Lipstick on Weekends

Lipstick on Weekends

Part 1: Just For One Day

The ceiling fan clicked every third rotation, as if protesting the silence in the small rented house just outside Coimbatore. It was a new house, barely lived-in. No houses nearby, so no neighbours. The tiles were clean, the furniture sparse. A narrow framed calendar of Tamil kadavul Murugan Vel still hung crooked on the wall, left untouched since moving day.

Seventeen-year-old Naveen sat hunched at the corner of the dining table, flipping his pen between his fingers, staring at his open schoolbag. His books for Class 12 biology group lay untouched. He was starting at a new school tomorrow, but that wasn't the main tension in the house.

From the kitchen, his mother Mythili was pacing in slippers, murmuring numbers under her breath. “Three instalments done. Thirty thousand per installments. Non-refundable. Aiyo.” Her face was tight with stress, her hair hastily clipped up.

His elder sister Nandhini, 19, was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through Instagram. “Amma,” she said without looking up, “I told you already. I don’t want to do MBBS.”

Mythili stopped in her tracks. “You say that now? Ippo sollriye? After I paid for that entire year’s weekend course?”

Nandhini shrugged. “I was never interested. You made me join. I’m going to apply for design school now.”

“Design school?” Mythili’s voice was rising. “We left Tiruppur, came to Coimbatore, paid Ninety thousand rupees for your MBBS coaching at Swarna Lakshmi Achievers Academy, and you are telling me you don’t want to go?”

“It’s not refundable anyway,” Nandhini said, bored.

“Exactly!” Mythili said, waving her hand at Naveen. “Then he should go instead!”

Naveen blinked. “Me?”

Nandhini looked up and smirked. “Right, let him go as me. He's already fairer than me, no beard, no moustache… just tie his hair and give him a salwar, he’ll pass.”

“Ha-ha,” Naveen said, cheeks flushing. “Very funny.”

But Mythili’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes had locked on to her son’s face now --- not joking, but calculating. She tilted her head. “Wait…”

Swarna Lakshmi Achievers Academy:

The coaching centre was only open on Saturdays and Sundays. Located near RS Puram, it had quickly built a reputation for guaranteed MBBS admissions. “100% Government College Results!” said their banners. Small class sizes, personalised study plans, even a girls-only batch on demand.

Mythili had chosen the girls’ weekend batch for safety and prestige. Classes were strict: 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., with breaks for lunch and tests. Uniform was casual salwar kameez, decent clothes allowed. ID card mandatory.

But the fee. ₹90,000 upfront. was non-refundable, no matter what.

“Why waste it?” Mythili whispered. “The registration says Nandhini M. No one will check anything.”

Naveen stared at her. “You’re not serious.”

“She’s serious,” Nandhini said, laughing.

“Appo? You start school on weekdays. This coaching is only Saturday-Sunday. We’re not wasting that money, okay?”

Naveen looked horrified. “Amma, I’m not a girl!”

“You don’t have to be a girl. You just have to look like one for two days a week. You think in Coimbatore centre, anyone will know? You’ll go by bus, come back. Quietly. ID la same name.”

“I don't even know how to wear all that -salwar, dupatta- ”

“I know someone who does,” Mythili said. Her eyes narrowed. “Let’s call Jaya akka.”

Aunt Jaya’s Studio Room:

A half-hour later, Jaya chithi arrived in her two-wheeler, pulling off her scarf dramatically.

“What now?” she asked as she removed her helmet, fanning herself with a talcum-scented towel.

Mythili explained the problem in hushed tones.

At first, Jaya laughed. “You want me to turn this boy into a girl? For a full coaching class?”

But then she looked at Naveen. Up and down. He shrank under her gaze.

“No facial hair. Fair, soft features. Thin wrists. Shoulders narrow. Voice also soft. Hmm... Not impossible.”

“Just weekends, akka,” Mythili said. “Only salwar. He doesn’t need to act like some heroine. Just enough to fool the staff.”

Jaya folded her arms. “I have the kit. If you both really want it, we can try it out. But no drama halfway. He must co-operate fully. Naveen, neeye decide pannanum.”

Naveen swallowed.

He wanted to say no. But one glance at his mother’s face tight-lipped, eyes begging and he said the weakest, most regretful word in the world.

“…Okay. Just once.”

The Trial Transformation:

Jaya’s makeshift beauty studio was in her bedroom - half of it full of boxes, makeup kits, and pinned mannequins. She snapped on a headband and pulled a plastic box from under the cot.

