So it was that I found himself back at Jyotsna's parlour-not to rid myyself of the humiliating illusion, but to reinforce it.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
I sat on the familiar reclining chair as Jyotsna circled me with sharp, efficient movements, muttering under her breath about dudes who couldn't make up their minds. Her fingers were firm, practiced, entirely unimpressed by my internal turmoil.
"This time," she said dryly, pressing a small bottle into his hand, "I'm giving you the dissolving solution as well. Use it when you finally grow tired of them."
I didn't reply. I couldn't find the words to.
This time, it wasn't just fake cleavage.
Aarav's instructions had been very clear. No one in his house-not the cook, not the cleaning staff, not even the driver-was to suspect for a second that I wasn't Sameera. There would be no breaks, no slipping out of character, no half-measures.
That meant living as her.
Twenty-four hours a day.
For three weeks.
Jyotsna abandoned the idea of a wig altogether. Instead, she attached long, carefully matched hair extensions directly into my own hair-each section woven and bonded with precision to last.
Cream followed. Cool, faintly medicinal, spread along my jaw, upper lip, and cheeks.
"This will stop facial hair growth," she explained. "as long as you use it. Apply daily. Morning and night."
She handed me several small tubes.
When she finally stepped back, wiping her hands on a towel, I caught my reflection in the mirror.
This time, the face looking back at me wasn't pretending.
The softened skin, shaped brows, subtle contouring-everything aligned too perfectly. If I hadn't known better, even I would have believed it.
"No one," Jyotsna said with professional satisfaction, "will be able to tell you aren't Sameera."
The transformation wasn't finished yet.
Without ceremony, she brought out the piercing gun.
"We need to pierce your ears. Sameera doesn't wear clip-ons."
The sharp click and momentary pain made me flinch.
When it was done, I sat there with newly pierced ears, faintly throbbing, acutely aware that Sameera was not a role I could half-play.
By evening, I was dressed in a soft pink top-simple, expensive-looking-and skin-tight jeans that clung unapologetically to the shape Jyotsna had engineered. Padding at my hips and buttocks completed the illusion, subtle but unmistakably feminine. My fingers were adorned with elegant gold and diamond rings, my nail polish refixed, and a simple gold chain with a diamond pendant rested against my chest.
The clothes and jewellery were all Sameera's, brought from Aarav's house.
By the time we reached the driveway of Aarav's building, the sun was already dipping low, staining the sky amber.
At the door, the servants greeted us with quiet excitement.
"Madam's back," a young woman-probably the maid-whispered.
A middle-aged, balding man smiled broadly. "Welcome back, Madam."
As I settled onto the living-room sofa, the man asked, "Shall I bring your usual coffee?"
I knew that meant black and bitter-the way Sameera liked it. I didn't.
In a soft, careful voice-higher, smoother, precisely measured- I said, "No. Not my usual. Coffee with milk. And a little sugar."
The man, whose name was Raghav learnt later, blinked, surprised, but nodded. "Of course, Madam."
As he disappeared into the kitchen, another maid hovered nearby, chatting gently about how Madam looked different today-in a nice way, she assured me.
I endured it with a polite smile, every muscle taut.
When the moment allowed, I leaned toward Aarav and murmured, "Do they live here full-time?"
"Yes," Aarav replied easily. "Husband's the cook, wife handles the cleaning. They stay in the servant room. They were away at their village when you were here after the party. They're back now."
Mu chest tightened. "It's going to be hard being Sameera all the time around them. They know her."
Aarav smiled-slow, confident. "I'm sure you'll manage. Sending them away now would raise questions. Don't worry. I'll be here."
Then, casually, naturally, he slid an arm around my waist and pulled me closer.
I stiffened.
Before I could react, Aarav leaned in and whispered, "Act naturally. They need to see a bit of this." He gestured toward Raghav, who was returning with the coffee tray.
I accepted the mug silently, fingers tightening around it.
When Raghav left again, I turned sharply, ready to protest-but Aarav spoke first, sipping his coffee casually.
"We have to act like a couple sometimes," he said lightly. "It's not just about wearing Sameera's clothes."
I swallowed, the coffee suddenly bitter despite the sugar. "Can't we do that... while maintaining some distance?"
Aarav laughed. "It's not like I kissed you."
He glanced sideways at me. "Faking a few moments of affection now and then won't hurt. The servants shouldn't get suspicious. They gossip and rumours get spread."
