot.

But when the plates were cleared and the prayer lamp was lit, he sat up straighter, wiped his hands, and finally asked, in a quiet, boyish voice that now sounded wrong in this house:

“Amma… Appa… when are the people coming to remove this… prosthetic thing?”

Silence.

Utter silence.

Maria’s fingers froze mid-folding of a towel. Stephen’s hands stayed still on his knees, eyes glazed like he had just been dropped from heaven onto earth.

And then came the sighs.

Heavy, tired sighs - like the ones people give before admitting something unforgivable.

The Real Ask

“Jeru kutty,” Maria said first. “Please don’t take it the wrong way.”

“I mean,” Stephen added, scooting forward and placing a hand on his - on her - knee. “You’ve already given us more than we deserve. That Sunday… you gave our lives back.”

Kathir’s chest felt tight. His prosthetic chest moved with every breath - too real, too warm, too soft.

“But,” Stephen continued, looking into Jerusha’s eyes, “we have one last… request.”

Kathir blinked.

He didn’t answer.

Because something about Stephen’s expression made him feel cornered, like an animal caught inside a house it didn’t belong in.

Stephen took a breath.

“We never declared Jerusha’s death, kutty. Never filed it. All the documents - birth certificate, Aadhaar, transfer certificates, previous school records - they are all still valid. We had the influence… we just couldn’t do it.”

Maria leaned in, tears already waiting. “She was supposed to start school again. Eleventh standard. She was so excited.”

Kathir’s spine stiffened. “So… what are you saying?”

Stephen looked him directly in the eye.

“I’m saying… please. Be her. Not just at home. Not just for Sunday. Please… finish school. Live as Jerusha. Just for two years.”

The Bargain

Silence thickened the room.

Kathir sat frozen.

His bare legs, pale under the nighty, suddenly felt cold.

“Two years?” he finally whispered.

Stephen nodded slowly.

Maria moved closer, clasping his hands. “It will mean the world to us. I’ll take care of everything, kutty. I’ll wake you. Pack your lunch. I’ll iron your uniforms, I’ll braid your hair---”

Kathir recoiled just slightly, but not enough to break the moment.

“I don’t…” he started.

But Stephen cut in.

“I’ll give you everything. Property. Money. Land. A free degree. You don’t even need to go back to that college again - I’ll arrange for an open university degree for you in our name. Jerusha Anne Joy. You’ll be settled for life. What most people earn in hundred years, you’ll have in two.”

His throat dried up.

He wanted to say no. That it was insane. That he was a boy. That he wasn’t Jerusha. That wearing a nighty and smiling for Sunday was one thing - but school, every day, as a girl?

His mind screamed at him.

But Maria whispered gently, “Just until twelfth ends, kutty. Let her finish what she couldn’t.”

The Decision

That night, he lay staring at the ceiling fan.

The nighty clung to his body in the gentle AC. The lace camisole tightened a little at the underarm. The anklets chimed when he shifted.

He didn’t message his friend. He didn’t want her doubts tonight.

He remembered all the things he had tried to run away from: his father’s anger, his brothers’ violence, the dry dirt fields, the fights over boiled rice, the way no one looked at him with love.

And here?

They called him kutty.

They kissed his forehead.

They cried with joy when he smiled.

He knew the humiliation of it - being seen in girls’ uniforms, having to sit and speak and walk like a 17-year-old schoolgirl. Of learning to tie ribbons, wear tights, talk soft, fold hands, walk shoulders in, tuck in skirts, and smile like someone else.

But the house was full of perfume and protection.

And more than anything - it was full of purpose.

At midnight, still awake, he sat up.

He went to the prayer room quietly. The silver diya still faintly burned.

He whispered just above breath:
“Okay.”

The Aftermath

He didn’t expect what came next.

He told them during breakfast the next morning. Quietly. Blushing. Head down.

Maria screamed. Stephen dropped the glass.

They hugged him so tight he couldn’t breathe.

Maria cupped his face and cried, “Our daughter is going to school!”

Stephen choked. “Joy to God!”

They called the school that same evening.

Arrangements were made.

The Realisation

That night, Kathir sat alone on the edge of Jerusha’s bed.

The mirror didn’t shock him anymore.

The breasts, the hips, the smooth skin, the faint shine of gloss still left on his lips - it all stared back.

He was Jerusha Anne Joy.

For two years.

He curled his knees to his chest. His nighty slipped up a little and exposed the lacy panty. He didn’t pull it down.

He just stared.

At the ceiling.

Humiliated.

Confused.

Agreed.