“Remove your shirt and pants,” she said casually.

“Wait what? Now?”

“Yes now. You agreed.”

Naveen hesitated. He stood still for a long moment. Then, slowly, shame crawling up his chest like heat, he pulled off his T-shirt. Then his track pants.

He stood there in his white underwear, goosebumps rising, heart hammering. Jaya tossed him a folded packet.

“Bra. Padded. We’ll use sponge inserts. Take off your brief and wear this instead.”

He opened the panty. It was soft, peach-coloured, and tight-looking. His hands trembled.

“Don’t take forever,” Jaya said.

He turned around, slipped them on, and immediately felt wrong. The panty hugged his hips, thighs, and butt uncomfortably snug. Nothing hung loose anymore. He shifted awkwardly.

Next: the bra. He fumbled with the straps. They twisted. The cups flopped.

“Lift your arms,” Jaya said, walking over. She snapped the band into place behind him, adjusted the straps, and slid two sponge inserts into each cup.

The weight was subtle but noticeable. His chest felt rounded, boxed in. Like a costume he couldn’t shrug off.

Then came a powder-blue salwar set - soft cotton, embroidered at the collar.

The churidar pants clung tightly at the calves and thighs. The kurta hung gently over the fake breasts, swinging with every breath.

He tried to sit, but the churidar resisted. His legs had to cross differently. He felt the panty tug against his skin.

Finally: the dupatta.

“You must always wear this. Never forget. One end over the chest. Other pinned at the shoulder,” Jaya instructed. She clipped it in place.

Then the finishing touches: a soft wig tied into a single braid. A black bindi. Lip gloss just a hint of shine. Kajal around the eyes. Small stick-on earrings.

Jaya added the last item quietly: a small pad inserted into the panty, giving the illusion of a rounded front. “For safety. In case someone notices below.”

Naveen didn’t respond. He just sat very still.

Mirror Moment:

Jaya turned the mirror toward him.

Naveen stared.

His reflection blinked back Nandhini’s eyes, Nandhini’s face, lips, nose, hair.

But it was him.

The bra strap pressed against his ribs. The churidar squeezed his calves. The dupatta kept slipping unless he sat up straight.

I look like a girl.

The shame hit him slowly. In layers.

“I… I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Jaya said softly. “You already are.”

The Decision:

Later that night, Mythili made a phone call to Swarna Lakshmi Academy.

“Hello, yes, this is Nandhini M’s mother… Yes, she’ll be attending. We had a small health issue, but she’s fine now… Yes, Saturday and Sunday, she’ll come by bus. Thank you.”

She hung up and turned to Naveen - still in salwar, sitting silently on the cot, arms crossed over his chest.

“Classes start next week. School starts tomorrow, but only weekdays. So this will work. You’ll be Nandhini… only on weekends.”

She walked over and tucked his fake braid behind his ear.

“You look perfect, kanna.”

Naveen didn’t respond.

But deep inside, he knew.

There was no turning back now.

Not for ninety thousand rupees.

Not with lipstick on weekends.

Author’s Note – Part 1
Hey hey! 💕 Jerusha Anne Joy here! This little story is a sweet fantasy of how I sometimes imagine my life to be (don’t we all daydream a bit? (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠) ). I poured my heart into it over two cozy nights, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it. Do leave a comment if you have story ideas, suggestions, or just want to say hi! Your thoughts truly mean the world to me.

With love,
Jerusha 🦋✨

Lipstick on Weekends

Part 2: A Name I Don’t Belong To

The week dragged slowly.

By day, Naveen adjusted to his new school routine, slipping into the anonymity of a government commerce classroom. But every evening - after dinner, after the front gate was latched and the streets had gone quiet -his real lessons began.

Not from textbooks.

From his mother and sister.

Evening Training:

“Legs closer. You’re walking like a boy,” Nandhini snapped, adjusting the dupatta on his shoulder as he tried pacing across the narrow hall.

Mythili chimed in: “And slow down. Girls don't stomp. Velaiyadatha, Naveen!”

“But I’m not a girl,” he mumbled.

“Just shut up and do it,” Nandhini replied, impatient. “You’re getting better, though. Just… stop holding your arms stiff like a stick. Relax your wrists. Yeah. Like that.”

Every evening for six days, it was the same.

First came walking practice.
Then sitting: knees together, hands in lap, head slightly tilted.
Then speech: soft-spoken Tamil with a touch of formality. “Naan sonnadhu adhu illanga, ma'am…” - over and over again.

Then came the emotional correction.

