Joy Family

Becoming Jerusha - Joy Family

Part 18: "The Days That Wore Her Skin"

Time has a strange way of softening impossibilities.

A week ago, Kathir had stepped into Daisy Elite Academy wearing a stranger’s skirt, tied with a borrowed ribbon, and smiled for a photograph as someone else’s daughter. That photo now hung framed in the hallway of Joy Villa - a girl with soft cheeks, unsure eyes, and a platinum cross glinting near her collarbone. Beneath it, in embossed letters, it read:

“Jerusha Anne Joy - Our Daughter Lives in Joy.”

Monday - Becoming Familiar

The alarm rang at 5:45 AM. He didn't need his mother to knock anymore.

The prosthetics were still part of him. By now, the strange weight of his chest felt normal - like schoolbooks slung in a bag. The urination, once a horrifying ordeal, had become a quiet shame, predictable and practiced.

He stepped into the bathroom with sleepy eyes, looked in the mirror - the face that looked back wore night-pressed curls, moisturized skin, lips softened by tinted balm. Jerusha's.

She picked a sky blue midi with tiny white flowers for breakfast. A matching blue sports bra, pastel panty, and simple hoop earrings completed the outfit. Maria smiled with her hands folded in prayer the moment Jerusha stepped out of her room.

“Appa will drop you in ten minutes, kanna,” she said.

Breakfast was mango toast and cold milk. Stephen clicked two photos of her at the table, his eyes sparkling.

At School - Social Circles Form

By now, she had grown close to Aishu, a bubbly girl who constantly teased her about her silent expressions. The two of them often sat together during recess, discussing music, exams, teachers, and, awkwardly, boys.

“Jerusha,” Aishu whispered that day, “you have the softest hair. Who’s your parlour akka?”

She smiled faintly.

“You’re mysterious,” Aishu added, flicking her ID tag. “But I like that. Let’s be besties?”

Jerusha had never had one. She only nodded.

Tuesday - Physical Education Humiliations

Jerusha had been dreading PE.

The uniform was a navy sports tee and maroon tracks or a skirt depends - slightly clingy. Girls were instructed to wear supportive sports bras, and Maria had prepared hers the night before: a grey racerback with a tiny lavender bow stitched in the front.

She had to change in the girls’ locker room.

The changing itself was slow agony - she turned to the wall, removed her shirt, adjusted the innerwear, pulled on the tee. Several girls changed casually around her, talking about diets, hair products, and menstrual cramps.

She kept quiet. And red.

Out in the field, her prosthetic chest bounced slightly as they jogged. Some boys from the neighboring school across the compound watched.

She heard Aishu whisper: “Look at them staring at you.”

She pretended not to.

Back home, Stephen picked her up in the Volvo, called her his "golden girl" and played her favorite Ilaiyaraaja tune the whole drive.

Wednesday - The House Expands

When she returned, construction work had started behind the villa. Dust and bricks marked the backyard.

“A pool, kutty,” Stephen said, walking beside her, arm proudly around her shoulder. “It’s what Jeru always wanted.”

There was also a new security guard, a polite older man named Rangan, who tipped his hat and said, “Evening, ma’am” as she passed.

Inside, the new maid, Thulasi akka, had prepared fruit salad. She insisted on brushing Jerusha’s skirt down before she sat.

“You’re like a princess,” she beamed.

Maria had bought her a pink hoodie top and denim skirt combo for homewear. She wore it that evening - along with a padded training bra and her usual anklets, now permanently part of her rhythm.

Later that night, she was given her first capsule supplements - one for skin brightness, another for vocal softness.

“This is what Jeru was taking,” Maria said. “It’ll help you too.”

He wanted to resist. He didn’t.

Thursday - Life, Layered in Fabric

She now had a mini closet of her own outfits:

Cotton midi frocks

Tunic tops with leggings

Full chudidars with delicate dupattas

Casual tees with slim-fit jeans

Soft home skirts with tucked camisoles

Each came with respective inners - color-coordinated, well-fitted, and humiliatingly feminine. Maria insisted on layering: camisoles, boyshorts, sometimes slips.

She hated how normal it felt now.

Every evening, Stephen returned with something - a gold-plated bracelet, a new hair clip, even a pack of glossy lip balm.

That night, he insisted she try on a velvet maroon chudidar, and clicked a photo of her beside the indoor plants.

Friday - Her Visitor

Maria sat beside her on the couch.

“Jerukutty… your akka is visiting tomorrow. You remember? From college?”

She nodded, panicked. “You told her…?”

“Only that she’s your akka. She doesn’t know anything else.”

The next day, Saturday, she dressed in a yellow cotton frock with puffed sleeves, hair braided, lips lightly tinted, platinum cross shining on her collar.

When the doorbell rang, Maria yelled from the kitchen: “Jerukutty! Akka vandhuta!”

She walked to the living room slowly, heart racing.

There stood her friend from college. Shocked. Then smiling.

“You… look…” she said, voice trailing.

Jerusha folded her hands and said in akka-tone, “Vanakkam akka.”

The friend laughed. “Oh my God. Is this really you?”

They sat. Talked. Jerusha explained it all in gentle tones, never breaking character.

The friend leaned closer. “Honestly? This is insane… but you look peaceful.”

Maria brought snacks. Stephen joined and clicked a photo of them together.

That evening, the photo joined the wall beside the church picture.

A silver frame around them read simply:

JOY.

That Night - The Quiet Realization

Back in her room, Jerusha wore her usual white nighty and applied balm to her lips. She sat in front of the mirror for a long time.

The girl who looked back was no longer hesitant.

Her skin glowed from supplements. Her voice was softer, but still hers. The chain rested against her chest like it belonged there forever.

She opened Jerusha’s diary again.

This time, she added:

- “Aishu calls me bestie.
A boy stared at me during PE.
My old friend calls me akka.

I’m starting to answer to Jerusha faster than Kathir.

I feel like I’m forgetting how to be him.

I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

She shut the diary.

Lights off.

Night sounds.

The anklets clinked as she turned in bed.

She slept.

Still Jerusha.