Chapter 3 — Behind Closed Doors
The invitation arrived after the last lecture.
Varshini, a senior known for her confidence and controlling nature, stopped Hemanth near the staircase.
“Come to our hostel room this evening,” she said. “We want to have some fun with you.”
Hemanth felt uneasy. He had heard stories about Varshini's treatment of juniors, but refusing a senior could invite further trouble.
When he arrived, several students were already waiting. Cosmetics, hair accessories, and folded clothes covered the bed.
Varshini looked at his long hair and smiled.
“Let's see what you look like with a completely different style.”
Hemanth tried to explain that he did not want to become the subject of a joke. His objections were ignored. The seniors pressured him into changing into a pastel-pink traditional outfit and applying makeup.
At first, Hemanth kept his head lowered. He felt embarrassed by the way the others laughed and commented on his appearance.
The clothing itself was not what frightened him most. A small part of him had always been curious about feminine styles. What hurt was having no choice, no privacy, and no control over what happened to him.
One senior lifted a phone to take photographs.
“Don't take pictures,” Hemanth pleaded.
Varshini dismissed his request.
“Why are you so nervous? We are only having fun.”
But Hemanth could not experience it as fun. Every laugh reminded him that his discomfort had become entertainment for others.
Eventually, he was allowed to leave.
He hurried back to his room, changed into his usual clothes, and sat on the floor beside his bed. The silence felt heavier than the laughter had.
He began to cry.
He cried for the humiliation, for his inability to make them listen, and for the confusing feelings he could not yet explain. He wondered whether his curiosity about feminine clothing made him responsible for what had happened.
Then he remembered Swetha's words: he deserved to be heard.
Hemanth wiped his face and looked at himself in the mirror. The makeup was gone, but the shame remained.
He finally understood something important.
Being interested in feminine clothing did not give anyone permission to humiliate him. His identity was his own, and no one had the right to turn his private feelings into a spectacle.
That night, he sent Swetha a short message.
“Can I talk to you tomorrow? I don't feel okay.”
Her reply arrived almost immediately.
“Of course. I'll listen.”
For the first time since entering the seniors' room, Hemanth felt a small measure of safety.
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