Bengaluru’s streets are alive with the hum of the evening rush. The aroma of street food lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of petrol as vehicles weave through traffic. The sky, once bright blue, now fades into a warm orange, casting long shadows across the pavement. Amidst the city’s restless energy, you walk alone, hands in your pockets, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of the day.
You are Arjun, a 21-year-old software engineer working at a large biotech firm. It’s been nearly a year since you joined, fresh out of college, eager to prove yourself in a company that seemed as mysterious as it was advanced. Despite its cutting-edge research and technological breakthroughs, something about the place has always felt… off. Maybe it was the way security personnel seemed to watch everything a little too closely, or how employees whispered rumors about secret projects that never saw the light of day.
But work was work, and you were good at what you did. Writing lines of code, debugging complex algorithms, and ensuring the smooth operation of the company's research databases had become your daily routine. Even if your personal life was nothing to boast about—no girlfriend, no real social circle outside of office colleagues—it didn’t matter. You were independent, earning well, and had your whole future ahead of you.
Today, however, your thoughts are elsewhere. A looming project deadline, a nagging headache from staring at screens too long, and the realization that your fridge is almost empty. Maybe you should grab something from a nearby store before heading home.
The sidewalk is bustling with people. Some walk briskly, lost in their own worlds, while others loiter near street vendors selling everything from roasted peanuts to knockoff electronics. Just as you navigate through the crowd, something unexpected happens—
[[1. You accidentally knock into a woman carrying a shopping bag.]](Her items, including underwear, spill onto the ground.) NOT READY YET
[[2. You notice a pendrive lying on the street. ]](Curiosity gets the better of you, and you pick it up.) NOT READY YET
[[3. A woman at a booth is gathering signatures for a petition.]](The petition is about reducing work hours and increasing pay for women.)
What do you do? **You Approach the Petition Booth**
The sound of chatter and the occasional honk of impatient drivers fills the air as you weave through the crowd. Your eyes land on a small gathering near a makeshift booth set up by the sidewalk. A woman, dressed in a sharp business suit, is addressing a group of passersby with an air of authority, gesturing toward a clipboard in her hands. A large banner hangs behind her, displaying bold, capitalized words:
**“EQUAL PAY, FAIR HOURS—SIGN FOR CHANGE!”**
At first, you don’t think much of it. Petitions, protests, and social movements were common in Bengaluru’s busy streets. But as you draw closer, something catches your attention—**the woman leading the event looks familiar.**
It takes a second for the realization to hit you. She isn’t just any activist. She’s **Meera Iyer**, one of the senior executives at your company. You’ve never spoken to her directly, but she’s well known in the office—**one of the few women in upper management, respected and feared in equal measure.**
Your mind races. **Why is she leading this petition?** Isn’t she already in a position of power? Then you notice the company’s logo discreetly printed on the side of the booth. **This isn’t just a random protest—it’s something officially backed by your workplace.**
You slow your steps, debating whether to just walk past or linger to learn more. Curiosity wins.
Standing at the edge of the small crowd, you listen in as Meera speaks, her voice firm yet composed.
**“For decades, women have been held back in the workforce—given lower pay for the same jobs, expected to work the same hours despite additional responsibilities at home. We are not asking for favors. We are demanding what we deserve.”**
A few people nod in agreement. Others murmur among themselves. A younger woman enthusiastically signs the petition before stepping aside to make way for the next person.
Another man in the crowd raises his hand, skeptical. **“But don’t women already have benefits? Maternity leave, workplace harassment laws—why do you need extra pay and fewer hours?”**
Meera’s gaze sharpens. **“Those benefits exist because of years of struggle. But they don’t erase the problem. Look around you—how many women are in leadership positions? How many have to quit their jobs because of an unfair system? We’re not taking from men; we’re fixing an imbalance.”**
The debate continues. Some argue in favor, others remain unconvinced. Meanwhile, you can’t shake the unease creeping into your mind. If this movement gains traction, could it **change things at your workplace?** Would your workload increase if women were given fewer hours? Would promotions favor them more? Or maybe… you’re overthinking it.
Meera turns to you. **“You work at SynGen Labs, don’t you?”**
You blink. How does she know that? Before you can answer, she continues.
