This story is born from real feelings, real struggles, and real dreams—but it is not a mirror of one single life.
Some moments come from truth, some from imagination, and some from the quiet spaces in between. Names, faces, and details have been changed to protect hearts and identities.
What matters most is not whether every event truly happened—but that the emotions behind them are real.
It’s been three days since I first wore the bra. Suddenly, I started getting these urges to wear it again. But this time, I didn’t know how to bring it up with Mom. I wanted another chance, but the words just wouldn’t come.
So, I hovered near her while she was folding clothes, talking about random things—the weather, what was for dinner. I must have sounded so awkward because she finally put a shirt down and looked right at me.
“Do you want something?” she asked, her eyes kind but knowing.
My heart hammered. “No,” I mumbled, looking away.
She wasn’t buying it. “Do you want to try the bra again?”
I gave a mixed-up, jumbled response—a “yes” that sounded like a “no,” a shrug that meant everything. She smiled softly. “Yes or no, beta?”
“If you don’t have any problem… I can try,” I finally whispered.
“Unless and until it stays between us and inside this house, I don’t have any problem,” she said, her voice firm but warm.
A smile broke out on my face. “Yes. I promise. It stays between us.”
“So, what do you want to try today? Just the bra?”
“The same one,” I said, but then I remembered. The reflection in the mirror. I took a breath. “Actually… when I tried the bra, I saw… a reflection. Of a woman in a purple satin saree. I… I want to try that.”
Mom didn’t look shocked. She just smiled. “Okay. Let me get my purple saree for you.”
She opened her closet, and inside was a rainbow of silks and chiffons. She pulled out a stunning purple saree with delicate golden embroidery. Then, she handed me a set of inner wear and a petticoat, showing me patiently how to tie the petticoat. “Go on, get changed,” she said, stepping outside the bedroom.
My hands trembled a little as I put on the soft inner wear and secured the petticoat. When I was ready, I called her back in. Seeing me in just the petticoat and inner wear, she gave me this cute, silent smile that made my nerves settle a bit.
Next was the blouse—a sleeveless one, heavy with embroidery, with a line of tiny hooks at the back. She helped me into it. “Now you try,” she said, turning me towards the mirror.
I fumbled with the hooks. Compared to the bra, this was a puzzle. After a minute of struggling, I sighed. “I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her fingers making quick, gentle work of the hooks. I stared into the mirror the whole time. And as she fastened the last hook, the reflection seemed to shift. The woman I’d glimpsed before… she was coming to life, and she was me. A warm, shy feeling bubbled up in my chest.
Then came the saree. Mom tucked one end at my right hip, wrapped the fabric around once, then brought the pallu up and pinned it to my blouse. Her hands were sure as she made the neat centre pleats and tucked them in. She adjusted the drape, letting the pallu flow open over my shoulder. Finally, she stepped back.
I was ready. Standing there in my mom’s purple saree, I didn’t have the words. It was a totally brand-new feeling. “I don’t know why,” I whispered, touching the embroidery, “but I feel… cute. I really like this.”
Mom burst out laughing, a happy, hearty sound. “Don’t forget, deep down you are still a boy.”
“Yes, Mom,” I said, grinning. “But I feel different now. And I love it.”
“That’s good that you love it,” she said, her tone turning serious for a second. “But remember our deal.”
“I promise. Just you and me.”
Then she sat me in front of the dressing table. She didn’t do a lot—just some Ponds powder, showing me how to apply kajal without poking my eye, and a swipe of mascara. “Another day,” she said, her eyes twinkling in the mirror, “I will get you fully prepared. But for today, this is enough.”
Hearing ‘another day’ made my heart leap. I’m getting another chance. The excitement for that next time is already buzzing inside me, a secret joy tucked away like the pleats of the saree, just between my mom and me.
I stood there, staring at my reflection, my heart doing a funny little dance. Mum had just finished draping me in this gorgeous purple saree, and I couldn’t believe it was me. The fabric shimmered, the pleats fell just right, and for the first time, I felt… beautiful. A wave of pure joy washed over me. I turned and hugged Mum tightly, my voice choked with emotion. “I love you, Mum. Thank you so much.”
She hugged me back, her smile warm. “I love you too, beta. Now, you continue with your work. I’ll go finish mine.” With a final pat, she left the room, leaving me alone with my mirror and my swirling thoughts.
There I was, standing in my room, adorned in this beautiful drape. Happiness bubbled inside me. But reality quickly set in. This was my first crossdressing experience, my first time in a saree, and walking was a mission! My feet kept getting tangled in the pallu. After a few clumsy steps, I figured it out—I gathered the pleats a little higher in my hand and managed a somewhat graceful walk. A glance at the clock told me I had three hours before Dad and my sister returned. Perfect. I decided to be productive. I sat at my desk and finished my homework, then revised a chapter, feeling unusually diligent.
I don’t know why, but wearing the saree did something to me. I started imagining myself as a woman. My movements became more deliberate, my thoughts softer. It was a strange, comforting feeling. Once all my work was done, I checked the time—still forty minutes. Nerves began to flutter. It was time to change back.
I found Mum in the kitchen, standing on her toes, trying to dust the top shelf. “Mum, it’s almost time. Can you help me change?”
“Just give me a minute, let me clean this,” she said, straining.
Seeing her struggle, I offered, “Mum, can I help?”
“Yes, please! I’m too short; my hands won’t reach.” She handed me the broom.
I took it, but now I was struggling. Trying to hold the saree’s loose pallu with one hand and dust with the other was impossible. Mum chuckled. “Wait, come here.” I went to her. Gently, she gathered the flowing pallu from behind, brought it around, and neatly tucked it into my waist at the navel. “There,” she said, laughing softly. “Go, my queen. This is how you wear your saree when you’re doing household chores.”
Her words, that simple act of tucking the pallu… a powerful, womanly feeling surged through me. I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled, a blush warming my cheeks, and went back to cleaning the shelf properly.
Job done, I found Mum in the bedroom. “Mum, I’m finished.”
“Let me check your work,” she said, heading to the kitchen. She inspected the shelf and returned, a look of genuine pride on her face. “I’m impressed. You are so good as a girl. You’re obedient, you help me, and you did your homework without me scolding you.” She paused, her eyes kind. “Why don’t you live as a girl whenever it’s just you and me at home?”
My heart soared. I hugged her so tightly, tears pricking my eyes. “Thank you so much, Mum. I would love to be your girl.”
“We’ll continue this later,” she said, her voice soft. “But right now, let’s get you changed.”
We hurried to my room. She carefully helped me remove the saree, undoing the three pins she’d used at the waist and shoulder. I didn’t want to tear the precious fabric. Once the saree was off, she stepped out, and I quickly changed out of the blouse, petticoat, and innerwear, slipping back into my boy’s clothes.
I called her back in. She started expertly folding the saree—a skill I had no time to learn now. As she folded and put the clothes away in her cupboard, I scrubbed my face clean, removing every trace of kajal and mascara.
With ten minutes to spare, we were ready. My face was washed, the clothes were neatly stored away, and everything in the room was back to normal. We looked at each other and shared a secret, knowing smile. Then, we behaved as if nothing had happened at all, the memory of the purple saree and the promise it held tucked safely away in our hearts.
Story will be continued in part 3
