Rahul, at 23, wasn't doing well at all. Ever since Lakshmi died in that accident, it felt like a part of him had died too. His usually cheerful house felt quiet, colors seemed duller, and even family meals were just something he went through, not enjoyed. Lakshmi was constantly on his mind; it was like she was still just around the corner, ready to walk back into his life any minute.
His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sharma, were heartbroken watching him. They tried everything to help him – different doctors, therapies, anything they could think of. Nothing really seemed to break through the wall of grief he’d built around himself. Finally, Dr. Mehra, his psychiatrist, suggested something unusual. "Sometimes, when someone goes through a huge trauma," he explained gently, "their mind kind of creates its own reality to cope. Rahul is stuck in that place. Maybe, if we could gently nudge him back to reality... a different approach might help. If we could find someone who looks a lot like Lakshmi, and if that person could pretend to be her for a while… just for a temporary period… it might give Rahul the push he needs to start healing."
The Sharmas, willing to try anything, decided to follow this unconventional advice. Money wasn’t an issue for them. They put out feelers, contacted agencies, and even looked online for someone who resembled Lakshmi. But weeks turned into months, and they couldn’t find anyone who was even close. Hope started to dwindle, making an already difficult situation even harder.
One evening, feeling completely drained, Mr. and Mrs. Sharma went for a walk in the park, hoping for a bit of peace. As they walked, lost in their thoughts, Mrs. Sharma suddenly stopped. "Look over there," she murmured, pointing towards a man sitting on a bench, sketching in a notebook.
Mr. Sharma looked. He felt a jolt. The man’s profile, the way his jawline was shaped, his nose, the curve of his neck… it was startling. It really was like looking at Lakshmi, if Lakshmi had been… a man.
The man, Sanjay, was absorbed in sketching the vibrant gulmohar trees, a slight frown of concentration on his face. He was simply dressed, his clothes worn, but there was something refined about him. You could tell he was educated, even though he didn't seem to be doing very well financially. He lived with his wife, Priya, and their young son, Rohan, in a small apartment. Life was a constant worry about money. They were religious and found comfort in their faith, going to the temple every week.
For a few days, the Sharmas quietly kept an eye on Sanjay. They learned about his life – the job struggles, the simple life he lived. Then, one afternoon, as Sanjay was walking home looking dejected from another failed job interview, their driver approached him politely. He requested if Sanjay could spare a few minutes. Hesitantly, Sanjay agreed, probably expecting another unwanted sales pitch.
They took him to a quiet little tea shop. Mr. Sharma, sounding choked up, explained their desperate situation – Rahul’s condition, the doctor's suggestion. Then he made an unbelievable offer: two crore rupees if Sanjay would pretend to be Lakshmi for a year. "Just a year," he pleaded, "to help our son get better. You can go back to your life afterwards. Nobody else needs to know the truth except us."
Sanjay was speechless. Two crore rupees? It was a sum he couldn’t even fathom, an amount that could solve all his problems, lift his family out of poverty overnight. But the request itself… it was insane. "Pretend to be… a woman?" he asked, a mix of shock and offense in his voice. "A Hindu woman? I... I can't do that." He stood up abruptly, ready to walk away.
Mrs. Sharma, tears in her eyes, reached out and gently stopped him. "Please," she begged, her voice breaking slightly, "please just think about our son. He’s not really living right now. We’re not asking this lightly. We know it sounds crazy. But we are truly desperate. Just… please consider it.”
Sanjay went home with his head spinning. He told Priya everything, expecting her to be just as shocked and repulsed as he was. But Priya listened carefully, her mind already calculating, her eyes wide with disbelief but also… a flicker of hope.
"Two crore?" she breathed, almost inaudibly. "Sanjay, just think about what we could do with that kind of money. Rohan's future, a decent place to live, no more debts... not having to worry about food every single day..." Her voice trailed off, her gaze falling to the worn floor.
"But Priya," Sanjay protested, running a hand through his hair, "it’s just… wrong. Lying to someone like that, pretending to be someone I'm not… and a wife… It’s against everything I believe in."