**“Then you understand how demanding the job is. We need bright young men like you to stand with us. A signature is a small step toward fairness. Will you sign?”**
She holds the clipboard out to you, expectant. The eyes of the group linger on you, waiting for your response.
**This is your moment to decide.**
**Three choices appear before you:**
1. [[Sign the petition.]] (You decide to support the cause and put your name on the list.) NOT READY YET
2. [[Make fun of them in a rude way]] (You mock the petition and express your disagreement in an offensive manner.)
3. [[Ignore them and walk away.]](You decide not to get involved and continue on your way.) NOT READY YET
What do you do?
You glance at the clipboard in Meera’s hands, then back at her, suppressing a smirk. The way she speaks—so sure of herself, so righteous—grates on your nerves. You never liked these kinds of movements. They always claimed to fight for “equality,” but in reality, they just wanted more benefits for themselves.
You scoff, crossing your arms. **“So, let me get this straight. You want to work fewer hours and get paid more… for what? Being women?”**
A few heads turn your way. Some in shock, others amused, waiting to see how this will unfold. Meera narrows her eyes, her grip tightening on the clipboard.
Still, you continue. **“You say it’s about fairness, but isn’t this just an excuse to be lazy? Maybe if you all worked as hard as the rest of us, you wouldn’t need a petition.”**
The murmur of the crowd grows louder. Some gasp, others chuckle nervously. Meera, however, doesn’t flinch. She takes a slow step toward you, her expression unreadable.
**SLAP!**
The sharp sting spreads across your cheek before you can even react. The force of it makes you stumble back slightly. A hush falls over the crowd. The only sound is the ringing in your ears.
Meera stands before you, her eyes cold, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. **“You think this is a joke?”** she says, her voice controlled yet deadly. **“Men like you are the reason we fight for change.”**
You touch your cheek. It burns. You want to shout, to retaliate, but something about her gaze keeps you frozen.
Meera exhales and straightens her suit. **“I don’t have time for fools.”** She turns away, dismissing you entirely.
The crowd moves on, their attention shifting. Some shake their heads at you. Others whisper. But no one comes to your defense. You stand there, humiliated, your face burning—not just from the slap, but from the realization that you’ve lost control of the situation.
Anger bubbles inside you, but there’s nothing you can do. **You clench your fists and storm off.**
---
By the time you reach home, your frustration has only grown. You throw your bag onto the floor and head straight to the mirror, inspecting your face. A faint red mark of Meera's hand lingers on your cheek where Meera struck you. It stings slightly, but **what catches your attention is a tiny bump forming there, like a mosquito bite.**
You frown, rubbing at it. **Weird.**
Brushing it off, you grab your phone and open your emails, eager to distract yourself. That’s when you see it.
A message from **SynGen Labs – HR Department.**
**Subject: Termination of Employment**
Your stomach drops. You open it, your eyes scanning the cold, formal text.
> **Dear Arjun,**
>
> We regret to inform you that, due to recent inappropriate conduct that does not align with our company values, your employment with SynGen Labs is hereby terminated, effective immediately.
>
> You will receive your final paycheck within the next seven days. Any company property must be returned by the end of the week.
>
> Sincerely,
> **HR Department**
You stare at the screen, unable to process the words. **Fired?** Just like that?
A wave of panic washes over you. Your mind races through the possibilities—was it because of the incident with Meera? Did she have that much power? No, this had to be a coincidence. Right?
Your fingers twitch as you type out a response, demanding an explanation, but deep down, you know it won’t matter.
**You’re screwed.**
---
Days blend into weeks. And you havn't found any job yet!. You are too embarrassed to go out after the incident and bitter to face the world. But something even worse begins to happen.
Your body—**it’s changing.**
At first, it’s subtle.
**Your body hair begins falling out.** It starts with your arms, then your legs. One morning, you wake up and realize your chest is completely smooth. You rub your face, expecting rough stubble, but there’s nothing. **Not even a shadow of facial hair.**
You tell yourself it’s just stress. Maybe some weird reaction to the slap? Maybe you just need to get your hormone levels checked. But then—
**Your muscles shrink.**
Your arms, once firm from regular workouts, look softer. **Your pecs begin to sag, losing their definition.** You grab at them, feeling the unfamiliar softness.