Then, quieter, sharper, "Are you sure you can do this? Because if you quit midway, I'll have a hard time explaining it to everyone."
I looked down at my cup.
I didn't have the luxury of choices.
"Yes," I said finally. "But... next time, give me a warning. A signal. Before you try any of those... moments."
Aarav laughed lightly, a hint of mischief evident.
Damn, I thought.
What exactly had I signed up for?
---------
I spent the rest of the evening confined to Sameera and Aarav's bedroom.
In truth, the bedroom felt safer. Quieter. Away from the curious eyes of the servants who had known Sameera for years-who knew her habits, her moods, the way she moved through her own home. And, perhaps more importantly, away from Aarav's casual displays of affection.
I sat in the bean bag near the bed, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, listening to the muffled sounds of the flat settling into evening.
As night crept closer, there was a soft knock.
"Madam?"
Raghav's voice.
I straightened instantly.
"Yes?" I called, pitching his voice softer, lighter.
"Dinner is ready, Madam."
I forced a smile into his voice. "I'll be down shortly. Where's Aarav?"
"He's working on his laptop in the hall."
"Okay."
The door closed. Silence returned.
I exhaled slowly, braced myself, and went downstairs.
Aarav was already seated at the dining table, sleeves rolled up, laptop pushed aside. He looked relaxed-too relaxed for someone who had just convinced another man to live as his twin sister; in his own wife's place for three weeks.
Well, he wasn't the one in disguise, I thought.
Raghav, the cook and his wife, Sushila, moved efficiently, serving dinner.
Aloo parathas were placed before Aarav.
In front of me, a bowl of salad.
Lettuce. Cucumber. A cruel slice of tomato.
My stomach sank.
I had never counted calories in his life. My metabolism had always taken care of things. But Sameera's body, apparently, lived by different rules.
"Sushila," I said carefully, "could you give me one aloo paratha too?"
She looked surprised.
Aarav raised an amused eyebrow. "Jaan, you need to take care of your figure."
I forced a tight smile. "Yeah... just one won't harm."
Aarav shrugged and nodded.
The paratha arrived.
It tasted wonderful-but I ate slowly, painfully aware that I couldn't reach for seconds. The salad disappeared quickly. The hunger didn't.
Sameera wouldn't be seen eating heartily.
So I didn't.
After dinner, I retreated upstairs again, relief washing over me as I closed the bedroom door.
Some time later, there was a knock.
Sushila entered with freshly folded clothes and moved to the large wardrobe. As she opened it, rows of elegant dresses, sarees, and gowns spilled into view-silk, satin, chiffon, all meticulously arranged.
I looked away.
"Should I take something out for the night, Madam?" she asked.
I hesitated, then nodded.
She laid out a two-piece nightie on the bed.
My face heated instantly.
The fabric was delicate, frilled, unmistakably sensual.
"No... that's fine," I said quickly. "I'll find something myself."
Sushila smiled and paused at the door. "You seem quiet today, Madam."
"Tired," I replied softly.
When she left, I searched the wardrobe desperately for something less revealing. Most of Sameera's nightwear was unapologetically bold.
Finally, I found one that was at least modest by comparison-still satin, still frilled, but tolerable.
I washed my face, locked the bathroom door, and changed.
When I returned, I stopped before the mirror.
Soft curves. Full bosom. A slender waist.
The woman staring back looked beautiful. Sensual. Everyone would say she was Sameera-but to me, she looked like a feminine version of myself.
That made me deeply uncomfortable.
The bedroom door opened.
Aarav froze mid-step.
For a split second, his expression betrayed surprise-appreciation, something else.
Then it vanished.
"Wow, Sam," he said lightly. "Even without makeup, you look as pretty as Sameera."
I snorted. "You can't say I didn't earn every penny."
Aarav laughed. "Very professional."
I raised a finger. "Remember-it's still me inside this female façade."
"Of course," Aarav said easily. He gestured toward one side of the bed. "That's my side. You don't get that one."
I shot back, "I was thinking of making you sleep on the floor."
Aarav placed a pillow firmly down the center of the bed. "Relax, my lady. Perfect gentleman. I won't cross the border."
I tilted my head, adopting a mockingly regal expression. "This lady knows how to take care of herself."
Then, lowering my voice, I whispered, "Plus... she's a male underneath."
That caused Aarav to laugh loudly and I joined too, the tension cracking, forgetting for a moment what waited in the three weeks ahead.
------
That's the end of Chapter 9. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely. Drop a like if you enjoyed reading it.
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