Priya moved closer, placing her hand gently on his arm. Her voice was softer now, more persuasive. "And what about watching us struggle like this forever, Sanjay? What about Rohan’s health, his opportunities? Is that right? We pray for a way out every single day, Sanjay. Maybe… maybe this is the answer, even if it's… strange."
They talked late into the night. Priya argued, pleading, outlining their desperate situation and the chance this money offered to transform their lives completely. She also emphasized Rahul's pain, appealing to Sanjay's compassionate nature. Slowly, hesitantly, Sanjay started to waver. The relentless pressure of their poverty, combined with Priya's persuasive reasoning, wore him down. He saw the raw desperation in Priya’s eyes, the longing for a better future for Rohan. Finally, with a heavy sigh and a knot in his stomach, he conceded. “Okay,” he said, the word feeling heavy and bitter on his tongue. "Okay, I'll do it.”
The next morning, the Sharmas were overjoyed when Sanjay told them his decision. They wasted no time starting the transformation process. They took him to an ultra-exclusive salon, the kind frequented by celebrities and socialites. The sheer luxury was overwhelming for Sanjay; he felt a mix of awe and growing anxiety.
Fatima, the renowned makeup artist, had been briefed beforehand. She studied Lakshmi’s photo and then examined Sanjay carefully, nodding thoughtfully. “Yes,” she said, with professional confidence, "we can create a very convincing likeness."
Sanjay was clearly on edge. He was tense, his body stiff, his eyes full of unease. Fatima, understanding that the transformation required a relaxed subject, suggested a mild sedative to help him calm down. Reluctantly, he agreed. As drowsiness washed over him, he could feel his muscles begin to relax, and his worried thoughts started to fade slightly.
As Sanjay drifted off into a medicated sleep, the transformation began. Priya watched, her heart a mixture of guilt, nervous excitement, and a strange protective feeling for Sanjay.
Fatima’s team started with his hair. Long, dark, realistic hair extensions were skillfully attached, instantly softening his masculine features. Laser hair removal started, followed by skin bleaching to match Lakshmi’s lighter complexion. Eyebrow threading meticulously shaped his brows into a delicate feminine arch. A facial softened his skin, making it look smoother and more refined.
Silicone breast forms were carefully placed and adhered to his chest to create a more womanly shape. Hip and butt pads followed, designed to create an hourglass figure. Then came the corset, laced incredibly tightly, cinching his waist and reshaping his torso. To complete the feminine illusion, an artificial vagina was carefully applied. His hands and feet were given a full manicure and pedicure.
Once the physical sculpting was done, Fatima moved on to makeup. She skillfully contoured his face, highlighting cheekbones, softening his jaw, and making his eyes look bigger and more expressive with kohl and soft eyeshadows. Finally, a bright red bindi was placed on his forehead. He was then dressed in a vibrant pattu pavadai, the traditional skirt and blouse, completing the breathtaking transformation.
When Sanjay woke up, he felt completely disoriented. He looked at himself in the mirror Fatima held up. He gasped. The reflection staring back wasn’t Sanjay. It was a woman, a near-perfect replica of Lakshmi in the photograph next to him. It was uncanny. He touched his face, the smooth skin feeling alien under his fingers.
Priya tried to lighten the mood, though her voice wavered slightly. "Wow, Sanjay," she said, forcing a smile, "you’ve become so beautiful! You’re prettier than me now!”
Sanjay managed a weak smile. He cleared his throat and spoke in a surprisingly convincing female voice, “Is that really… me?”
The Sharmas entered the room. They were stunned into silence. Tears welled in Mrs. Sharma’s eyes as she gazed at "Lakshmi." Mr. Sharma folded his hands together in gratefulness.
They brought “Lakshmi” home. Rahul was in his room, still trapped in his grief. When Sanjay, now Lakshmi, was gently led into the room, Rahul looked up, startled. His eyes widened, disbelief fighting with overwhelming joy. “Lakshmi?” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. He rushed forward, taking "her" hands in his. “You’re back… you’re really back!”
