The lady at the park

Angry and hurt, Ishan stormed out of the villa, tears streaming down his face.

His mind was a chaotic whirlwind, replaying Aryan’s harsh words over and over: Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.

The word echoed in his head like a cruel taunt, each repetition cutting deeper than the last.

He had wanted to turn back the moment he stepped out. Wanted Aryan to come after him, to drag him back inside, to at least try. But Aryan never came. And that hurt even more.

He walked aimlessly, his vision blurred by tears, until he found himself in a nearby park. Only when he sat down on a bench did he realize he wasn’t alone.

A middle-aged Spanish woman sat at the other end of the bench, sobbing into a tissue. Her wrinkled hands clutched a phone, her shoulders hunched forward.

Something about her—the sadness in her posture, the way she wiped her tears in quiet frustration—reminded him of his mother.

"Hi, is everything okay?" Ishan asked, his voice soft and feminine, so natural that it surprised even him.

The woman looked up, her eyes red and puffy.

"No! Everything is not okay!" she snapped in Spanish, then quickly switched to English upon realizing Ishan might not understand.

"All young women are the same. You don’t value your mothers at all!" She wiped her nose with a tissue, her hands trembling.

‘Really?’ Ishan thought, a flicker of irony cutting through his sadness.

I wore a saree for Grah Pujan just because my mom wanted to see me dolled up. If that’s not valuing your mother, I don’t know what is.’

But instead of saying that, he forced a polite smile. “May I ask what happened?”

The woman let out a shaky sigh, trying to collect herself..

"Today was my birthday," she began, her voice cracking. "I wanted to spend some quality time with my daughter. I planned a whole mother-daughter day—getting our nails done, some makeup, shopping, and…"

She hesitated, then pulled out a stack of reservation confirmations from her bag. "I even booked us tickets to a male strip club. I wanted to be the cool mom, you know?"

Ishan’s eyes widened as he glanced at the papers.

‘The male strip club was NOT a joke. This lady actually planned to sit in a room full of sweaty, gyrating men with her daughter. Wild. Absolutely wild.’,

he thought, momentarily distracted from his own misery.

The idea of a mother-daughter bonding activity involving a strip club was a cultural shock, but he decided not to interrupt.

The woman continued, her voice trembling with anger and hurt.

“I planned it all a week in advance! Told her everything! And do you know what she did?”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “She canceled on me. Said she’s going to some beach party with her boyfriend—whom she met LAST MONTH! Twenty years of raising her, and I lose to a man she met on Instagram.”

"I’m sorry you had to go through this," Ishan said sincerely, his heart aching for her.

The woman sighed, wiping her tears. "Sometimes, the people we’re closest to hurt us the most."

Ishan flinched. That hit a little too close to home. When she said ‘closest,’ his mind didn’t go to his mother, his father, or even Rohan. It went to Aryan.

A silence stretched between them before the woman turned to him, her sharp eyes scanning his face.

"Oh my God, I’ve been complaining about my problems without even asking about yours," the woman said, noticing Ishan’s red, tear-streaked eyes. "Young lady, what’s your story? Why are you crying?"

Ishan hesitated, then took a deep breath.

"I’m not really a young lady," he admitted. For the next ten minutes, he poured out his entire story—from saving Harshvardhan to pretending to be Aryan’s wife, the constant pressure of maintaining the act, and finally, the fight that had driven him out of the villa.

Tears kept slipping down his cheeks, and he wiped them away furiously, but they wouldn’t stop.

By the time he finished, he sat slumped forward, shoulders shaking. “And I’ve been roaming around for hours, and he didn’t even come looking for me!”

The words came out more broken than he intended.

Because truthfully, that was what hurt the most. Not the fight, not the word, but the fact that Aryan let him leave.

The woman hesitated before gently patting his hand.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this.” Then, suddenly, her eyes widened. “Wait… Aryan Raichand? As in…”

Ishan’s stomach dropped.

“OH MY GOD—” He clamped a hand over his mouth, realizing he had just jeopardized Aryan’s privacy, his company, maybe even his entire damn reputation.

