Mother of Me

Chapter 15: Unwanted Neighbours

The third day of the swap dawned just like the previous one, but the weight on the new Sangeetha’s shoulders felt heavier. The agreement with Dr. Meera had been clear, stay inside the house, no outside interference, keep everything completely private. But life, it seemed, had other plans.

The new Sangeetha woke up at 5:45 AM again, her body already adjusting to the early alarm. She went through the now-familiar but still deeply humiliating morning routine. After a long, sensory-overloaded bath where every drop of water on her breasts and between her legs reminded her of her new femininity, she chose a fresh light green cotton salwar kameez for the day. The pants hugged her wide hips and thick thighs tightly. The long kameez draped over her full breasts, and the matching dupatta was carefully pinned to stay in place over her chest.

She braided her long hair neatly, applied kumkum, bindi, and the mangalsutra, and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked exactly like a modest, beautiful Tamil housewife. The discomfort was constant, the bra straps digging into her shoulders, the panty riding up slightly between her soft buttocks, the dupatta constantly threatening to slip and expose her cleavage.

By afternoon, the new Prakash had already gone out again, saying he was meeting some friends. “Don’t worry, Amma. I’ll be back before evening,” he had said casually before leaving, enjoying his freedom.

The new Sangeetha was alone once again, trapped in the house like a bird in a golden cage.

Around 2:30 PM, while she was folding clothes in the hall, the doorbell rang.

Tring… Tring…

Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t expecting anyone. For a few seconds, she stood frozen, adjusting her dupatta tightly over her heavy breasts. Her palms grew sweaty. She slowly walked to the door, her anklets chiming softly with each hesitant step.

She opened the door slightly, peeking out.

Standing outside was a woman around 33-35 years old, wearing a simple maroon saree with a golden border. She had a warm, friendly face, slightly plump figure, and a pleasant smile. She was holding a small box of sweets.

“Hello! I’m sorry to disturb you,” the woman said cheerfully. “We just moved into the flat opposite yours yesterday. I’m Lalitha. Thought I should come and introduce myself.”

The new Sangeetha’s mind went blank for a moment. This was exactly what she had feared. Outside interaction. She forced a smile, exactly like how her real mother would.

“Come in, come in,” she said softly, stepping aside.

Lalitha entered the house, looking around appreciatively. “Nice home! Very peaceful. We shifted from Chennai. My husband works in a bank here.”

They both sat on the sofa. The new Sangeetha kept adjusting her dupatta nervously, very aware of how her breasts moved and how the salwar kameez clung to her body. She felt deeply embarrassed sitting in front of a stranger in this feminine form.

Lalitha smiled warmly. “I have a 12 year old son, Arjun, and a 10 year old daughter, Priya. They are a bit naughty but good kids. What about you? Any children?”

The new Sangeetha swallowed hard. “I… I have an 18 year old son. Prakash. He’s… out right now.”

They talked for nearly twenty minutes. Lalitha was friendly and talkative. She shared stories about her previous life in Chennai, her husband’s job transfer, and how she was happy to find another woman of similar age in the same building.

Suddenly, Lalitha’s face lit up. “Oh! We are planning a small housewarming party in three days. Just for the new families in this block. Please come, Sangeetha. It will be nice to have a close friend like you. My husband will also be there. Bring Prakash too!”

The new Sangeetha’s heart sank. A party? With real people? This was completely against the agreement.

She tried to politely decline, “Actually… we don’t usually attend parties…”

But Lalitha was insistent. She stood up and gave the new Sangeetha a warm, tight hug. Their breasts pressed against each other for a moment. The new Sangeetha felt a wave of humiliation wash over her, being hugged as a woman, feeling another woman’s softness against her own heavy breasts.

“You must come, okay? Don’t say no!” Lalitha said happily before leaving.

As soon as the door closed, the new Sangeetha leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Her face was burning with embarrassment. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and deeply ashamed. This body, these clothes, this identity, everything felt like a trap now.

Later in the evening, the laundry had piled up. The new Sangeetha decided to take the huge basket of washed clothes to the terrace for drying.

She climbed the stairs carefully, her anklets echoing in the staircase. The salwar kameez felt hot. Sweat had formed between her breasts and on her back. The dupatta kept slipping no matter how tightly she pinned it.

When she reached the open terrace, the evening breeze felt refreshing on her face. She began hanging the clothes on the lines, her sarees, blouses, petticoats, nighties, and even a few of Prakash’s clothes.

That’s when she noticed movement in the corner.

A young couple, probably in their late twenties, were standing near the water tank, kissing passionately. The man had his hand on the woman’s waist, pulling her close. The woman’s pallu had slipped, revealing her blouse.

The new Sangeetha froze, her cheeks turning deep red. She quickly looked away, but it was too late.

The couple noticed her and immediately separated, looking embarrassed.

“Oh! Sorry, we didn’t see anyone,” the young woman said, adjusting her pallu with a shy smile. “We just moved in yesterday. I’m Divya, and this is my husband, Karthik. We’re in Flat 3B.”

The new Sangeetha forced another smile. “I’m Sangeetha… from 2A.”

They chatted for a few minutes. The couple seemed nice and friendly. Karthik worked in IT, and Divya was a homemaker. They invited her for coffee sometime.

The new Sangeetha nodded politely, finished hanging the clothes as fast as she could, and hurried back downstairs, her heart pounding.

Back inside the house, she sat on the sofa, exhausted and overwhelmed.

Why are so many people suddenly moving in?* she thought. This was supposed to be a quiet building with almost no neighbours.

She wanted to complain. She wanted to tell someone how uncomfortable and scared she was. But the only person she could talk to was the new Prakash, her own son in her former body. And he was still out, enjoying his freedom.

She looked down at herself, the green salwar kameez, the deep neckline, the mangalsutra resting between her breasts, the bangles on her wrists.

A deep sigh escaped her lips.

The 10 days were supposed to be simple.

But the outside world had already started creeping in.

And she had no idea how to stop it.