I had not expected the crowd.

  Even from inside the car, before we turned into the ne, I could see the barricades and the cluster of people pressed against them. Banners with Sameera's face announcing the opening of the jewellery chain in Mumbai fluttered above their heads. Mobile phones were already raised, recording, waiting.

  The owners of the jewellery chain had clearly publicised the event well in a short time. I had seen the advertisements myself on social media since the afternoon.

  "Grand inauguration of Laxmi Jewellers' first Mumbai store at the hands of the gorgeous superstar Sameera."

  Every time I scrolled past one of those posts, there was a strange moment of dislocation.

  That face in the poster - glowing, smiling, airbrushed - was my face now.

  Earlier that afternoon, around noon, a velvet-lined case had arrived from the store. Inside y the jewellery I was to wear for the event.

  Even I had been momentarily struck with admiration.

  A multi-yered pearl choker, thick and regal, rested at the centre of the box. A rge green gemstone - an emerald, perhaps - dominated the pendant, set in ornate gold and encircled with small diamonds that caught the light even in the dim bedroom. Matching delicate gold-and-diamond earrings completed the set.

  It would easily be in the twentyfive-kh range. Possibly more.

  Jyotsna, who had come to drape my saree, stared at it for a full minute before carefully lifting it out.

  "Wow," she whispered reverently, "this is an heirloom piece."

  Under Aarav's instructions, she chose a traditional South Indian silk saree in a rich festive palette. It was heavily patterned, dominated by emerald green, deep red, and gold, with intricate floral motifs woven in zari. The border was broad and ornate, with pinkish-red and gold detailing. The pallu was vish and heavy, edged with ce-like zari work.

  The blouse was bright red, short-sleeved and fitted, with a slightly dipping neckline that gave a hint of cleavage, drawing attention to the neckce resting at my colrbone. Or did the neckce draw attention to my cleavage? I wasn't sure.

  Jyotsna patiently tutored me again on how to carry the saree - how to hold the pleats lightly while walking, how to let the pallu fall gracefully over my left shoulder and arm.

  I wore gold bangles on my right wrist and a pearl bracelet on my left. My hair was left loose, side-parted and styled to fall over one shoulder. The makeup was fresh yet festive - a fwless base, subtle contouring, expertly lined eyes, a soft blush, and bold red lipstick to match the blouse.

  When I stepped out of the bedroom into the living room, Aarav was waiting.

  He actually paused mid-step.

  "Wow," he said softly, coming closer. "Just... wow. I'm not sure even Sameera looked this beautiful."

  I ughed and waved the comment away, calling it one of his usual exaggerations.

  But inwardly, I felt a flicker of pride.

  Was it because I knew I looked beautiful?

  Or because he had appreciated it?

  I did not examine that thought too closely.

  Back in the present, the car rolled to a halt in front of the store.

  Aarav stepped out first, then held the door open for me. The noise outside swelled instantly - cheers, whistles, shouted names.

  "Sameera! Sameera!"

  The sound hit me like a wave.

  Aarav's hand hovered at my back as he guided me forward through the small security corridor that had been created. I walked carefully, lifting the saree slightly with recently practised grace, conscious of the golden high-heeled sandals I wore - exactly as I had learned from helpful YouTube videos.

  "Look at the crowds," Aarav murmured close to my ear. "Your popurity is rising. We should have asked for twenty khs."

  I almost corrected him - Sameera's popurity - but the cameras were already fshing around us, and I simply smiled.

  The jewellery chain owner, Mr. Murali, rushed forward, hands folded, face beaming.

  Inside, the lighting was bright and fttering. Photographers circled constantly. I posed beside dispy counters, leaned slightly to admire neckces, and allowed bangles to be slipped over my wrist for photographs.

  Gold and diamonds glittered everywhere - heavy jhumkas, delicate studs, yered bridal sets, eborate rings, intricate mangalsutra designs - all dispyed with theatrical reverence.

  I nodded appreciatively, smiling with practised warmth, trying to summon the delighted fascination expected of a woman surrounded by exquisite jewellery.

  It was easier than I had expected.

  When the ribbon was cut and the formalities were over, I thought the event had ended smoothly.

  But as we prepared to leave, Mr. Murali approached with a velvet box.

  "A small gift for Sameera ji," he said eagerly.

  Inside y a delicate and beautiful diamond mangalsutra.

  Then came the request.

  "Aarav sir," he said with a hopeful ugh, "if you could tie it around madam's neck, we can take some beautiful pictures for our bridal collection."

  For a second, I froze.

