The Experiment – Chapter 2

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Sunday: Pretty, But Inconclusive

Sheela paused at the door before leaving. “I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “After the dress-up. Call me if you need any help.”

Parvathi nodded easily. “I will.”

Sheela smiled at me, the way people do when they think they’re being part of something interesting but harmless. “Get some sleep.”

After she left, the house slipped into its usual rhythm. Dinner was quiet, functional. We talked about small things—what to make the next day, a meeting Parvathi had—but the conversation never quite settled. Tomorrow sat there, unspoken.

That night was worse than usual.

We reached for each other out of habit, but my mind kept running ahead, and Parvathi noticed immediately. We didn’t say anything about it. Our sex life had been… fine for a while. Comfortable. Predictable. Tonight, the anxiety made it clumsier, distracted. Neither of us complained. We both knew why.

Sleep came late and lightly.

The alarm went off at five.

Parvathi was already awake.

“Come on,” she said. “We need time.”

In the bathroom, she didn’t hover or touch—she gave instructions instead, leaning against the doorframe like a coach.

“Take your time. Everywhere. Arms, legs, chest. Don’t miss under the arms. Or behind the knees.”

I nodded and stepped into the shower.

When I came out, towel around my waist, reaching for the razor, she stopped me.

“Wait. Shave the beard only.”

I looked at her.

“You have a slight shadow here,” she said, touching just above my lip. “Waxing works better.”

I hesitated. “Waxing hurts.”

She smiled. “A little. And it grows back. This one’s gentle.”

She pulled out a small container. “No strips. Just paste and peel. It’s meant for the face.”

I winced, but nodded. The sting was brief, sharper in anticipation than reality. When she handed me the mirror, the skin looked cleaner than I’d ever managed with a razor.

Before I could move on, she paused again.

“Can I clean up your eyebrows?”

I frowned. “I still have to go back to work.”

“I know,” she said immediately. “Not thinning. Just cleanup. Strays here and there. Plenty of beautiful women have thick eyebrows.”

I’d never dared to touch them myself for exactly that reason. I nodded.

She worked carefully, conservatively. The change was subtle—but my face looked… finished.

She blow-dried my hair next, combing it into place, shaping it gently. Feminine, but restrained. When she stepped back, she studied it like she was checking her own reflection.

“Good,” she said.

She insisted we stop for breakfast before continuing. Sitting at the table, eating normally, grounded the morning. It reminded me this was still our house, our routine.

Then she stood up again. “Okay. Now we dress.”

She wrapped the measuring tape around my chest. “Band size—same as me.”

She handed me her bra. I hesitated, then put it on. She adjusted the straps, then added light fabric padding.

“Enough to match mine,” she said.

She held out panties.

“I can wear my boxers,” I said quickly.

She shook her head. “We’re not going for a costume. We’re trying to see how it feels. The inner experience counts.”

I didn’t argue again.

She chose a chiffon saree—soft peach with a faint floral pattern that caught the light without demanding attention. The blouse piece was a matching muted rose. When she helped me into it, it fit without alteration, settling against my torso as if it had been meant for me.

“This fabric forgives,” she said. “It flows.”

She talked me through every step. The underskirt. The first tuck. The pleats—where to pull, where to release. I listened, asked questions I already knew the answers to, let her teach me. When she adjusted the fabric over my hips, she paused.

“Your wider hip helps, Sheela was right” she said lightly. “The saree would look nicer on you than lot on women.”

I’d known that. Maybe that was part of what had drawn me to this in the first place, long ago. Those years felt blurred now, indistinct, but the memory lingered in my body.

She moved on to makeup. Mascara. Eyelash curler. A light sweep of color, lipstick chosen carefully. Concealer only where needed. It felt like a daily routine, not a performance.

“You’ve taken good care of your skin,” she said. “It shows.”

Jewelry came last. Thin bangles that made a soft sound when I moved. A simple neck chain that rested naturally at my collarbone. She paused, then sighed.