“No eye contact when men talk to you. Chin down.”

“Smile gently when someone asks you something. No sulking.”

“If someone touches your arm by mistake, flinch a little - not like a karate pose, dei.”

Naveen hated it.

He hated the salwar, the hairband, the tight panty, the shameful way his mother tilted her head in approval when he “looked natural.” He hated the mirror- how it lied. He hated how easily Nandhini laughed when he bent over and his fake braid slid across his shoulder like a snake.

But he obeyed.

Because next Saturday was approaching.

And he wasn’t ready.

Saturday, 5:03 a.m.

The alarm buzzed quietly under his pillow. Naveen woke up to the grey stillness of dawn and the rustling of his mother moving about in the kitchen.

He sat up slowly.

His heart already thudded in his chest.

It wasn’t just playing anymore. It was real.

“Jaya chithi is here,” Mythili said, poking her head in. “She’s setting up.”

Naveen’s stomach clenched.

The Real Transformation

The air in Jaya’s beauty room was already thick with scents: fevicol gum, cold cream, pressed powder, and something faintly floral. A single tube light buzzed above them. The mirror was lit by a cheap LED ring, throwing white light onto a foldable salon chair.

“Sit,” Jaya said. She wore surgical gloves today. “We’re not doing some school play. This time, full-level transformation. You won’t look like a boy even under a microscope.”

Naveen sat wordlessly, his chest bare, hands balled in his lap.

Jaya pulled out a skin-colored chest prosthetic soft, warm-toned silicone, shaped like a young woman’s breasts with visible collarbone indentations and smooth under-edges. She applied a thin adhesive layer to his skin, then pressed the prosthetic into place, smoothing it down like a second skin.

It was warm. Heavy. Clinging.

When he looked down, he saw cleavage. Not pretend padding. But actual flesh-coloured, sweat-kissed cleavage.

“Does it feel real?” Jaya asked, tapping it. It bounced slightly.

“Ithu too much-a illa?” he whispered.

“It’s what real girls wear in TV serials,” she replied casually. “Now lift your hips.”

She handed him a seamless, carefully shaped prosthetic panty insert - with a soft, rounded vulva shape molded into the front.

Naveen felt his cheeks go red as he took it, stepping behind the curtain.

The material was rubbery and cool, but when he stepped into it and adjusted it snug under his crotch, it locked everything away. His lower body no longer looked male - not even slightly.

He stepped out, slow, awkward.

Jaya stood in front of him, nodded in quiet satisfaction. “Okay. Now for the wig.”

The Final Touches:

Today’s wig wasn’t clip-on. It was a lace-front synthetic wig, fixed with skin glue, designed to merge with the scalp. When Jaya pressed the fine lace onto his forehead and blow-dried the edges, it looked like real hair sprouting from his own skin. The braid was thick, oiled, threaded with tiny jasmine buds.

“Too real,” Naveen muttered.

“That’s the point,” Jaya said, pressing a small bindi to his forehead.

Then came the innerwear again, not cotton. This time it was skin-colored nylon. Lightly frilled at the edges. Soft lace at the waist. He slid the bra over the prosthetic, clicked the hooks himself. The pressure was more… natural now. Like he’d always had weight up top.

Next: a full-sleeved light pink kurta with tiny floral patterns, delicate silver thread on the hem. The leggings hugged his legs. His hips were slightly padded with foam stitched into the waistband. Then came the dupatta, light but annoying he had to keep adjusting it every few seconds.

A touch of lip gloss, kajal, foundation, and tiny pearl earrings. His mother clipped on a fake nose-stud.

Then came the accessories:
– A pink wallet with an emergency pad inside
– A basic purse with his documents and ID
– A budget smartphone in a rose-gold cover
– A small sling bag for his notes

Mythili smiled. “You look perfect, kanna.”

Naveen muttered, “I look stupid.”

“You look like Nandhini.”

He glanced at the mirror again. And he did.

God help him --- he looked like a girl who belonged at an MBBS centre.

The Bus Ride:

At 6:45 a.m., he stepped outside the gate in borrowed chappals with silver straps and his dupatta fluttering behind him. He walked stiffly next to his mother toward the bus stand.

His chest jiggled ever so slightly with each step. The prosthetic stuck to his skin now with sweat. The churidar rubbed between his thighs, and the panty dug into his hips uncomfortably.

Every step was humiliation. But worse every step made him better at walking like a girl.

Bus stop. Women stood quietly in a row. Mythili gently pushed him into the ladies queue.

