The Airport

Ishan took a deep breath and turned his attention to the security check line ahead.

It was long. Painfully long. And full of people who looked like they knew what they were doing. Unlike him. The separate lines for checkup for women and man made his heartbeat go through the roof.

He clutched his passport and boarding ticket like they were the last remnants of his sanity.

"Where am I supposed to go?" he whispered to Aryan, his voice laced with panic.

"Where do you think,?", Aryan chuckled, a smirk playing at his lips, "Look at this"

He pulled out a passport from Ishan's hand and showed it to him, his fingers pointing at Ishan's name 'Radhika Raichand, age 23, Female'

"Your passport says you're Radhika Raichand, a woman on her honeymoon. I don't think they'll let you in the men's line, sweetheart."

"But what if they do a thorough check? I've heard horror stories about SSSS... strip searches and all that jazz?" ,Ishan gulped, "What if they find out I have a Sword instead of sheath?"

His voice dropped to a whisper, paranoia creeping in.

"Where did you even hear that nonsense?, You’ll be just fine. ",, Aryan's expression remained unimpressed. "Besides, you're the wife of a billionaire. You'll get VIP treatment, Radhika."

"I think I need something on my chest to remind me of that," Ishan muttered, his eye twitching.

Aryan's gaze quickly darted to Ishan's heaving breast, and Ishan felt a sudden awareness of his pretend husband's eyes.

"Dude, I was talking about my mangalsutra," he quickly covered his cleavage with his saree pallu.

"Sorry...", Aryan apologized, and tried awkwardly defending himself, "But I was also looking at mangalsutra"

"Ofcourse you were...", Ishan said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Just then, a sudden pressure in Ishan's bladder made itself known.

"If you'll excuse me," he groaned inwardly. "Your wife needs to empty her sack,"

he muttered, shooting Aryan a look that was half-joking, half-desperate.

"Good luck with that, Radhika.", Aryan smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. " Just try not to get caught."

Ishan rolled his eyes and hurried toward the restrooms.

His mind was so frazzled that he barely noticed where he was going until his hands pushed open the men's door.

The moment he stepped inside, a collective pause fell over the space. Several men looked up mid-hand wash, mid-zip, mid-adjustment. Eyes widened. Mouths parted in shock.

A burly guy at the urinal turned his head slightly and muttered, "Ma'am...?"

Ishan's eyes bulged.

"Oh, shit... Sorry!"

He slammed his eyes shut, turned on his heel, and stumbled out of the men's room in a hurry. His face burned with shame.

"Fuck.....  to everyone, I'm just another woman... I need to get my shit together,"

Swallowing his pride, he approached the women's restroom, his heart hammering. His hands hovered over the door handle. His palm was sweaty.

"I feel like a massive creep right now," he muttered under his breath.

Before he could psyche himself out, a woman—blissfully unaware of his identity crisis—shoved past him, chirping,

"Coming through!" as she pushed the door open and dragged Ishan inside with her momentum.

Ishan stumbled into the women's restroom, his face burning with embarrassment. His eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar yet oddly similar territory.

Unlike the men's restroom, there were no urinals in sight—just a neat row of stalls, a large mirror-lined counter, and a designated diaper-changing section.

His gaze lingered on the changing station, and he let out a small chuckle.

'So, only women are supposed to care for the baby, huh? Classic. I guess we really do need feminism.'

Shaking his head, he rushed into an empty stall, bolted the door, and exhaled.

"Alright, let’s get to business." , lifting up his saree and carefully positioning himself over the toilet seat.

"Please don't fuck up like the last time," he pleaded, remembering the incident made him swear off sitting on the toilet to pee.

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It was Ishan's first attempt at peeing while sitting down in his saree, and it ended in catastrophe. As soon as he sat on the toilet seat, his inexperience with sarees led to a disastrous mistake.

The delicate fabric of his saree trailed into the toilet bowl, and he heard the unmistakable sound of water soaking into the material.

Ishan's eyes widened in horror as he realized his mistake.

He leapt up from the seat, his heart racing with panic, and frantically tried to rescue his saree from the watery depths.