“I don’t have clip-ons,” she said. “Only if we had more time.”

When she finally stepped aside and let me look, something in me stilled.

The person in the mirror wasn’t unfamiliar—but I’d never seen myself this complete. The saree fell perfectly. My face looked softer, cleaner, finished. The weight of the fabric, the quiet pressure of the bangles, the way everything held together—it all landed at once.

I felt it in my chest first. Then everywhere.

Parvathi watched my reflection rather than my face.

That look—whatever crossed me in that moment—made her smile slowly.

“Good,” she said. “That’s what I wanted.”

And standing there, fully dressed, I knew the day had already crossed a line there was no rehearsing for.

By the time lunch was done, the saree had stopped demanding attention.

I cooked without thinking about it—rice first, then vegetables—moving between stove and sink with small, careful adjustments. The pleats stayed put. The pallu didn’t slip or get in the way. At some point, Parvathi leaned against the doorway and watched.

“You’re handling the saree really well,” she said.

I glanced down. “Am I?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “You’re not fidgeting. You’re not checking it every few minutes. And your movements—”

She paused, studying me.

“They’re slower. But clean. Elegant. You’re not rushing into things.”

I hadn’t noticed it myself, but once she said it, it felt true. Even bending to pick something up, even turning at the sink—my body seemed to move with intention rather than momentum.

In the evening, Sheela arrived as promised. She took one look at me and smiled.

“Well,” she said, amused, “that worked better than expected.”

Her eyes drifted to my ears. “No earrings?”

Parvathi shook her head. “No clip-ons.”

“I can go back and get mine,” Sheela offered. “It won’t take long.”

I hesitated, then nodded. When she returned, she handed them over with a grin. “Temporary arrangements.”

They sat me down again—not to interrogate, not to tease. Curious, methodical.

“So,” Sheela said, “do you feel any different?”

I thought carefully before answering. I still didn’t suddenly know everything women knew. There were gaps. Plenty of them.

Parvathi listened, then shook her head. “That’s not the whole picture. Today felt easier.”

Sheela looked at her.

“In the kitchen,” Parvathi continued. “We worked together without getting in each other’s way. No explaining. No irritation. It felt like two women moving in tandem.”

I replayed the day in my head and nodded slowly. In retrospect, she was right.

Sheela smiled. “That matters.”

They exchanged a look.

“So the experiment didn’t fail,” Parvathi said. “It needs time.”

“At least another week,” Sheela added.

I hesitated just enough to make it believable. “Another week?”

“Academic rigor,” Parvathi said lightly.

“Fine,” I said.

Sheela leaned back in her chair. “Perhaps another reason for the incongruence is that we’re treating Vishnu as a man in a saree. That’s not a clean setup.”

Parvathi tilted her head. “You’re right. We need a woman’s name.”

Sheela’s face brightened. “What about Lakshmi?”

Parvathi smiled immediately. “Yes. Let us call her Lakshmi. An elegant housewife. And she/her pronouns at all times. It’s important we use the right parameters.”

Sheela laughed. “Agreed.”

They both looked at me.

Lakshmi didn’t feel like something I had to reach for. It was already there.

“She,” I said.

After Sheela left, the house settled again. Parvathi and I cleaned up together, moving easily, without discussion.

Later, as we got ready for bed, she handed me a nightdress—cotton, soft, simple, but unmistakably feminine.

“Not pajamas,” she said.

I changed quietly. As I removed the clip-on earrings, I winced.

“These hurt,” I said.

Parvathi smiled, thoughtful. “We’ll find a better solution.”

That night surprised both of us.

There was no awkwardness, no distraction. Just closeness. Ease. A presence we hadn’t felt in a long time. Parvathi pulled me closer, almost startled by how natural it felt.

Afterward, she rested her head against my shoulder and laughed softly. “I didn’t expect this.”

Neither had I.

As the room fell quiet, I realized she wasn’t just accepting the woman I was becoming.

She was beginning to want her there.

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