When the bus came, the conductor ignored him. No ticket for girls in this bus.

He sat near the window. Soft morning sun on his cheeks. The girl beside him smiled faintly.

He smiled back, not knowing what else to do.

He tried to sit with his legs apart once. The girl next to him looked sideways. His mother leaned in and whispered, “Close your legs, da - dei -I mean… dee!”

He sat up straight, knees together.

A part of him wanted to disappear.

Another part of him couldn’t believe how easily this was happening.

The Arrival:

The Swarna Lakshmi Academy building was painted bright yellow. The entrance had a banner with topper photos and slogans like “Next You!” and “Chase Your NEET Dream Today!”

Mythili pulled him aside before walking in.

“Last chance. You want to back out?”

Naveen looked at her.

He thought of the wig glued to his head.

The bra locked around his ribs.

The fake vulva between his legs.

The salwar kameez hanging off his frame.

The purse, the pad, the mobile cover.

He shook his head, quietly.

Mythili smiled.

“Good girl.”

He walked through the gates with her. Showed the ID card with his sister’s name - Nandhini M. The woman at the desk smiled and nodded.

“First floor. Classroom B.”

“Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

As Mythili turned to leave, he looked back once. She waved, eyes full of hope.

He turned back and climbed the stairs slowly, the pink purse slung across his shoulder, each step a reminder of everything he’d left behind.

He adjusted his dupatta, tucked a loose hair behind his ear, and opened the door marked “Classroom B.”

He had no name now. Not one that belonged to him.

But for the world outside...

He was Nandhini.

Just another girl chasing her medical dream.

With lipstick on weekends.

Lipstick on Weekends

Part 3: Weekends Are for Girls

The first step into Classroom B was slow. Measured. Pretend-confident.

Naveen ...or Nandhini, as the world now knew him felt the prosthetic breasts press firmly against the inside of his salwar. The inner blouse chafed lightly, mixing warmth with a damp, plasticky cling. His skin itched beneath the gum that held the fake chest to his torso. His legs moved awkwardly beneath the tight leggings, thighs rubbing together, the thin synthetic panty sliding slightly as he walked. He hated how the dupatta refused to stay put and how his chest moved every time he walked.

And still, with every step across the tiled floor, he passed as a girl.

He reached the door and stepped inside.

The classroom was small and filled with twenty or so girls already seated. Soft murmurs. A few giggles. He caught only fragments of Tamil. “Adhu oru pudhu ponnu polaye...” “...chinna age a dhaan irukku...”

He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

He found a window seat, far corner, and slowly sat down, adjusting his dupatta like Amma had taught. Left side over the shoulder. Don’t show too much shape. Don’t fidget. Don’t scratch. Behave like a girl.

He breathed slowly.

And then it began.

The Girl Who Sat Next to Him

“Oiii, you’re new-aa?”

A voice cut through the low buzz.

He turned slightly.

She was stunning.

Tall, slim, confident. Her kurti was bright red with no sleeves and a low collar, her jeans tight and high-waisted. She had curled her hair into soft burgundy waves that fell across one shoulder. Her eyeliner was bold. A silver anklet sparkled on one bare ankle and her nails glittered with transparent gloss.

“I’m Aarthi,” she grinned, offering a hand like a boy. “Three years in this place. Still not in MBBS. But I’ve learned how to survive.”

Naveen shook it, awkward. “Nandhini,” he whispered.

“Nandhini-aa?” She tilted her head. “Cute. First day?”

He nodded.

“You’re like... sooo nervous. Chill, okay? No one bites. Except me sometimes.” She winked.

Naveen forced a smile.

“I’m sitting next to you,” she said, already sliding her bag onto the bench. “We’re friends now. Deal with it.”

Day One: Strange Comforts

Aarthi was a storm.

She cracked jokes during class, slipped him biscuits under the table, and nudged his elbow every time he drifted off.

She noticed everything. “Adjust your dupatta.”
“Your bindi’s sliding.”
“Do you always blink so fast when someone looks at you?”

Even her whispers had confidence. “Biology’s easy. Chemistry is torture. But don’t worry. I’ll help you pass.”

She even offered to re-tie his braid when it started loosening. “Useless pin work. Come here, I’ll fix it.”

When the teacher asked for names, Naveen tensed.

“What’s your name?”

He swallowed. “Nandhini M.”

“Full name?”

“Nandhini Murugesan,” he said, voice soft and female.

He heard a girl behind him whisper, “Such a soft voice.”

