Joy Family

Becoming Jerusha - Joy Family

Part 16: “The School Where She Never Was”

It began with shopping.

Not online. Not through a helper.

They were going out. As a family.

Kathir knew what it meant.

He would not be dressing as “Kathir” for the trip.

The Shopping Day

It was Friday afternoon when Maria entered his room with a soft knock and a long smile. She held a folded set of clothes. Lavender and peach.

“Jeru kutty, today we need to go buy your school items. Uniform stitching, bag, shoes, ribbon, petticoat, everything. Wear this for now. It’s simple.”

Kathir blinked.

“But can’t we just… send someone?” he asked, almost pleading.

Stephen answered from the corridor, his voice warm. “No kutty. You’re our daughter. It’s time the world sees that. We’re proud.”

His fingers trembled when he took the clothes.

In his room, with the door locked, he unfolded the outfit.

It was a soft floral salwar set, age-appropriate for a teenage girl - baby pink leggings, a pastel kurta with delicate embroidered butterflies, and a matching dupatta. Below it lay a set of plain white cotton bra and panty, with a training camisole. His name - no, her name - was written in small font on the label: Jerusha Joy.

He sat for a full minute.

Then stripped. Slowly.

He pulled on the panty first. The prosthetic settled into it without resistance. Then the camisole, which softly lifted the already sculpted chest into shape.

His reflection - long hair now trimmed in soft girl-cut layers, clear face from weeks of parlour sessions - didn’t even flinch anymore.

He wore the kurta. It felt cool. Airy. But unmistakably feminine.

The leggings clung to his legs, tight at the calves.

Maria entered and adjusted his dupatta. “Just pinned like this. See?”

Then she smiled. “You look like someone I used to know.”

On the Road

The car smelled of vanilla freshener.

Stephen drove. Maria sat in the back with Jerusha, holding a small list she had handwritten.

“School belt. School socks. Hair band. White ribbon. Frocks for activity days. Sports skirt…”

Kathir sat still, not speaking, his heart pounding.

They stopped at a school supplies boutique near Cathedral Road. High-end, elite. For wealthy families.

Inside, the staff greeted them warmly.

“And this is Jerusha?” the shopkeeper asked, gesturing toward him.

Kathir’s lips parted but no words came. He nodded gently.

Maria placed a hand on his back proudly. “Yes. Our daughter. Joining eleventh standard.”

He blushed.

They began selecting skirts, underskirts, half-sleeve inner vests, socks, black shoes, hairbands, white cotton ribbons, and white slips. Even tiny packs of hygiene items, lip balm, and a pastel pink school diary.

For PE, they bought her a navy blue divided skirt and a pale violet T-shirt with the school logo.

Stephen had already visited the school and submitted all the necessary documents. Kathir would join Daisy Elite Academy for Girls, a prestigious institution known for high fees and ultra-modern campus facilities - indoor badminton court, media room, robotics lab, prayer hall, yoga space.

Jerusha would be in 11-B, commerce group.

Uniform stitching was done in-store. They took her measurements again - chest, shoulder, waist, hips. The tailor complimented her soft skin and posture.

Kathir nearly collapsed from shame.

But he stayed quiet.

They left the store with six large paper bags and one photograph appointment slip.

The ID Photo

It was evening when they reached the studio.

Inside, a curtained section held uniforms for photo shoot.

Maria handed him the uniform:

A checked maroon-and-cream shirt,

A high-waist maroon skirt,

Skin-colored stockings,

White canvas shoes with a small heel,

School ID tag with Jerusha A. Joy printed.

In the dressing room, he wore it all.

The stockings clung, the shirt fit, the skirt hem kissed his knees. The tight waistband pressed against the skirt. The shirt had darts for his chest.

His reflection looked like a full-blooded 11th standard girl.

Maria helped part his hair into two and tie it into neat ribboned ponytails. She applied a light compact and wiped his lip softly.

The photographer adjusted the background.

“Smile, miss,” he said casually.

Kathir blinked once.

Then smiled.

Click.

The card printed within minutes. His name, photo, blood group.

Jerusha Anne Joy. XI-B. Daisy Elite Academy.

The Night Before School

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

He wore his regular white nighty, soft with age, loose over the camisole. The anklets were off. He held the ID card and stared at it.

He whispered to himself, voice trembling:

“This is not me.”

But the reflection beside the bed said otherwise.

He tucked himself under the sheet and turned his phone off.

His heart beat loud enough to make the silence awkward.

The Morning

Maria woke him softly.

“Jeru kutty. First day.”

He bathed. The water felt cold. Not physically - it was the cold of not knowing who you are anymore.

He wore the new cotton panty, a tight camisole that flattened slightly, then the white vest for school. The padded uniform bra sat awkwardly against the prosthetics but still felt… necessary.

Over that came the petticoat, the stockings, then the pleated skirt and shirt.

Maria pinned the school badge. Tied his hair with fresh white ribbons. Applied a soft cherry lip balm and gave him a dab of talcum at the neck.

Stephen was already ready.

He brought down the school bag - branded, stylish, with the school’s logo.

They made him sit for a photo at home. Together.

Then, with soft kisses on both cheeks, they took her - her - to school.

The Drop-Off

The Volvo stopped near the large black gates of Daisy Academy.

Girls were walking in. The security guard nodded at the car.

Stephen got out, opened the door for her.

Jerusha stepped out.

Skirt. Ribbons. Bag. ID tag.

Maria smoothed her shirt. “Be polite. Be cheerful. Be our Jerusha.”

Kathir nodded blankly.

She kissed his forehead. “You’ll make friends soon.”

Stephen hugged her from the side. “Go, kanna. Go live her life.”

And just like that-

She walked in.

He walked in.

The gates of Daisy Elite closed behind her.

And Kathir, somewhere deep inside, whispered a soft cry beneath the ribbons.