Rahul’s parents watched, their hearts a mix of relief and deep unease. They had given their son a moment of happiness, but it felt built on a shaky foundation.
Almost immediately, a new problem surfaced. Overjoyed to have “Lakshmi” back, Rahul declared firmly, “I can’t lose you again. We should get married, right away. As soon as possible.”
The Sharmas froze, exchanging a quick, worried look. But seeing the pure, though misguided, happiness in Rahul’s eyes, they couldn’t refuse. “Yes, son,” Mr. Sharma said calmly, trying to sound reassuring, "yes, we can arrange the wedding. How about next Sunday? Guruvayoor is an auspicious place."
Rahul’s face lit up, and he hugged “Lakshmi” tightly. Mrs. Sharma quickly excused herself and slipped out to make a phone call, transferring 25 lakhs into Priya’s account as promised. Priya, seeing the notification, felt a cold shiver. The money was real, the pretense was deepening, and the lie was becoming increasingly complex.
That evening, Priya visited Sanjay. She found him dressed in a silk saree, sitting on Rahul’s bed, looking completely lost and miserable. "I… I’m so sorry, Sanjay," she whispered, her voice choked with tears. "I never thought it would go this far."
Sanjay looked up at her, his eyes mirroring her sadness. “It’s okay, Priya,” he said in his Lakshmi voice, a note of quiet resignation in his tone. “We agreed to it. We needed the money. I'll… I’ll keep going."
Wedding preparations were immediately underway. Sunday arrived in a rush. Sanjay, heavily made-up as a bride, dressed in a beautiful silk saree and heavy gold jewelry, was taken to the Guruvayoor temple. He felt a sharp pang of guilt, missing his usual Sunday temple visit, even though it was to a different deity, in a different temple.
The wedding ceremony was a blur of rituals and chanting. The sacred fire, the unfamiliar faces all around, felt distant and unreal. He went through the motions, numbly accepting the mangalsutra and sindoor, symbols of a sacred bond he was faking.
Rahul, completely unaware, was glowing with happiness, his eyes constantly on “Lakshmi.” He treated Sanjay with gentle care and respect, making Sanjay's pretense even harder to bear.
Their first night as “husband and wife” was deeply uncomfortable for Sanjay. He played the part of the traditional, obedient wife, serving Rahul, attending to his needs, his heart heavy with guilt and shame. Rahul, in his innocent joy, was kind and loving, each gentle gesture twisting the knife of Sanjay’s deception further.
Days bled into weeks. Sanjay, as Lakshmi, was now expected to live the life of a Hindu wife – daily prayers in the temple, family gatherings, being Rahul’s constant companion. Soon, people started to wonder why “Lakshmi” wasn't getting pregnant. Whispers began, and questions were asked indirectly. “Any good news yet?” relatives would hint.
Rahul picked up on these murmurs and grew agitated. He confronted “Lakshmi” in private, his initial tenderness turning into frustrated impatience. “Why aren’t you pregnant yet?” he demanded, his voice edged with anxiety. "Is something wrong with you?"
Sanjay, as Lakshmi, felt increasingly trapped and desperate. He confided in Mr. and Mrs. Sharma, his voice trembling, explaining the pressure he was under. They understood the difficult situation and, with tired resignation, told him, "Alright, Lakshmi. We'll tell everyone you are pregnant. Just act like it for another month or so. We’ll say you are in your first trimester.”
And so, another layer of fabrication was woven into the already complicated lie. After playing a newlywed, Sanjay now had to act pregnant. He started pretending to feel nauseous in the mornings, feigning “vomiting” into the sink, even though his stomach was empty. The family rejoiced at the "good news." Rahul’s impatience disappeared, replaced with a comically overprotective concern for his "pregnant" wife.