  My eyes instinctively went to Aarav.

  His eyes lit up briefly - I saw it - before his expression shifted into professional composure.

  "Ah, Mr. Murali," he said lightly, "you want an advertisement for your mangalsutra collection as well? Not done, sir. Not for ten khs."

  He took the box smoothly.

  "Thank you for the gift. But if you want an ad, please contact my office and we'll discuss the terms."

  The fall in Mr. Murali's expression was so abrupt that I smiled despite myself.

  We stepped back outside.

  The crowd had grown. The security ring looked thinner now, strained.

  Phones were raised high. The air felt hotter, more charged.

  As we moved toward the car, I waved - just as Aarav had advised - and the cheer that erupted was deafening.

  And then something shifted.

  The barricade wavered.

  There was a sudden surge.

  Security shouted.

  And within seconds, the ring broke.

  Men rushed forward.

  Too close.

  Too fast.

  I felt hands against me before I could process what was happening.

  A palm pressed against my stomach. Shockingly, I felt someone pinching.

  Fingers brushed my cheek.

  Then - to my utter shock and disgust - hands at my blouse, groping, pressing, grabbing.

  I froze for half a second.

  Then the reality hit.

  I was being molested.

  I tried to push away, but the saree restricted my stride, the heels made bance difficult, and my strength was not enough.

  Panic rose sharp and immediate.

  Then strong hands gripped my arm and shoulder, pulling hard.

  For a split second, I feared it was another attacker.

  But it was Aarav.

  His face was taut with anger as he dragged me from the crowd with all his strength and guided me through the chaos toward the car. Security finally re-formed around us, pushing bodies back.

  Within moments, I was back inside the store.

  Safe.

  The noise of the crowd dulled.

  Aarav turned toward me as the store attendants rushed forward, offering water and tissues.

  "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low but strained.

  And unexpectedly - uncontrolbly - tears burst out of me.

  I rarely cried.

  Almost never.

  But they came suddenly, hot and unstoppable.

  I didn't know if I was crying from fear, humiliation, shock - or something deeper.

  Aarav pulled me closer and hugged me.

  I did not resist.

  His embrace felt solid. Protective. Warm.

  And I hated how much I needed it in that moment.

  After a few minutes, the sobbing slowed.

  Mr. Murali approached, apologising profusely.

  "This is not done, Mr. Murali," Aarav said coldly. "Your security was inadequate. We will talk about this ter."

  Murali turned to me. "Madam, I apologise deeply. Please let me know if you need anything."

  I turned to Aarav. "Let's go home."

  Security guided us safely to the car.

  The car pulled away.

  As the city lights blurred past the window, I repyed what had happened.

  The hands. The dirty touches.

  My helplessness.

  My tears.

  Why had I broken down like that?

  Was it shock?

  Or was something else changing in me?

  Was this female persona - this role, this act - slowly reshaping my reactions?

  I hoped not.

  ---

  I was quiet during the journey home.

  The moment we reached the house, I hurried inside without waiting for Aarav. My feet carried me straight to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and leaned against it for a second, breathing.

  Then I turned the shower on.

  I didn't even test the temperature. I just stepped under the stream and let the water fall over me. It rushed down my hair, my shoulders, my fake breasts - washing, rinsing, erasing. Or at least I wanted it to erase.

  I scrubbed at my arms, my body.

  Trying to remove memory with water.

  As if it could wash off the feeling of being touched. Vioted.

  I stayed there far longer than I should have. The mirror fogged. Time blurred. When I finally stepped out, my fingers were wrinkled and my body felt lighter - but not clean.

  I wrapped the towel around myself in the now-familiar way, tying it above my chest. The gesture came instinctively now.

  When I stepped into the bedroom, Aarav was there.

  I froze.

  He immediately turned his face away. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I just came to check if you were alright."

  His voice was softer than before.

  "Yeah... I'm okay," I replied.

  My voice betrayed me.

  He didn't call it out. He just said, "Hmmm. Come to the living room after you've changed. I have something you need."

  He left.

  I changed into a sturdy, high-necked nightie. Tonight, I needed fabric between me and the world.

  When I entered the living room, I found him on the sofa.

  A bottle of vodka stood open on the table. Two gsses. A pte of fritters. The bottle was already half empty.

  He had been drinking.

  "Come," he said, gesturing toward the seat opposite him. "This should help after what happened."

  He poured vodka into both gsses.

  I wasn't a teetotaller, but I drank rarely. Carefully.

  Tonight, I didn't want to be careful.

  I picked up the gss and swallowed it in one go. The alcohol burned its way down, sharp and punishing. I welcomed it.