“Please don’t tell anyone!” His voice cracked. “It could ruin his life.”

The woman simply sighed, shaking her head.

“Still protecting his reputation, huh?” Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, Radhika—your secret’s safe with me.”

Ishan frowned. “It’s Ishan.”

“It’s both.” She shrugged. “But regardless of your sexuality your gender, you have a good heart. And you clearly care about him.”

Ishan blinked, surprised by her kindness.

Before he could respond, the woman leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"You know, I still have all these reservations. Why don’t we go together? It’ll take your mind off things."

Ishan hesitated, shaking his head. "Oh no, I couldn’t—"

"Come on," the woman insisted, cutting him off. "It’ll be fun! And it’ll help you relax. Think of it as a distraction."

“Oh, come on!” She waved her hand. “It’ll take your mind off things. You’re already sad—what’s a little nail polish and overpriced cocktails?

Besides, don’t you want to be a cool daughter for once?” She smirked. “I promise not to make you go to the strip club.”

Ishan rubbed his temples. ‘I should say no. I should absolutely say no.’

But then again…This could be the last time he ever dressed up as Radhika.

Ishan finally agreed, partly out of politeness and partly because he was too emotionally drained to argue. Fine, he thought wryly.

‘If this is my last hurrah as Radhika, I might as well go out with a bang’.

The old lady grabbed Ishan’s hand and practically dragged him toward the nearest salon.

It was a modest place, nothing like the luxurious spas and salons Ishan had grown accustomed to during his time as Radhika.

The walls were a faded pink, the chairs looked like they’d seen better days, and the faint smell of hair dye lingered in the air. Ishan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment—until he properly looked at the woman beside him.

Her clothes, though neat and clean, were slightly worn, and her hands were rough, bearing the marks of years of hard work.

Ishan noticed the way she clutched her purse tightly, as if it held everything she owned. It hit him then—this woman had saved up for weeks, maybe months, to plan this special day with her daughter.

The thought filled him with a deep sense of gratitude toward her and a simmering anger toward her daughter, who had so carelessly thrown it all away.

‘How much had she saved for this? How many extra hours had she worked, how many small indulgences had she denied herself just so she could afford this day with her daughter? And yet, that ungrateful brat ditched her for some random beach party.’ he thought to himself.

"¡Hola! Soy Carmen Pérez. Tengo una cita con mi hija... Elena," Carmen said in Spanish, her voice warm but tinged with nervousness.

("Hello! I’m Carmen Pérez. I have an appointment with my daughter... Elena.")

She gestured toward Ishan, who stood awkwardly beside her, unsure of how to act.

The salon lady, a middle-aged woman with a skeptical expression, looked at them with confusion.

The difference in their skin tones and nationalities was obvious, and the salon lady couldn’t seem to figure out whether Ishan was a man or a woman. Her eyes flicked between Carmen and Ishan, her brow furrowed.

"La hija adoptada, ("The adopted daughter," )" Carmen added quickly, sensing the confusion. She gave a small, reassuring smile. "Es la primera vez que mi hija sale así... ¿Podrías ayudarnos con eso? ("It’s my daughter’s first time going out like this... Could you help us with that?")

Carmen added quickly. The salon lady’s eyes widened in understanding.

"¡Oh...! ¡Oh, claro! Por aquí, señorita Elena, ("Oh...! Oh, of course! This way, Miss Elena. )" she said, her tone shifting to one of enthusiasm. She gestured for Ishan to follow her.

"Haremos de este el momento más memorable de tu vida.( We’ll make this the most memorable moment of your life.")

Ishan swallowed.

'Well. Shit. Guess I am Elena now.'

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Ishan's old habit of putting other people ahead of himself and going out of his way to help them is commending but my boy has zero survival skills 😅.

The spanish lady will definitely have an impact of Ishan's life, good or bad that is to be decided yet.

Please share your views on Ishan's kindness and how do you think he will reconcile with Aryan.