Knots Of Future

Who am I? Who she is?
I woke up feeling the stifling heat beneath my comforter and pushed it aside. Sweat beaded on my forehead, sliding down my skin like raindrops. My hair bun had loosened, and stray strands were sticking to my neck—a persistent, irritating sensation.
​As I reached up to brush the hair away, the memories of last night flooded back. I bolted out of bed, the words "I am a man" escaping my lips in a frantic shout. Instinctively, I pressed my hand to my chest to steady my racing heart, only to realize I had placed it with the delicate grace of a woman.

​A chilling doubt began to take root: Am I still a man?

​I sank back onto the edge of the bed, my legs tucked neatly to one side. The more I moved, the more I realized that my natural instincts were beginning to betray my true identity.

Looking around the room, the evidence of my new life was everywhere: pastel walls, subtle decor, and a light pink floral comforter. On the bedside table sat a flower vase next to a novel I had been reading. There wasn't a single trace of a man living here. The dilemma deepened: I felt as though the man I used to be was fading away. One part of me smiled at the elegance of it all, while the other felt a sharp, squeezing ache of loss.

​Through the balcony blinds, I could see the plants I had tended to with such meticulous, traditionally feminine care. As the power returned, the cool breeze of the AC and the hum of the humidifier began to soothe my skin, but they couldn't calm my racing heart.

​My phone buzzed with a string of notifications. Picking it up with soft, well-manicured fingers, I saw the office group chats were alive with talk of the CEO’s engagement party tonight. Attendance was mandatory.

This will be the venue to meet the woman my mother intended for me, the woman I was supposed to marry. A wild, ambitious smile crossed my face, but the doubt remained: if she agreed to everything and we moved abroad, would I ever be able to find my way back to being a man?

​A knock at the main door interrupted my thoughts. It was Neethu, likely arriving to finalize our strategy. She wanted to call the girl now, to ensure we could track her movements and make contact by this evening.

​Checking my logs, I realized the missed calls on my phone were from the very number my mother had given me. It was her. My mind raced with questions: Should I apologize for missing the calls? How do I make a perfect first impression? Most importantly, I realized I couldn't be "Ayushi" with her. I had to reclaim my masculinity, even if only for a few hours.

​Staring at the screen, I took a breath and finally placed the call.

The phone rang for a long time before she finally answered.
​"Hello, Sonali?" she asked.
​I cleared my throat, trying to find a deeper resonance. "Actually, this isn't Sonali."
​There was a brief, awkward pause. "Oh! My apologies. I’m expecting a call from her any minute, so I assumed..."
​"It’s fine," I stammered. "Hi. I’m Ayush—I mean, Ayukth."
​"Hi, Ayukth. Good morning."
​"Morning. I’m sorry about last night. I was exhausted and crashed early; I didn't see your missed calls until now."
​"No worries at all," she replied. "Your mother mentioned you’d be calling, so I waited for a while. When you didn't, she called again to check in, so I figured I should try reaching out to you."
​"I apologize for my mother," I said with a sigh. "She’s clearly very excited about this."
​"Yes, I gathered that," she said with a light laugh. "Listen, I can't meet today because my CEO is getting engaged tonight. Can we push our meeting to next weekend?"
​I was momentarily stunned. "Oh... yes. Of course. No problem at all."
​"Great. I have to run and finish some shopping for the party. Shall we speak tomorrow?"
​As I agreed, Neethu began frantically gesturing at me, mouthing the words: Ask her name!
​"Wait—sorry," I added quickly. "I realized I didn't actually catch your name."
​"It's Vaishali."
​"Right. Vaishali. Give me a call tomorrow whenever you’re free."
​"Will do. Bye, Ayukth."
​Once the line went dead, I looked at Neethu and proudly repeated the name: "Vaishali."
​Neethu’s excitement vanished instantly, replaced by sheer exasperation. "There are three Vaishalis in this company, you idiot! We need more details than that."
​"I have one more lead," I countered. "She mentioned a friend named Sonali. She’s going shopping with her."
​Neethu perked up. "Sonali? From the marketing team? Or HR?"
​"I don't know."
​We both sat there for a moment, the weight of the task ahead of us sinking in. We had to track Sonali to find our girl.
​Trying to change the subject, Neethu asked, "Anyway, what are you wearing to the party tonight?"
​"I was thinking of that long, green velvet gown," I replied instinctively.
​"Your taste is impeccable," she smiled. "Actually, could you help me pick my outfit and do my makeup? You're better at it than I am."
​I stood up abruptly, trying to reclaim some shred of my old self. "I am a man, Neethu! Let me behave like one, alright?" I struck what I thought was a firm pose—hand on my hip, finger pointed at her—but the silhouette in the mirror told a different story.
​Neethu looked me up and down and burst into hysterical laughter.
​"What's so funny?" I snapped.
​"Go look at yourself," she wheezed. "You have glowing, flawless skin, a perfect hourglass figure, and hair that looks better than mine. You spend every Sunday at the salon, and half the beauticians in town follow you on Instagram for tips. And now you’re standing there, trying to drop your voice three octaves, telling me 'I am a man'?"
​She shook her head, still laughing. "Honey, that ship has sailed."

So I have to track myself first.