Vedhika – Chapter 1

(Re-post)

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The Mirror Lies, Then Doesn’t

Ved stood in front of the bathroom mirror, towel snug around his waist, hair dripping gently onto his shoulders. He twisted the cap off the conditioner bottle, breathing in the soft jasmine scent. His fingers worked through the wet strands like muscle memory.

Of all the things changing in his life, this—his hair—was the only part that felt stable. He had always kept it long, even when friends joked or aunties gave unsolicited advice. He cared for it like a ritual: special shampoos, concocted oil mixes, never applying heat etc. A small rebellion in a world that expected software engineers to look a certain way.

Now, it was the centerpiece of something much bigger.

Something he hadn’t planned.

His phone buzzed with messages:

Archana: Salon appointment in the afternoon: eyebrows, upper lip, full face.

Shilpa: 7 PM sharp. Saree rehearsal. Full walk. Don’t skip anything this time.

He groaned and turned the screen face down. He knew he had to leave office early, a half-day leave. Before hitting salon, he had to also get a wedding gift for Archana.

Ved, 23, had landed his dream job right out of college—software engineer at QualTek, one of the most prestigious tech firms in Bengaluru. The company was sleek, fast-moving, deeply embedded with major US clients. Late-night meetings, Slack messages at 2 a.m., and “let’s align timezone-wise” had become routine.

So when the creative team floated the idea of celebrating Halloween “to build cultural synergy with our American partners,” no one blinked.

Archana and Shilpa had taken it as a mission.

“You,” Archana said one afternoon, pointing directly at Ved during lunch, “are going to be our party girl.”

He had blinked mid-bite. “I’m sorry—what?”

Shilpa leaned in. “With that body, and that hair? Ved, please. We’ll put you in a saree, heels, the whole nine yards. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

“Have you seen my beard?”

“Have you heard of shaving?”

“No.”

“Come on. Just for Halloween. One day.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ved muttered.

Still, somehow, somehow, he’d agreed.

That was five weeks ago.

It had begun with waxing.

He remembered that first night clearly. The pain was excruciating. He swore at the technician, at Shilpa, at life in general.

But that night, when he slipped into bed and his freshly waxed legs slid past each other under the cool cotton sheets—he paused.

It felt… different. Exquisite, even.

Too smooth. Too sensitive.

Too good.

He lay there, still, disturbed by the flutter of warmth low in his belly.

“It’s just skin,” he whispered to the ceiling. “Temporary.”

But waxing became laser. The pain was too much, and Shilpa offered him a deal at her clinic. The switch was easy.

“Who needs thick body hair anyway?” he’d said absently one afternoon, and Archana had raised an eyebrow.

“Wow. Look who’s getting into it.”

“No, I’m just saying—whatever. It’s… more hygienic.”

The voice training came next. Evening sessions with Nishant, a soft-spoken theatre artist, who took the whole thing far too seriously.

“Don’t go falsetto,” he’d say, watching Ved over Zoom. “Soften. Speak like the words are blooming out of you.”

“You realize this is just a costume, right?” Ved had replied.

“Costumes reveal more than they hide,” Nishant said, smiling gently.

Soon, Ved’s “Good mornings” at the office were pitched just a little too high. Enough for him to notice. Enough for him to stop mid-sentence and clear his throat. The practice bled into his mornings, into his posture, into the way he tilted his head while listening.

He started catching himself sitting cross-legged, one foot curled neatly behind the other. Walking with a swaying rhythm. Resting his hand on his waist while waiting for the kettle to boil.

Each time, he reset.

He wasn’t pretending. Not right now. He was just Ved.

Right?

Still, the mirror didn’t lie. His diet had stripped away some of the softness from his jaw. His cheeks were less round. His skin had cleared up.

His body was shifting—even if his face remained untouched.

Archana had insisted: no threading, no makeup, no shave until the day before. “We want the full ‘wow’ factor,” she’d said.

So for now, he still had faint stubble. Still had bushy brows. Still looked like “Ved” from the neck up.

But the rest of him—the smooth legs, the narrow waist, the slightly swayed hips from posture drills—looked increasingly unfamiliar.

And tonight, he would wear the saree again. Not draped halfway like before. Not pinned hastily over a tee. The real thing. With blouse, jewelry, heels.

His phone buzzed again.

