Chapter 1: The Vanishing
The monsoon arrived early in Kozhikode. It swept over the coconut groves, drowned the low fields, and left behind the scent of wet earth and secrecy. On such an evening, Aarav Menon vanished.
He had left college at 4:15 PM, according to the watchman. He was wearing a grey kurta, dark jeans, and sandals. His phone last pinged a tower near the temple grove before it went dead.
The next morning, the police found a single sandal, slick with rain and blood, near the banyan tree by the river. The Menon family offered a reward but spoke little. No tears. No panic. Just silence.
Because they already knew.
Chapter 2: Awakening
When Aarav woke, the light stung his eyes. Everything was white—the walls, the sheets, the furniture. The hum of a distant machine was the only sound. He tried to move but felt weak, almost weightless.
A woman in a green silk saree sat beside the bed. Her smile was kind, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"Good morning, Anaya."
Aarav blinked. "What?"
"You're safe now. Your transition is in progress. Don't try to speak too much. Rest."
He tried to rise, but a sharp pain in his chest stopped him. Panic surged. He looked down. His chest was bandaged. His voice felt different. Softer. He touched his face—smooth.
"What did you do to me?" he whispered.
The woman gently stroked his arm. "You're becoming who you were meant to be."
He screamed. But the walls didn’t echo back.
Chapter 3: Rituals and Roots
The Menon family was old money. Landowners, temple patrons, descendants of a matrilineal line that claimed to trace back to the Zamorins. For centuries, their power had passed through daughters. But when female heirs became rare, a secret custom was revived.
Every third generation, a male heir was chosen to be transformed—not symbolically, but wholly—into a daughter. It was called the Vidyadhari Vidhi, cloaked in ancient texts and spiritual justification. In truth, it was a forced reclamation of power.
Madhavi Menon, the matriarch, had prepared Aarav for this since birth. Without his knowledge. She performed the rituals in secret. Prayers for surrender. Offerings for obedience.
When Aarav turned nineteen, she declared him lost. And Anaya was born.
Chapter 4: Becoming Anaya
In the white room, Aarav was no longer called by his name. The nurses addressed him as "she." Voice therapy began. Estrogen injections continued. Meals were laced with hormone suppressants.
He resisted at first. Screamed. Starved himself. Broke a mirror. But the facility was prepared. Punishments were mild but isolating. Rewards were seductive—comfort, warmth, even music.
They dressed him in soft cotton sarees. Taught him to walk, sit, speak like a "lady." He learned to hide his rage behind a mask.
Weeks became months.
One day, he looked in the mirror and saw someone else. The hair long. The eyes lined. The body reshaped. He did not recognize himself.
"I am not her," he whispered.
But a voice inside asked, Are you sure?
Chapter 5: Memory and Fire
Rhea Pillai never believed Aarav disappeared willingly. She dug into the Menon family's past. What she found were whispers: a missing cousin twenty years ago, a "daughter" who had no birth certificate, a family shrine that barred outsiders.
She confronted Aarav's father, Sridhar. He looked away. "There are things older than law. Things we obey."
"And Aarav?"
"Pray for Anaya," he said.
Chapter 6: The Turning
Anaya stopped fighting openly. She played her role. She wore the silk. She let them call her "devi."
But inside, she plotted.
She found an ally in one of the caretakers—a young trans woman named Neela who had once undergone her own forced transition, but reclaimed it. Neela gave her strength.
"You don't have to accept their version of you," Neela said. "But you must survive first."
Chapter 7: Breaking the Chain
On the night of the family festival, Anaya returned to the Menon house. Draped in heirloom gold, she was presented as the new heiress. The crowd bowed. Madhavi smiled.
But Anaya lit the ceremonial fire and turned to speak.
"You call me daughter. But you made me with needles and lies. You broke me, then dressed the wounds in silk."
Gasps. Silence.
"I will not be your puppet. I will be your reckoning."
Then, she dropped a bundle of her old poems—written secretly in confinement—into the fire. The flames leapt high.
A New Name
Months later, a woman named Anaya runs a shelter in Kochi for transgender youth. She wears no jewelry. Her hair is short.
She no longer asks, "Who am I?"
She says, "I choose who I become."
The Menon estate is locked in legal battles. Madhavi Menon remains silent.
But in one hidden room, the mirrors are still covered.