Long hair love

Chapter 11 - The Maroon Kurti
On Wednesday afternoon, dark clouds gathered outside the balcony.

Ishan noticed them while filling his water bottle. Clothes had been drying since morning, and the first drops had begun striking the railing.

He carried the stand inside before the rain became heavy.

Most of the clothes were his T-shirts, Ritika's office trousers, and the two pairs of cotton leggings he now used regularly. Near the middle hung a maroon cotton kurti.

Ishan had seen Ritika wear it many times at home. It had a simple round neck, short sleeves, and a narrow cream pattern along the edges. There was nothing special about it when she wore it.

In his hands, it felt different.

He folded the other clothes first. His own pile went into his room. Ritika's office clothes went onto her bed.

The maroon kurti remained on the chair.

Ishan picked it up and tried to fold it. The longer shape spread across his arms. Its side openings began below the waist, and the soft cloth fell almost to his knees when he held it against himself.

He lowered it at once.

"I am only putting away the laundry," he said to the empty room.

Ritika was at her office. She had messaged that morning about two interviews and an evening meeting. She would not return for several hours.

That knowledge should not have mattered.

Ishan carried the kurti to her cupboard.

The shelf containing her home clothes was already open. Ritika had told him he could take anything useful from it, provided he told her before taking something she might need.

The leggings had been easy to explain. His old shorts slipped at the waist, the yoga pants became warm, and the cotton felt better in the heat.

The kurti solved no problem.

He placed it on the shelf and closed the cupboard.

Then he stood there.

His black leggings felt light against his legs. His oversized T-shirt reached below his hips, but it was still plainly one of his old T-shirts.

He imagined the maroon cloth in its place.

The thought had no practical answer, and that was exactly why it stayed.

Ishan opened the cupboard again.

"Only once," he said.

He took the kurti into his bedroom and locked the door, though nobody else was home.

For several seconds, he held it without moving.

He knew Ritika would probably lend it if he asked. The problem was not the answer she might give. The problem was explaining why he wanted it.

He was not ready to do that when he could not yet explain it to himself.

Ishan removed his T-shirt and pulled the kurti over his head.

His hair caught beneath the neckline. He freed it carefully, drawing the shoulder-length strands out with both hands. Then he smoothed the cloth down.

The shoulder seams sat close enough because he and Ritika were the same height. The kurti was not tight. It followed the slight roundness of his chest, fell loosely across his slimmer waist, and opened around his softened hips.

The hem rested a little above his knees.

Nothing pinched or slipped.

Ishan looked down first.

The maroon kurti and black leggings belonged together in a way his long T-shirt and leggings never had. One had looked like a practical solution. This looked like a complete outfit.

That difference made his heartbeat quicken.

He went to the wardrobe mirror.

His hair was loose from pulling the kurti over his head. It curved around his clean-shaven cheeks and rested on his shoulders. The maroon colour made the dark strands stand out clearly.

Ishan opened the small box on his table and took out the two black tic-tac clips.

He brushed the front sections backwards with his fingers and fixed one clip on each side. They were not perfectly even, but they created the open-but-controlled style he had learned from Ritika.

When he faced the mirror again, the change felt larger.

The hairstyle had looked feminine even with his T-shirts. With the kurti and leggings, it no longer stood alone.

He looked like a softer, more feminine version of himself.

Ishan waited for embarrassment to make him remove everything.

It did not.

He turned slightly and watched the kurti fall back into place. The side openings allowed him to move easily. When he sat on the edge of the bed, the cloth settled over his thighs without gathering at his waist.

It was comfortable.

But comfort was no longer a complete explanation.

He liked the colour. He liked the longer shape. He liked that his narrow waist and softer body did not make the clothes sit awkwardly.

Most of all, he liked the way his long hair completed the look.

For the first time, he was not managing one feminine thing because it was useful. He had chosen several things together because he wanted to see himself that way.

The thought frightened him enough to make him stand.

"It is only at home," he whispered.

Even that was not fully true.

It was only at home while Ritika was away.

Ishan walked to the bedroom door and checked that it was locked. Then he returned to the mirror.

He did not take a photograph. He did not want the look stored on his phone where a careless swipe or shared screen could reveal it.

Instead, he stayed in the kurti.

He answered two work messages, made tea, and sat at his desk for nearly an hour. At first, he noticed the garment every time he moved. Gradually, he stopped checking it.

The kurti became less like a costume and more like something he was wearing.

At five-thirty, his phone lit up with Ritika's message.

**Meeting finished early. Leaving in twenty minutes.**

Ishan stood so quickly that his chair rolled backwards.

He removed the clips and placed them beside his comb. Then he pulled off the kurti, wore his oversized T-shirt, and checked the room.

The kurti had a few light creases near the waist.

He spread it across the bed and smoothed the cloth with his palms. After folding it along the same lines Ritika used, he returned it to her homewear shelf.

By the time the front-door lock turned, Ishan was at the dining table in his usual home clothes.

Ritika entered with her office bag and shook rainwater from her umbrella.

"You brought the clothes inside?" she asked.

"Just before the rain."

"Thank you."

She went to change.

Ishan watched her bedroom door close.

Part of him expected her to notice the kurti had been moved. She did not mention it during tea or dinner.

The secret remained his.

For the next two days, Ishan told himself that trying the kurti once had answered his curiosity.

On Saturday morning, Ritika left to meet a friend for lunch.

Ishan waited until her cab had left the building. Then he washed his cup, returned to his room, and fixed his hair with the two black clips.

He did not pretend there was another reason.

He opened Ritika's cupboard and reached directly for the maroon kurti.

The first time had been curiosity.

Choosing it again was an answer.