Shilpa: Don’t be late, Vedhika.

He stared at the name. Still uncomfortable. Still strange.

But every time they said it… it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Vedhika.

He exhaled.

“Just one more day,” he whispered. “And then I go back to normal.”

But the voice that said it?

It sounded softer than he remembered.

Wednesday. One day before Halloween.

Ved sat in the padded salon chair, trying not to fidget. The technician dabbed numbing cream behind each of his earlobes, casually chatting about post-care instructions like it was nothing. He nodded mechanically, not quite hearing her.

He had agreed to this.

Real piercings.

No clip-ons this time.

Shilpa had suggested it weeks ago. “Clip-ons look fake, and they hurt after an hour,” she’d said. “Besides, you’ve already gone through full-body laser. This is nothing.”

“Nothing,” Ved had repeated, half in disbelief. “It’s… permanent.”

“So are memories,” Archana had said.

Now here he was, sitting under bright lights with two tiny silver studs pressed into his skin. The technician clicked them in with barely a pinch.

“There,” she smiled. “Done.”

He reached up to touch them, slowly. They were light. Real.

And now, a part of him.

The laser treatment for his face followed. Compared to his first waxing session five weeks ago, it was practically a relief. The stinging pulses were focused, sharp, but tolerable—especially with the thought that he’d never have to drag a razor across his face again if he didn’t want to.

“It’s not permanent. Takes six to twelve sessions,” he reminded himself.

But part of him knew the decision had already rooted itself deeper than the follicles.

Next came the eyebrows.

They didn’t thread—Archana insisted on waxing for a cleaner, longer-lasting finish. And Ved, feeling the softness already taking over his face, didn’t argue. Quick motions, warm strips, a little sting. In minutes, his thick brows were transformed into graceful arches.

Last came the hair.

The stylist brushed through his long, dark strands, layering them delicately and setting them into soft, voluminous waves. The finished look was feminine, movie-star soft, and fell over his shoulders like liquid silk.

“You should’ve been born as a girl,” the stylist said, admiring her own work. “It’s almost unfair.”

Ved stayed quiet. Because when the chair turned, and he saw himself—no stubble, sharply shaped brows, freshly pierced ears and a perfect, bouncy hairstyle—he didn’t recognize the face at all.

There was no Ved in that reflection.

Only her.

Vedhika.

Shilpa’s flat smelled faintly of jasmine hair oil and foundation powder when he arrived, the door already open.

Archana beamed. “Final fitting. Ready?”

He nodded. Slowly.

The prosthetics came first—smooth silicone padding for chest and hips, secured beneath bra and panties, both in a pale blush pink. The feel of it all—the stretch of the bra strap, the subtle pressure of the chest against the blouse fabric—was beyond what he had imagined.

Then came the outfit.

A soft baby pink saree, sheer and delicate, embroidered with floral magenta appliqués and bordered with an ornate midnight blue and gold trim. It shimmered under the room light, catching hints of lilac and rose.

The blouse was the same midnight blue, sleeveless, with a deep cut in the back and thin ties that Shilpa carefully knotted behind him.

Archana adjusted the pallu, letting it drape gracefully over his shoulder.

Shilpa handed him a pair of bangles—blue glass, stacked carefully on both wrists—and a pair of large silver dangling earrings.

He paused, touching his newly pierced lobes.

“Do they hurt?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. Just… there.”

She smiled and slipped them through.

“Perfect.”

Ved turned toward the mirror.

And froze.

The woman staring back had luminous skin, soft cheeks, perfectly arched brows, cascading hair that brushed over bare shoulders—and eyes that still held a flicker of panic.

But there was no denying it.

She was beautiful.

The saree hugged her hips just right. The blouse lifted her posture. The bangles caught the light. The earrings swayed with every subtle movement of her head.

He stepped closer, studying himself—herself.

“This face… finally matches,” he thought.

Archana whispered behind him, “Say it.”

He hesitated.

“Say it,” Shilpa echoed, nudging him.

“…Vedhika.”

The name left his lips softly, like breath.

Not forced.

Not awkward.

Just real.

He turned slightly, resting one hand against the wall, the saree catching the motion and flowing behind him. The mirror showed the full image now—just like the photos they’d used for inspiration.

And for the first time, the reflection didn’t feel like a costume.

It felt like a reveal

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