Long hair love

Chapter 12 - Home Too Early

The maroon kurti did not remain a one-time experiment.

That Saturday, Ishan wore it until Ritika messaged that she was returning from lunch. He changed back, folded the kurti carefully, and placed it on the same shelf.

Four days later, Ritika left for the office.

Ishan waited until the front door closed. Then he made breakfast, completed his first work call, and tried to ignore the thought already waiting for him.

By eleven, he stopped pretending.

This time, he did not open Ritika's cupboard.

Two of her kurtis were already waiting in the laundry basket. Ishan chose a soft blue cotton one and wore it with the navy leggings.

The kurti still held a faint trace of Ritika's mild perfume and fabric softener.

Ishan liked the familiar scent. It made the garment feel like ordinary feminine homewear rather than something he was using only for an experiment.

The second deliberate return felt easier than the first.

He still checked that his camera was off before every call. He kept an oversized T-shirt on the back of his chair in case someone unexpectedly asked for video. But he no longer stood before the mirror trying to decide whether he liked the look.

He already knew.

During the next three weeks, a private routine formed.

Ishan never wore a kurti when Ritika was home. He did not mention the clothes to Naina or Priya, and he did not take photographs. On days when Ritika went to the office, he sometimes chose one of the kurtis already waiting to be washed.

That made returning it simple. Before Ritika came home, he placed it back among the other clothes in the laundry basket. There were no neat folds to copy and no changed shelf for her to notice.

At first, he stayed inside his bedroom with the door locked.

Later, he began making tea or lunch while wearing it. The flat was locked, the curtains were partly closed, and nobody could see him unless he opened the front door.

He did not open it.

If the bell rang, he waited quietly until the person left.

The secrecy still made him nervous, but the kurti itself no longer did.

He learned how to free his hair from the neckline without making it untidy. He stopped pulling at the hem each time he stood. The soft cotton settled around him naturally while he worked, cooked, or walked through the flat.

His hair became part of the private routine.

After wearing a kurti, Ishan would sit before the mirror with his comb. He tried a straight middle part, then combed everything to one side. Sometimes he fixed only one side with a tic-tac clip and let the other fall around his cheek.

The uneven styles did not always work. He combed them out and tried again.

He liked the open-but-controlled style Ritika had taught him, but experimenting alone felt different. He was no longer learning only how to keep hair away from his eyes. He was finding which hairstyles looked right with the kurtis.

The clothes were feminine. He no longer needed to weaken that fact with another explanation.

He simply was not ready for anyone else to know how much he liked them.

One Friday, Ritika had a full day at the office.

Ishan changed after lunch. A pale green kurti was lying near the top of the laundry basket. It carried the same light trace of perfume as the blue one.

He wore it with the black leggings. Then he combed a side part and used one tic-tac clip to hold the larger front section above his ear. The remaining hair curved freely around his other cheek.

His morning had been busy, but the afternoon was quiet. After completing his work, he carried a cup of tea to the hall and sat on the sofa.

Rain tapped steadily against the balcony windows. The room had become cool enough that he switched off the fan.

He opened a video on his phone and rested his head against one end of the sofa.

Within a few minutes, his eyes closed.

At Ritika's office, two afternoon interviews were cancelled. She finished one remaining task and decided to complete the rest of her work from home.

She did not message Ishan. There was no reason to warn him that she was returning to their own flat.

Shortly after four, Ritika unlocked the front door.

The hall was quiet.

She stepped inside, removed her shoes, and looked towards the sofa.

Then she stopped.

Ishan was asleep on his side.

He was wearing her pale green kurti with black leggings.

The kurti had shifted slightly while he slept but still fell neatly over him. His shoulder-length hair spread across the cushion. One black clip remained fixed above his ear while the loose side curved near his cheek.

His clean-shaven face looked peaceful.

Ritika remained beside the door.

For one moment, she wondered whether she had misunderstood what she was seeing. Then she recognized the small stitched pattern along the kurti's neckline.

It was the one she had placed in the laundry basket that morning.

The leggings had begun as a solution to heat and poor fitting. Ishan had worn them openly and explained them without shame.

This was different.

He had chosen the kurti while believing he was completely alone. He had matched it with the leggings and carefully styled his hair before wearing it. Nothing about the scene looked like a hurried trial that had gone wrong.

He looked comfortable enough to fall asleep.

Ritika's first feeling was surprise.

The second was concern that he might wake and see her standing there.

She did not want his first awareness of being seen to come from panic.

Ritika picked up her shoes without making a sound. She stepped back into the corridor and closed the door as gently as she could.

Inside, Ishan continued sleeping.

Ritika went downstairs and sat in the building lobby.

She considered calling him immediately. That might make him wonder why she had not entered after reaching the building.

Instead, she waited five minutes and sent a message.

**Interviews finished early. I will be home in twenty minutes.**

Ishan's phone vibrated on the centre table.

He opened his eyes slowly, read the message, and then looked down.

Sleep disappeared at once.

He stood, checked the time, and hurried to his room. He removed the clip and kurti, pulled on his oversized grey T-shirt, and checked the pale green cloth.

It was already waiting to be washed, so he placed it back beneath the other clothes in the laundry basket.

He returned to the hall, pushed his loose hair behind his ears, and carried the empty teacup to the kitchen.

By the time the bell rang, nothing unusual remained visible except the black leggings he already wore openly.

Ishan opened the door.

Ritika stood outside with her office bag and the shoes she had put back on downstairs.

"You came quickly," he said.

"Traffic was light."

She entered and placed her bag beside the dining chair as usual.

Ishan tried to read her expression.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes. Why?"

"No reason."

He moved towards the kitchen.

"I was going to make tea."

"Make one for me also."

"Okay."

Ritika went to her room while he filled the kettle.

She did not check the cupboard or the laundry basket.

At the dining table, Ishan spoke about the rain and asked why her interviews had been cancelled. His voice sounded normal after the first few minutes.

Ritika answered normally too.

She did not ask about the kurti. She did not tease him about his hair or search for a hidden meaning he had never given her.

Seeing him in feminine clothes did not tell her what name he wanted, how far the interest went, or what it meant to him.

It told her only that the choice was real and private.

Until Ishan decided to speak, Ritika would respect both parts.

Across the table, Ishan lifted his tea and relaxed.

He believed he had changed in time.

Ritika allowed him to keep believing it.