  "Hey, hey... slow down," he chuckled, pushing the pte toward me. "At least pretend you're sophisticated."

  I almost ughed.

  "Shit happens," he continued, more serious now. "You know how dangerous it is to be famous."

  I nodded.

  "You handled that bravely."

  Bravely?

  I had cried. I had clung to him. I had shaken like a frightened child. Like a girl.

  "No," I said quietly. "I wasn't brave. I'm sorry... for crying like that."

  The memory returned too vividly. My hand reached for the second gss. I swallowed that too.

  "You really should drink it slowly," he muttered, though he didn't stop me. Then his tone shifted. "No. It can be horrible for anyone. You handled it better than most would."

  He paused.

  "Maybe better than Sameera would have."

  I looked up at that.

  I didn't know if that was true.

  "How is she?" I asked, trying to change the subject from the incident.

  "She's fine," he replied, finishing his gss and refilling it again. "Recovering. We won't know the final results of the surgery for another ten days, but the surgeon is optimistic."

  "Good," I said.

  There was a silence.

  "I don't think I'm handling this role well."

  He waved that away dismissively. "Oh shut up. You've been perfect. Even today - graceful. Composed."

  His gaze shifted to Sameera's framed photograph on the wall.

  "She would've made a spectacle. The media would've been outside by now. Probably negotiated compensation from that jewellery chain too."

  I smiled faintly. "We're different. She was always a drama queen. That's what made her a star."

  "Yes." His smile turned crooked. "She's ambitious. Focused. Determined. She knows exactly what she wants... and she'll do anything to get it."

  He finished his drink and poured himself another.

  "She used me," he said suddenly.

  The words hung heavy in the air.

  "She married me for convenience. For the image. Used me as a stepping stone. I thought it was love. I was a fool."

  He wasn't just drunk.

  He was wounded.

  "You might be wrong," I offered weakly. "She trusts you."

  "Trust?" He ughed bitterly. "I told her not to get surgery. I told her she didn't need it. Her chin, her nose - those so-called imperfections made her real. Made her beautiful."

  His voice cracked slightly.

  "She wouldn't listen."

  I sat very still.

  "And when it went wrong..." He exhaled sharply. "She didn't lean on me. She used me. Asked me to contact you. To convince you."

  His eyes moved to my face then.

  "Look at you," he said softly. "Your face is beautiful because it isn't perfect."

  Heat rushed to my cheeks.

  He finished another gss. His speech began to blur at the edges.

  "I could write a script for you," he decred suddenly. "Launch you as a heroine. Teach her a lesson."

  "Aarav," I said gently. "You're drunk. I'm Sam. Her twin brother. A man."

  "Oh, I know," he waved zily. "Doesn't matter. You have a feminine side. I can feel it."

  My heart skipped.

  A feminine side?

  Was he seeing something I wasn't? Or something I was afraid to see?

  He noticed my discomfort and softened. "Forget it. It's for you to discover. Sameera will be back soon anyway. But you... you're a good brother. A good repcement. And... a good friend."

  He stood up and held out his hand.

  "Friends, aren't we?"

  I looked at his hand.

  He was drunk. Vulnerable. Honest in a way sobriety never allowed.

  I took it.

  "Friends," I said. "But there's no feminine side. It's all just acting."

  "Yeah, yeah," he murmured.

  He staggered slightly on the way to the bedroom, and I rushed to steady him. His arm draped over my shoulder. The contact was warm and heavy. It surprisingly felt reassuring.

  "Beautiful repcement," he muttered. "Perfect..."

  I id him on the bed. Within minutes, he was snoring softly.

  I stood there for a moment, watching him.

  Then I went back to the living room and looked at Sameera's photograph.

  Her confident smile.

  Her sharp eyes.

  Her certainty.

  Was I only pretending? Or was something shifting beneath the surface?

  In the quiet of the house, his words echoed inside me.

  You have a feminine side.

  I wrapped my arms around myself.

  Was there... a small, hidden fragment of her inside me?

  Or had I begun to grow one of my own?

  ---

  End of Part 1

  Thank you for reading till here ??

  Part 2 begins a few days ter in the story timeline, as Aarav prepares to travel to the US to be by Sameera's side when her bandages are removed... and to bring her back home.

  What happens next?!

  See you in Part 2.

  ------------

  That's the end of Chapter 13. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely. Drop a like if you enjoyed reading it.

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  Copyright Notice & Discimer

  > ? Moon Winters, 2025. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, pces, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resembnce to real people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.