Unfortunately, it was too late. The expensive silk was irreparably damaged, its intricate embroidery ruined by the toilet water.

Ishan's breath left him in a strangled sound—somewhere between a gasp and a silent scream.

"No. No, no, no, no—" He shot up so fast that his knee hit the toilet paper dispenser, sending the roll clattering to the floor.

Frantically, he grabbed at the soaked fabric, lifting it away from his body like it had personally betrayed him.

The saree was ruined. A once-elegant drape now reduced to a dripping, sopping mess. His mind raced for solutions. He could dry it? No.

The water had already seeped into the intricate embroidery, the rich silk clinging to itself like a waterlogged corpse. There was no fixing this.

His pulse pounded as he glanced at the closed door. Aryan was right outside.

"Aryan," Ishan whispered through the bathroom door, his voice filled with shame and urgency

"What?" Aryan replied, as he wheeled his wheelchair towards the bathroom door.

"I need help."

A pause. Then, a very wary, "What kind of help?"

"...Clothes," Ishan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The door cracked open, and Aryan took one look at Ishan standing there in his underwear, holding his ruined saree like a battle casualty. Silence. And then Aryan burst out laughing

"Did you—wait—oh my God, did you dunk your saree in the toilet?!",

"I didn’t do it on purpose, you bastard!" Ishan hissed, trying to maintain some dignity while standing half-naked in the bathroom.

"Oh no, how tragic.", Aryan was doubled over, gasping for breath between laughs.

"A fashion disaster and a plumbing crisis all at once.",

He took out a nighty and handed over to ishan who snatched it from him as quickly as possible and shut the door locked.

From that day onward, Ishan had sworn an oath,

'I am never going to sit on the toilet seat to do the business' ,

Until today....

Back to the present... Ishan stood, victorious.

"Phew... All done. And no smear." He flushed, adjusted his saree with the care of a royal tailor, and stepped out of the stall feeling a little more put together.

As Ishan approached the sink, he prepared to wash his hands and splash some cool water on his face.

With a gentle wipe, he cleared the droplets from his vision, and his gaze lifted to the mirror. For a fleeting moment, he froze, transfixed by the reflection staring back.

The woman in the mirror wore a stunning pink and white saree, intricately woven with delicate patterns that danced across the fabric.

The saree was draped elegantly around her body, accentuating her curves in all the right places. A sleek black sleeveless blouse complemented the saree perfectly, showcasing her toned arms.

Her long, luscious hair cascaded straight down to her hips, with subtle layers framing her heart-shaped face.

Her lips gleamed with a soft, glossy pink hue, inviting and alluring. A delicate blush adorned her cheeks, giving her an endearing, innocent glow.

A vibrant red sindoor marked her forehead, a symbol of marriage and matrimony. A glittering mangalsutra encircled her neck, its delicate pendant glinting in the light.

For a second, Ishan barely recognized himself. The makeup, the earrings, the way the saree draped over his body—it was all so foreign.

And yet… the longer he looked, the more familiar it became. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about the image staring back at him felt right.

A sudden thought struck him:

'I want to be more beautiful. More feminine'. The desire surprised him, but it felt genuine, a longing to embody the elegance and poise of the woman in the mirror.

Just as Ishan was lost in thought, a gentle tap on his shoulder jolted him back to reality.

His breath hitched as he turned, heart pounding in anticipation. It was the same woman who had shoved him inside earlier.

For a split second, Ishan's mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios.

'Did she clock me? Is she going to shout? Call security? Oh God, am I going to get arrested for being a "menace" in a women's bathroom? Will my name end up in some news article . Suspicious Cross-Dressing Man Causes Public Disturbance at Airport"? Who will marry me then?!'

But the woman simply smiled and asked,

"Hey… do you have a spare tampon?"

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Hi readers, So I am starting the most anticipated Arc 'Honeymoon' which is a gift from Harivansh for the newly wedded couple.

Even after Ishan's suspicion of His intention and concern about Harivansh's falling health, he had to agree for the trip just to appear a lovely couple in front of everyone.

And You guys want then I will surely add 'that chapter 🔞' in the arc as well but you have to wait for the perfect opportunity 😉.

Please don't forget to Vote if you like this chapter...