Life as “Lakshmi” became a tightrope walk for Sanjay. Every gesture, every word, had to be carefully calibrated. The corset, the padded hips, the breast forms – they were constant physical reminders of the charade. And the emotional weight was even heavier. He was living a lie, a huge, elaborate lie that was getting more tangled with each passing day.
The pregnancy announcement bought them some time from prying questions about children, but it also brought a new wave of attention and expectations. Rahul was over the moon, treating “Lakshmi” with an almost comical level of protectiveness. He’d bring her special fruits he’d read were good for pregnant women, constantly ask if she was feeling okay, and even rearranged their bedroom to be “safer” for her and the “baby.” It was sweet, in a way, but it also twisted Sanjay’s guilt tighter.
Priya visited as often as she could, usually on the pretext of checking up on “Lakshmi’s” health or bringing Rohan to see his “aunt.” These visits were a lifeline for Sanjay, a brief respite from the Lakshmi persona. They would talk in hushed tones, Priya mostly reassuring him that the year would pass quickly and that the money was already making a huge difference in their lives. They had moved to a slightly bigger apartment, Rohan was going to a better school, and the constant worry about bills had lessened. Priya, though, seemed to be getting used to, even enjoying, the perks of this new financial comfort. Sanjay noticed she was dressing better, buying small luxuries she wouldn't have considered before. He felt a twinge of unease, wondering if Priya’s priorities were shifting.
One afternoon, during a family lunch, Rahul’s sharp-eyed aunt, Radha, observed “Lakshmi” with an unusually intense gaze. Radha was known for her astute observations and for speaking her mind. As Sanjay, as Lakshmi, delicately ate a small portion of food (the corset made it difficult to eat much at once), Radha spoke, her voice deceptively casual. “Lakshmi, beta, you’re glowing! Pregnancy really suits you.”
Sanjay offered a polite smile, “Thank you, Auntiji.”
Radha leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “But… you seem to be looking… healthier than I remember Lakshmi looking even before… everything happened. Your… complexion is so radiant.”
Sanjay’s heart skipped a beat. He forced a light laugh. “Oh, it must be the pregnancy hormones! They say pregnant women get a special glow, right?”
Radha didn't laugh. She kept watching him, her gaze unwavering. “And your voice, Lakshmi… it sounds… a little different. Deeper, perhaps?”
Sanjay’s palms became clammy under the table. He struggled to keep his voice light and feminine. “Auntiji, you know how morning sickness can be. Maybe my throat is a bit… rough today.” He avoided direct eye contact, busying himself with rearranging his food on the plate.
Mrs. Sharma, sensing the rising tension, quickly intervened. “Radha, don’t tease her so much! She’s pregnant and feeling sensitive. Leave her be.” She gave Radha a pointed look that clearly said, drop it.
Radha, though, wasn't easily deterred. "I’m just concerned, sister-in-law," she said, her eyes still fixed on Sanjay. "Pregnancy can change a woman. But some things… fundamental things… shouldn’t change so drastically, right?"
The lunch continued, but the air felt thick with unspoken suspicion. Sanjay could feel Radha's gaze on him throughout the meal. He barely ate, his appetite completely gone, replaced by a cold knot of fear in his stomach.
After lunch, as the family dispersed, Radha pulled Mrs. Sharma aside. “Sister-in-law,” she said quietly, but firmly, “something is not right with Lakshmi. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I feel it in my gut. She’s different. Not just grieving, but… fundamentally different. You need to be careful. Very careful.”
Mrs. Sharma tried to dismiss her concerns, but Radha’s words planted a seed of doubt and worry even in her mind. What if someone else started to notice too? What if Radha, being so observant, started digging? The carefully constructed façade was starting to feel very fragile.
That evening, Sanjay confided in Priya about Radha's unsettling scrutiny. Priya initially brushed it off. "Aunties are always like that, Sanjay. They love to gossip and create drama. Don't worry about it.”
But Sanjay was deeply worried. “No, Priya, you didn’t see her eyes. She was really studying me. She’s suspicious. What if she starts investigating? What if she realizes…?” His voice trailed off, the unspoken fear hanging heavy in the air.