Aarthi leaned toward him. “You handled that well. See? You’re already one of us - neeeeeeeetttt girls.”

Lunch Break and Aarthi’s World

During lunch, Aarthi dragged him to a bench under a neem tree near the campus wall.

She opened her glittery Tupperware box filled with cheesy noodles. “Eat,” she said, feeding him a forkful like a mother.

“I brought idli,” he murmured.

“Keep it. That’s boring. Try mine.”

He obeyed.

“I don’t get along with most girls here,” she said. “Too boring. Too quiet. Always talking about ‘sir’s notes’ and ‘toppers list’. But you… you’re different. You feel things. You blush. I like that.”

Naveen stared at his knees.

“You’d look hot in a skirt, you know.”

His head shot up. “What?”

“Just saying,” she smiled. “You’ve got the legs. Don’t waste them in leggings.”

He was silent.

“I wear skirts to parties. Crop tops too. Amma screams, but Appa funds everything. My house has central AC. You should visit sometime. I have pink bedsheets and a ring light. Want to take photos together?”

Naveen didn’t answer.

She didn’t seem to need him to.

Afternoon Class & Departure

By afternoon, she was poking his ribs and whispering answers before he could even think. She borrowed his pen just to bite the end of it while thinking. When he turned to write, she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Comfy,” she murmured. “Hope you don’t mind.”

He didn’t move.

He was sweating again. Not from heat. From panic.

Back Home, in Nighty Again

That evening, Naveen returned home silent. His mother watched him carefully.

“You okay?”

He nodded.

Nandhini tossed him a soft nighty - this one bright yellow with tiny strawberries.

“Wear. I washed it.”

He frowned. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. You’re a girl. And you don’t want bra lines when you sleep. Trust me.”

He changed into it. The cloth tickled his bare legs as he walked. The breeze touched his thighs in ways he didn’t like. But he didn’t say a word.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the ghost of Aarthi’s voice echoing in his head.

“You should try skirts.”

“You feel things.”

“I like you.”

Sunday: Becoming Nandhini Again

4:45 a.m. again.

Cold water on his face. Powder on his chest. Gum over skin. Prosthetics aligned carefully.

The salwar was mint green today, dupatta lighter. His sister helped apply kajal. Then came blush, a light dab of shimmer powder. A purse, lipstick, sanitary pad, ID card. No mistakes today.

He felt... more efficient. But less himself.

Aarthi’s Day

She spotted him instantly.

“Nandhiniii! Same lipstick shade as me!”

She was in a black T-shirt dress, cinched with a broad pink belt, over leggings. Not one other girl in the centre dressed like her.

“See?” she turned. “Shaped like a dress but covers everything. I got it from Bangalore.”

She grabbed his hand. “Sit here. I’m bored.”

During class, she played tic-tac-toe with eyeliner on the last page of his notebook. She passed him a Dairy Milk under the desk and blew on her nails.

She even scolded a girl who bumped into him. “Careful, she’s delicate!”

At lunch, she leaned closer. “Tell me honestly. Were you always this shy?”

He froze. “No, I... I’m just adjusting.”

“To being a girl?” she whispered teasingly.

He stiffened.

She smiled and touched his arm. “Relax. I’m just teasing. But you’re so real. I love it.”

Then she took out a lipstick. “Now stay still.”

“What?”

Before he could resist, she pressed the red gloss to his lips, slow and steady.

“There. Now you look... sexy.”

He covered his mouth instinctively.

She clicked a selfie. “Perfect. Now let them stare.”

Evening Benz Ride

At 6:10, Naveen waited near the bus stop again.

But there it was the white Benz.

Aarthi honked. “Get in, loser.”

He obeyed.

“I’ll drop you. You’re too pretty to be squished in a bus.”

He said nothing.

She turned the volume low. “You know… if we met outside class, I’d still be friends with you. You’re kind. You listen. You don’t judge.”

He looked at her, stunned.

At his street, she stopped the car.

Before he could open the door, she leaned over.

Soft lips brushed his cheek.

“I really like you,” she said.

He froze.

“As a friend. Or… more, if you want. Just saying.”

She winked and drove off.

He stood on the road, lips tingling, face flushed.

The lipstick still shimmered faintly in the dying sun.

He turned and walked back inside, dupatta fluttering.

Still Nandhini.

Still wearing lipstick.

Still just a girl.

Lipstick on Weekends

Part 4: Textbooks and Tight Jeans

Monday came like a slap to the face.

