(Re-post)
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The Lie That Felt True
That night, her dreams were chaotic and vivid. Flashes of whiteboards, quiet conversations, smiles exchanged over shared insights. Then hands brushing accidentally. Then… more.
She woke up flushed and confused.
She had never thought of herself as someone attracted to men. Not really. But something about Varun’s intelligence, his calmness, his presence—it disarmed her. Got under her skin.
“It was just a dream,” she whispered. “Just a… weird, vivid dream.”
She opened her wardrobe. There was one more saree. They did not plan to have more clothes, because they thought it was just a one time thing. This saree was kept just in case. An elegant cotton silk drape in cool mint and silver. Classy. Reserved. Office-appropriate.
She took her time getting ready. Light makeup. Hair brushed into soft waves. She felt grounded. Balanced. Herself.
The office buzzed with energy when she arrived.
This time, people weren’t shocked—they were stunned. She looked different, softer, more composed. Not the Halloween party girl, but an elegant woman at work.
Everyone was surprised.
Except the girls from yesterday —and Hemant—who just smiled knowingly.
Varun was already in the meeting room. When she entered, he stood to greet her, then paused.
“You look… that saree is amazing on you” he said.
Vedhika’s heart flipped in her chest. “Thank you.”
They spent the next several hours addressing every lingering concern, every technical snag. The air was focused, collaborative, but warm.
As the day wrapped up and everyone else stepped, Varun approached her.
“Just need your official email ID to loop you in on final approval.”
She hesitated. “It’s… ved@qualtek.in.”
He repeated “Ved?”
And she broke.
She turned slightly, away from the others, and lowered her voice.
“I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
He was quiet, listening.
“I’m a man. Or… I was. I’m still figuring it out. Or maybe it is just a costume, I don’t know. I can’t start a relationship with a lie, even professional ones, but I didn’t know what was the truth to tell you.”
For a long moment, Varun said nothing.
Then he smiled.
“You were never pretending. You’ve been more real than most people I meet. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re already a woman.”
Vedhika felt her throat tighten. She nodded, unable to speak.
“Thank you,” she stammered.
He smiled again. “I hope I see you again, Vedhika.”
Back at the cubicle, Archana was waiting.
She took one look at Vedhika’s face and knew something had happened. But she didn’t ask. She just hugged her tightly.
“You’ll be there this weekend, right?” she asked softly. “For my wedding. I want you there. Not Ved. Just Vedhika. If that’s okay.”
Tears welled in Vedhika’s eyes.
She nodded into her friend’s shoulder.
“I’ll be there,” she said. “As your bestie.
The night felt too quiet for how loud her heart was.
Vedhika lay in bed, the cool sheets brushing against her freshly lasered skin, her eyes fixed on the ceiling fan tracing circles. Varun’s words wouldn’t leave her.
“You’re already a woman.”
It had been said kindly. Simply. But it hit her like poetry.
She turned, grabbed her phone, and started searching.
Varun A. – Architect, Bengaluru.
LinkedIn. Awards. Whitepapers. Panels.
Instagram. Less formal. A few selfies. Mostly family. And there—him with a child.
A boy. Four or five, maybe. Perched on Varun’s shoulders, grinning, holding onto his dad’s hair like handlebars.
Vedhika smiled without meaning to.
For a fleeting moment, she wished it had been a girl. Just to imagine matching bangles, pretty dresses, bedtime stories about queens and goddesses. A child she could raise into everything she herself had once buried.
But then, she stared longer.
That boy’s laugh. That joy. That connection.
And something inside her softened.
“A son wouldn’t be less. Not even close.”
She saw herself holding him. Feeding him. Holding his tiny hand while crossing the road. She saw Varun reaching for her hand across a dinner table, their child giggling between them.
Just two days ago, none of this had existed in her head.
Now… she couldn’t stop imagining it.
It wasn’t just femininity she was reaching for anymore.
It was family.
It was love.
It was home.
But in her dream, she was sitting beside Varun on a park bench in one of the gardens of Bengaluru, sun glowing softly behind them. A thin breeze curled around her bare shoulders; she was wearing a dress, or something dream-spun.
Varun sat close—too close.
They weren’t talking anymore. Just sitting in silence, watching the lights below flicker.
Then he reached out and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered at her jaw, grazing gently down her neck.
She didn’t pull away.
He leaned closer. She could smell him—mild cologne, clean cotton, something like musk and spice.
“I hope you know,” he murmured, “you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.”
His words reached her before his lips did. The kiss was soft, slow—like he wasn’t sure if she’d vanish if he moved too fast.
She kissed him back, trembling slightly, unsure of what her body wanted but knowing exactly what her heart did. And then sat in his lap with the comfort that he is there.
Later, she was in his arms, head against his chest, his fingers tracing slow circles on her bare back. Her body felt warm, alive, loved.
Then a child’s laugh echoed in the distance—their son.
She turned, and in the dream, she was in a saree again, holding a second child in her arms—a baby girl with wide eyes and gold bangles.
Her heart ached at the beauty of it.
Stories by Iron Butterfly 
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