Priya’s initial dismissiveness started to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of the potential danger. "Okay, okay, calm down," she said, her voice losing some of its earlier cheerfulness. "Maybe… maybe you just need to be extra careful. Act even more like Lakshmi. Remember old stories about her, mannerisms… We need to double down on the act.”
But Sanjay felt increasingly suffocated by the act. He missed being himself, missed his simple life, missed his peace of mind. The money, which had initially seemed like a golden ticket, now felt like chains binding him to this elaborate deception.
Then, another complication arose. Rahul, still basking in the pregnancy glow, started becoming more… affectionate. He began initiating physical intimacy, assuming it was a normal part of married life, especially with a child on the way (as per his understanding from books and family advice).
Sanjay was caught completely off guard. He had anticipated emotional closeness, maybe companionship, but not this. The artificial vagina, the padded curves, it was all for show, for external appearances. The thought of actual physical intimacy in this fake female form sent waves of panic through him.
He started making excuses – morning sickness, fatigue, pregnancy hormones making her “sensitive.” Rahul, initially understanding, slowly became less patient. He was a young man with normal desires, and he felt increasingly rejected.
One night, Rahul gently tried to initiate intimacy again. Sanjay, tense and anxious, stiffened and pulled away. “Rahul, please,” he said in his Lakshmi voice, strained and shaky, “I’m really not feeling well. The baby… I’m just so tired.”
Rahul’s brow furrowed. “Lakshmi,” he said, his voice tinged with hurt, “it’s been weeks. Every night it’s some excuse. Are you… are you not attracted to me anymore?”
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating in the bedroom. Sanjay, as Lakshmi, could see the hurt in Rahul’s eyes, a familiar pain he’d been trying to erase, ironically with a lie. “Rahul… it’s not that,” Sanjay began, his voice trembling slightly, struggling to maintain the feminine pitch. “It’s just… everything is so different now. I’m still… adjusting.” Adjusting to being a man pretending to be your dead girlfriend, he thought bitterly, the words he couldn't say echoing in his mind.
Rahul’s expression softened a little, but the doubt remained. “Adjusting to what, Lakshmi? We’re married now, we’re having a baby. This is what we always wanted, isn't it?” His voice cracked on the last question, a vulnerability piercing through his frustration.
Sanjay’s carefully constructed Lakshmi façade almost crumbled. He wanted to reach out, comfort the real Rahul, not the version built on a foundation of lies. But he was trapped in the role. He forced a tear to his eye, a cheap trick, but effective. “Of course, Rahul. It’s just… I’m scared. Scared of losing you again. Scared something might happen to the baby. Pregnancy makes you… emotional, you know?”
Rahul’s protective instincts kicked in again. “Oh, Lakshmi,” he murmured, pulling “her” closer, his earlier hurt forgotten in his concern. “Don’t be scared. I’m here. We’re in this together.” He held “her” gently, oblivious to the turmoil raging beneath the silk saree.
But the cracks in the deception were widening. Radha’s suspicion hung over them like a shadow, and now, Rahul’s questioning marked a new, dangerous phase. Sanjay became even more withdrawn, feigning constant fatigue and illness to avoid physical intimacy, and spending hours alone, ostensibly “resting.”
One afternoon, while “Lakshmi” was supposedly resting, Radha paid an unexpected visit. She found Mrs. Sharma in the living room and, after the usual pleasantries, steered the conversation directly to her concerns. “Sister-in-law, I’ve been thinking a lot about Lakshmi.”
Mrs. Sharma’s forced smile tightened. “Radha, please. Let it go. You’re imagining things.”
Radha shook her head firmly. “No, I’m not. There are little things… Lakshmi used to love jasmine tea, now ‘she’ refuses it. She always wore her grandmother’s anklets, they’re gone. And her handwriting… I saw her sign a temple donation form, it looked… different.”
Mrs. Sharma paled slightly. She hadn’t noticed these details, consumed as she was with Rahul’s fragile well-being. “Radha, these are small things. Grief and pregnancy change people.”