Gone was the salwar, the dupatta, the purse with a sanitary pad tucked in a hidden pouch. Naveen stood in his usual school uniform - half-sleeve white shirt and navy trousers. Hair oiled and combed back. His voice silent most of the day.

But nothing felt the same anymore.

Because every vibration in his pocket reminded him he was also Nandhini now.

His phone kept buzzing under the desk. Aarthi.

[8:07 p.m.] Aarthi 💄: “veetla bore-a? 😂”
[8:07 p.m.] Aarthi 💄: “NEET homework padichiya?”
[8:08 p.m.] Aarthi 💄: “Miss u, da Nandhini. 🙈”

He didn’t reply immediately.

He was still reeling from yesterday’s kiss.

Still feeling the lipstick cling.

Still hearing her voice say: “I like you… as a friend. Or more, if you want.”

The Week Drags On

Every evening, Amma made him sit with the NEET books. Even though he didn’t want to go. Even though it wasn’t his ambition.

But now it was his identity.

Nandhini. The girl attending weekend NEET coaching.

He had to keep up. Aarthi would quiz him over chat. “Page 42 Bio key terms. Now.”

Occasionally, they had short online review classes on Zoom. Naveen had to log in using Nandhini’s ID. Wearing a dupatta over his T-shirt, camera on.

Aarthi always waved in chat: “Hey babe 💋”

He rolled his eyes and typed back: “Shhh! People will see!”

Her reply: “Let them.”

Even at school, he noticed things. His handwriting had become rounder. His walking style lighter. He crossed his legs more often. He sat with his back straighter. Oh god, he thought, am I forgetting how to be a boy?

His sister giggled one evening as he practiced walking in the corridor. “Nee ippo full-a ponnu madhri than nadikira. Careful, school-la yaaravadhu paathaa...”

He grunted and threw a pillow at her.

But she was right. And it scared him a little.

Late Night Chats:

Aarthi never stopped.

[10:43 p.m.] Aarthi 💄: “I like talking to you.”
[10:44 p.m.] Aarthi 💄: “You listen. Like a real girlfriend.”

Sometimes they talked till midnight.

She told him about her strict parents, her ex-boyfriends, her dreams of becoming a doctor in Mumbai. About how lonely she felt around “the other girls.”

“You’re different, Nandhini,” she said one night. “I wish I had a sister like you.”

He stared at his phone in the dark, feeling something twist inside.

Was this what being accepted felt like?

Midweek Video Call

Wednesday night. She demanded a call.

“Video on, lipstick ready. I’m doing your makeup now.”

He groaned but obeyed. Wore a dupatta over his T-shirt, some powder, dabbed light pink gloss.

“Now pout,” she said.

“Pout-aa? Seriously?”

“Yes, da. Do it!”

He did. She screencapped it and laughed. “My bestie is too cute.”

Saturday Morning: Solo Transformation

By now, he could do it with his eyes half-shut.

The lilac salwar, silver bindi. Bra clipped tight. Churidar stuck to his legs like second skin. The prosthetic breasts tugged against his back.

He adjusted the fake patch below, stepped into the panty, and bit back a curse.

“So tight...” he muttered. “Epdi ponnuunga idha daily potu irupaanga?”

The wig came last. He stared at the mirror.

She blinked back.

Nandhini.

The Bus Ride:

He sat in the ladies' section, next to an older woman with jasmine in her hair.

The churidar clung to his thighs. The panty chafed. Sweat pooled under the bra strap. The bouncing of the bus made his fake breasts jiggle more than he liked.

Still, he smiled politely when the woman asked, “padika poriyama, ma?”

“Yes aunty.”

“You look like a good girl. Top panna pora nee.”

He blushed. “Thank you.”

Aarthi’s Entry:

She was leaning by the gate like a movie heroine.

Sleeveless olive top, tight jeans, belly chain glinting under her crop. She had a nose ring today, and eyeliner like wings.

“You’re late, miss pretty.”

“Traffic,” he mumbled.

She walked around him, inspecting. “Your hips are showing more. I like that.”

He flushed. “You say the worst things.”

“But mean them in the best way.”

Class and Girl Gossip:

Reema and Akshaya had fully accepted him now.

They shared notes. Passed chocolate. Asked about lipstick brands.

Aarthi rested her arm on his shoulder all through class.

“She’s mine,” she joked to the others. “My emotional support girl.”

During break, Aarthi reapplied her lipstick - then leaned in.

“Your turn.”

Before he could protest, she smeared her tube onto his lips, careful and slow.

“There. Matchy-matchy.”

