Part 3
UnderCover
But before she could even turn the key in the lock, a sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over her. She couldn’t just walk out like this. What if someone recognized the lingering ghost of Rajanish in her features? What if she ran into someone from the building?
Her eyes darted to the key holder by the door. Hanging right next to her scooter keys was a soft, peach-colored cotton stole.
Without even thinking, her hands moved with a strange, muscle-memory precision she didn't know she possessed. She draped the stole over her head, crossed the ends over her nose and mouth, and pinned it securely at the back of her head, leaving only her wide, brown eyes exposed.
A wave of relief washed over her. To the rest of the world, this was just the classic "Pune wrap"—the universal uniform of every girl riding a scooter or walking the sun-drenched streets of the city to shield themselves from the harsh dust, pollution, and heat. For Rajani, it was a lifeline, a perfect mask to hide her burning cheeks and confused expressions.
She grabbed her purse, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the corridor.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She was about to step out - as Rajani!!!
The Corridor Encounter
She had barely taken three steps toward the elevator when the door to flat 402 creaked open. It was Kulkarni Aunty, the building’s self-appointed CCTV camera.
"Aga, Rajjo!" Kulkarni Aunty called out, holding a small steel container of milk. "Going to office early today? Or going to the temple because of the Friday fasting?"
Rajani’s heart leaped into her throat. She gripped the strap of her purse tightly. "Uh... just going to get some breakfast, Aunty," she said, her voice muffled but distinctly feminine through the layers of the peach stole.
"Good, good. You look so pale lately, take care of your health," Aunty said, squinting her eyes in a motherly, yet overly curious way. "Your mother was telling me on phone last week that you’ve started skipping breakfast. Don't do that, ha. How will you find a good groom if you fall sick? Go, eat properly."
"Yes, Aunty. I will," Rajani murmured, quickly pressing the elevator button.
She stepped inside the lift the moment it opened, her chest heaving. It was terrifyingly seamless. Kulkarni Aunty didn't look at her like she was a stranger; she looked at her with the exact same nosy affection she had always possessed. To Aunty, there was never a boy named Rajanish living in flat 405. There was only Rajjo.
Heavy Walk to the Corner Stall
Stepping out of the apartment building lobby, the morning sun hit her face.
But the walk to the corner breakfast stall was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Every step felt... heavy. Her chest bounced with a painful tug against the tight fabric of her new bra. The constant, dull throb of her sensitive skin rubbing against her clothes made her walk awkwardly, her thighs brushing together in the tight leggings. She felt incredibly vulnerable, as if every passing auto-rickshaw and bike was staring directly at her, even though she was completely covered.
She finally reached the small, bustling tapri at the corner of the street. The familiar smell of sputtering mustard seeds, curry leaves, and hot oil filled the air.
"Ramrao dada, one plate of hot poha and a cutting chai," she said, standing slightly away from the crowd of college students and IT workers.
The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man in a stained apron, looked up and smiled warmly. "Aga, Rajani Tai! Come, sit inside on the bench. Today the poha is fresh and hot. Did you bring your tiffin box today, or will you eat here?"
"I’ll... I'll eat here, dada," she said, her voice small.
He had known him—her—for three years. He used to call him 'Rajanish Bhau' and chat about cricket matches. Now, he called her 'Rajani Tai' and offered her a seat away from the smoke of the stove with genuine, protective respect.
She sat on the wooden bench, carefully pulling down the stole from her nose so she could eat. Every spoonful of the warm, peanut-studded poha felt like a temporary anchor to reality. But the way the young male techies at the next table briefly glanced at her, then looked away, made her pull the stole back up the very second she finished.
The New Bathing Ritual
Back inside the safety of her apartment, Rajani locked the door behind her and leaned against it. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. She had survived the first trial, but the real challenge was ahead: getting ready for office.
She walked into the bathroom and turned on the geyser.
Undressing was a completely surreal experience. Stripping away the tight layers of her clothes, she stood in front of the mirror, forced to look at her new body without any barriers. Her skin was incredibly soft, almost delicate, and her curves were entirely foreign to her.
She stepped under the warm stream of the shower.
The water hitting her body felt entirely different. Her skin was highly receptive to the temperature, sending shivers down her spine as the warm water cascaded down her back. Washing her hair was a massive chore in itself. She had to navigate the thick, heavy mass of wet, soapy waves, using a lavender-scented shampoo and conditioner that she found sitting on the ledge—products she now apparently owned.
Gently rubbing the soap over her sensitive breasts and soft skin felt highly intimate and dizzying. It was a strange mix of deep embarrassment and a bizarre, instinctual comfort, as if her body knew exactly how to be a woman, even if her mind was still trying to catch up.
Dressing for the Grind
Stepping out of the bathroom wrapped in a soft pink towel, she dried her long hair, watching the water droplets fall onto the bathroom floor.
Now, what do I wear to a Friday at an IT office?
She opened her wardrobe again. She bypassed the heavy traditional wear and found a neat, formal dark-blue kurti with delicate white embroidery around the neck, pairing it with comfortable white trousers. She chose a fresh, comfortable cotton bra that offered support without suffocating her.
As she combed through her long, damp hair and let it air-dry around her shoulders, she applied a light dab of moisturizer and a quick stroke of kajal to her eyes—another action her fingers did almost on autopilot.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she didn't see a stranger anymore. She saw Rajani. She looked professional, elegant, and entirely ready to face the corporate world.
She grabbed her laptop bag, her access card which now bore the name Rajani P. in bold letters, and walked toward the door. It was time to go to work.
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