“Perhaps,” Radha conceded, “but there’s something else. Remember how Lakshmi used to mimic voices? She was so good at it. I haven’t heard ‘her’ do it even once since she came back.” Radha paused, her gaze sharp. “Sister-in-law, you need to consider… what if this isn’t really Lakshmi?”
Mrs. Sharma stared at her, a chill creeping down her spine. The unthinkable thought, the one she had buried deep, surfaced with terrifying clarity. Could it be possible?
Unbeknownst to them, Rahul, feeling restless and wanting to surprise “Lakshmi,” had returned home early and was approaching the living room. He overheard the last part of Radha’s sentence. “What do you mean, ‘not really Lakshmi’?” he asked, his voice suddenly cold and dangerously calm.
The two women froze, turning to see Rahul standing in the doorway, his face a mask of disbelief and dawning horror. He looked from his mother to Radha, and back again, his eyes searching for an explanation, dreading the answer.
Radha, realizing she’d accidentally revealed her suspicions in front of Rahul, stepped forward cautiously. “Rahul, beta, we… we were just discussing Lakshmi’s… health.”
But Rahul wasn’t buying it. “No. I heard you. ‘Not really Lakshmi?’ What are you saying?” His voice was rising now, laced with panic.
Mrs. Sharma, seeing the devastation in her son’s eyes, knew she couldn’t lie anymore. With trembling hands, she led Rahul and Radha to the sofa. She took a deep breath and began to unravel the elaborate lie, starting with Dr. Mehra’s suggestion, their desperate search, and finally, their discovery of Sanjay.
Rahul listened in stunned silence, his face losing all color. As his mother recounted the transformation, the charade, and the two crore rupees, his breath hitched in his throat, and tears started streaming down his face, silent tears of betrayal and heartbreak. When she finished, he didn't scream, didn't shout. He just sat there, utterly broken.
Meanwhile, Sanjay, still in his Lakshmi persona, was in the bedroom, lost in his own thoughts. He heard raised voices downstairs and a sudden, chilling silence. A wave of dread washed over him. He knew, somehow, that the carefully constructed house of cards was collapsing.
A soft knock came on the door. It was Mrs. Sharma. She entered, her face etched with sorrow. Behind her, stood Rahul, his eyes red-rimmed and empty, and Radha, her expression a mixture of concern and grim vindication.
Sanjay’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew this was it. The moment of truth. He looked at Rahul, at the raw pain in his eyes, and the lie he had been living felt monstrously heavy. He couldn’t play Lakshmi anymore, not for another second.
In a voice that was no longer carefully modulated, but deep and resonant, his own voice, Sanjay spoke. “Rahul,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I… I need to tell you something.” He reached up, his fingers trembling, and unfastened the bindi from his forehead. Then, slowly, deliberately, he started removing the hair extensions, the breast forms, the hip pads, stripping away the layers of Lakshmi, revealing Sanjay beneath.
Rahul watched, speechless, as the woman he thought he knew dissolved before his eyes, replaced by the man who had been a stranger just months ago. The truth, brutal and devastating, hung in the air. The illusion was shattered. The temporary bridge back to reality had just crumbled, leaving Rahul standing on the precipice of another, even deeper, abyss.
The aftermath was a whirlwind of pain, anger, and confusion. Rahul initially retreated into himself, his grief intensified, now mixed with the bitter sting of deception. He felt betrayed, not just by Sanjay, but by his own parents, by the desperate hope that had led them to orchestrate this elaborate lie.
Sanjay, stripped of the Lakshmi disguise, felt a strange sense of relief mixed with deep shame. He faced Rahul, offering a sincere, albeit inadequate apology. He explained his family’s poverty, Priya’s desperation, and his own difficult choice. Rahul, still deeply hurt, didn't lash out, but listened in a hollow silence, absorbing the painful truth.The shock changed Rahul it cured his disease he came into terms with truth.Sanjay got his money and continued a happy life with his famiy.rahul moved on and married another girl.