He stared at the compact mirror. He looked... right. Terrifyingly right.

Girl Talk:

“Your bra tight today?” Aarthi whispered.

“Very,” he muttered. “Strap poking.”

“Move your dupatta like this,” she said, adjusting it across his chest. “Hide the lines.”

His cheeks turned pink.

During lunch, she fed him half her paneer sandwich and wiped the sweat off his brow with her scarf.

“You carry yourself like a village girl” she said. “Even your hand gestures.”

He tried to hide them.

She caught his wrist and kissed it lightly. “Don’t hide. Be you.”

Sunday: To Her Home ;

Class ended early.

“I’m kidnapping you,” Aarthi declared.

He didn’t resist more like being forced to not resist.

Her house was cool and pink-lit. She handed him a soft cotton night-dress. Floral, just above the knees.

“No churidar today. Try this.”

He did with no choice.

They sat cross-legged on the bed, giggling. She showed him her Insta. Her old boyfriends. Her bikini pictures from a secret Goa trip.

“You’re not judging me?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She held his hand. “That’s why I love you.”

She opened her closet. Pulled out crop tops, skirts, a strapless top.

“Try?” she asked.

He tried. Just once. Over the nightie. They laughed and clicked selfies.

“You’d look killer in jeans,” she said.

“No,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said. “And I’ll prove it.”

Goodbye Again:

She drove him back, music soft.

Outside his home, she touched his chin.

“No kiss today. Just this.”

She pressed a butterfly clip into his hand. “Next week, wear this.”

He stared at it.

“Promise,” she said.

“Promise,” he whispered.

She drove off.

He stood on the street, wind teasing the edge of his dupatta.

Part of him didn’t want to remove it.

Nandhini wasn’t just on weekends anymore.

She was slipping into every day.

His lips tasted like cherry due to flavoured lipstick, a reminder of his upcoming weekends.

Lipstick on Weekends

Part 5: Pub Lights and Phone Numbers

It had been a full two months since Naveen started attending the NEET coaching as “Nandhini.”

What began as a harmless joke between his mother and aunt had become something far more layered… and inescapable.

Week after week, Naveen woke before dawn and transformed. The process that once took over an hour - struggling with the wig, clipping on the fake breasts, adjusting the pad and dupatta - was now second nature. In fact, it had evolved.

A Month of Changes

During those eight weeks, Aarthi had completely absorbed him into her life.

They became best friends - in every visible way. At the coaching centre, they shared lunch, sat hip to hip, laughed during physics lectures, and gossiped in hushed tones. Naveen found himself mimicking her mannerisms without even trying - the way she adjusted her hair, bit her lip while thinking, or even flicked her wrist when she laughed.

The girls in class began including “Nandhini” in their chats and group selfies. One even gifted him a scrunchie. He had to keep it on his wrist the entire day.

And humiliation… that was part of the routine now.

One weekend, Aarthi insisted he wear tight jeans and a short kurti. Naveen squirmed the whole day - the jeans dug into his thighs, the hook at the waist left a red mark. Sitting was torture. The fake pubic patch itched constantly under the layers of padding and denim.

He began smelling like her. Using her compact powder. Carrying the same peach-toned lip balm in his purse. Their bond deepened into something more - unspoken, ambiguous, emotionally charged.

And somewhere, slowly, he began to stop fighting it.

Aunt’s New “Improvements”:

Midway through the month, his beautician aunt returned with something in a sealed cosmetic case.

“I got something special,” she whispered, eyes twinkling.

First: new prosthetic breasts. Hyper-realistic silicone warmer, softer, shaped with near anatomical perfection. “They even move with your body,” she said proudly.

She glued them to his chest, smoothing the edges, pressing them flat against his skin.

Next: a new pubic patch - realistic, with hand-punched hair and a smooth surface that looked indistinguishable from real skin. It even had slight warmth.

When Naveen stood in front of the mirror nude, for the first time in his life… he looked like a girl.

Even up close. Even under the light.

Even he couldn’t look away.

His aunt grinned, “Now, not even your own eyes will doubt you.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at his reflection, heart thudding in his ears.

That Sunday: The Pub Plan

Class ended early.

Aarthi grinned at him mischievously. “I have a surprise. Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Pub.”

“Enna da? Pub-aa?! No way.”

“Yes way. I booked us entry. Don’t worry, I got it all planned.”

Naveen hesitated. “Class-la idha ellam…”

She cut him off. “I already wore the dress under my salwar. Just took it off.”

And when she stepped out of the centre's restroom Naveen’s jaw dropped.

She was in a strapless black sheath dress, figure-hugging, stopping mid-thigh. She wore no bra just natural curves and bold confidence. Her long legs gleamed in nude heels. Her bare arms shimmered under sunlight. Hair curled. Red lipstick bold.

“You wore that inside class?”

“Underneath. Hidden queen,” she smirked. “Now… your turn.”

“My turn?”

She pulled out her salwar kameez. “You’re going to swap with me.”

“What?! Illa da. No way!”

“Why not? You already look more girlish than me half the time,” she teased. “This dress fits you. Let’s try something new.”

He stared at the pinkish-nude dress in her hand. “wait ...no bra…?”

“Exactly,” she winked. “Those boobs won’t need one. Come on.”

Changing at the Boutique Washroom

She’d reserved a tiny changing space inside a boutique near the pub.

Inside, Aarthi stripped quickly and pulled on his looser salwar.

He held the sheath dress like it was poison. It was warm. Still smelled like her. Still clung with her perfume and her body heat.

"See already perfumed and pre heated by my body, how much good of a bestie i am" told aarthi proudly!

His hands shook as he stepped into it.

Sliding it up was like crawling into a second skin. The tightness compressed his body in a soft squeeze. The material hugged his thighs, rode up if he moved too fast.

The top pressed against his new prosthetic breasts - braless, fully exposed shoulders and collarbones. The chill in the air teased his skin.

“Turn,” Aarthi said. She zipped him up slowly.

Then she crouched, handed him the nude heels, and helped him slip into them.

They were thin, tall, cruel.

His knees wobbled as he stood.

Aarthi fixed his hair, retouched his lip gloss, and stepped back. “Look.”

He turned to the mirror.

He looked stunning.

He looked… real.

A girl.

Not a disguise. Not a joke.

Just… her.

In the Pub:

The music hit like a wave. Lights moved like falling stars. Girls danced in clusters, boys leaned at bars.

Every step he took echoed - heels sharp, posture stiff.

His thighs rubbed inside the dress. His arms felt exposed. His breasts jiggled freely. The cold air brushed the sensitive skin above his chest.

Every second reminded him of what he was pretending - and how perfect the illusion now was.

They sat at a barstool. Aarthi ordered cranberry mocktails.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I feel like I’m walking naked,” he whispered.

She leaned close. “You look like every guy’s fantasy.”

He went silent, cheeks hot.

The Boy

Vasanth.

That was his name.

He passed them once. Tall, confident. A maroon shirt, buttoned low. Sharp jaw, clean eyes. His gaze landed on Naveen for a moment, then moved. Came back.

A second pass.

Then a third.

“Hi,” he said. “First time here?”

“Yes,” Naveen said softly, heart thudding.

“You look... stunning.”

He blinked. “Thanks.”

“I’m Vasanth. You are?”

“Nandhini.”

“Beautiful name.” His voice lowered. “Would you like to dance?”

Aarthi’s voice was sudden: “She’s new to heels.”

“I’ll guide her,” he smiled.

Naveen stood - unsure why.

He followed Vasanth to the floor, nerves buzzing.

The Dance:

The lights dimmed. A slow song played.

Vasanth held his waist gently. Naveen rested his hands on Vasanth’s shoulder. Their bodies close, breathing mingled.

Every brush of their bodies made him more aware of his breasts, the weight of the dress, the illusion of smooth skin against a man’s warmth.

“You’re nervous,” Vasanth said.

“Very.”

“You’re doing well. Just feel the music.”

He didn’t know if he liked it.

But he didn’t pull away.

When the second song ended, they lingered.

“Can I get your number?” Vasanth asked.

Naveen hesitated.

Then typed in his “Nandhini” number.

Aarthi’s Mood:

Back at the table, Aarthi’s smile was tighter.

“You enjoyed that.”

“A little.”

“He held you too close.”

“You told me to come.”

“You liked it.”

“I didn’t hate it,” he said carefully.

She didn’t answer.

Drop-Off:

In the car, silence ruled.

When they reached his lane, she parked.

“I didn’t think you’d look better in that dress than me,” she murmured.

He turned to reply but she kissed him.

Not a tease. Not a brush.

A full, warm kiss.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “I don’t know if I’m helping you or ruining you. But I can’t stop.”

He stepped out.

The heels still on. The dress tight. His lips still tingling.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to return to being Naveen at all.

Mind hazy, he changed attire in his home, fortunately no one was there to see in this form.

Looked at the mirror, wiping off the weekend lipstick...