**Your nipples are larger.**
And **sensitive**—painfully so. Every brush against your shirt sends a jolt through you, making you flinch.
The weight gain is the worst. **It’s not normal.** It doesn’t spread evenly like regular fat. Instead, it **accumulates in strange places.** Your **hips feel wider, your thighs softer.** Even your waist looks different.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, your breath shaky.
**You look… androgynous.**
The reflection is still you, but something is undeniably **off.** You feel weak. Small. **Wrong.**
Your mind screams for an answer, but there’s none.
Maybe it’s your stress? Maybe you need exercise? you haven't been eating properly lately.
Or… maybe—
A whisper of a thought flickers in your mind. **Meera.**
Could she have done something? No, that’s ridiculous.
You shake your head. **No. It’s just a weird health thing. It’ll pass.**
---
1. [[This could be just a side effect of something, so wait it out]]
2. [[You find a doctor’s visiting card on your table.]] (hmm? how did it get here?) NOT READY YET
### **Signing the Petition**
You glance at the clipboard, the list of names already filling up the page. For a moment, you hesitate. Workplace politics had never interested you, but refusing now—especially in front of Meera—felt like inviting trouble.
You take the pen and sign your name.
A small wave of applause follows, and Meera gives you a nod of approval. **"Thank you, Arjun. People like you make a difference."** The words feel a little exaggerated, but you force a polite smile. The woman behind you steps forward eagerly to sign as well, and just like that, your moment in the spotlight is over.
The event continues as if your decision had been inevitable. Some people walk past without stopping, others stay to argue, and a few more signatures are added to the list. You realize you’re no longer needed here. **The momentary excitement fades, and your mind drifts to something else—what to do next.**
With no immediate plans, you step away from the booth and onto the busy sidewalk. The evening is still young, and you have some time to kill.
### **You have three choices:**
1. [[Go to the mall.]]
2. [[Go home since you're bored]]
3. [[Go to a café to meet your girlfriend.]]
What do you do?
### **Waiting It Out – The Transformation Continues**
Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. And with each passing day, your body drifts further from the one you once knew.
At first, you convinced yourself it was just temporary. Maybe a hormone imbalance. Maybe stress. **But now, there’s no denying it—this isn’t normal.**
#### **Your New Body**
Your **chest is the biggest problem.** It’s **heavy**—way heavier than before. At first, you ignored the softness, telling yourself it was just weight gain. But now?
**It bounces when you move.**
Even walking across the room makes you painfully aware of it. And stairs? **Forget about it.** Every time you go up a flight, you **instinctively hold your chest with one hand, pressing it down to keep it from moving too much.**
Your nipples, already larger than before, have become **hypersensitive.** Even a gust of wind brushing against your shirt makes them tingle uncomfortably.
Then there’s **your hair.**
At first, you tried cutting it. You even shaved it down completely in frustration. But within **a week, it was back—thicker, longer, softer.** No matter what you do, it just keeps growing. Now, it cascades down past your shoulders, making you look undeniably **feminine.**
Your **muscles are completely gone.** Your arms, your legs—even your once-toned stomach—**all soft.** Your **hips feel wider**, your **thighs fuller.** You can’t even wear your old clothes properly.
And then, the most humiliating change of all—
**Your manhood is shrinking.**
It’s not just small. **It’s nearly useless.** Even when you try to focus, to will yourself into feeling normal again, it’s… nothing. The worst part? You don’t even feel that much of a loss. It’s as if your body itself has given up on being male.
#### **Society Sees You as a Woman**
You still avoid going outside as much as possible, but your savings are running out. You **have to leave the house.**
The first time you step outside in weeks, something strange happens.
**People start calling you ‘ma’am.’**
At the grocery store, the cashier says, **“That’ll be 200 rupees, ma’am.”**
A delivery guy at your door politely asks, **“Are you home alone, miss?”**
Even when you look in the mirror, **it’s getting harder to see a man staring back at you.**
**No matter how you dress, no matter how much you try to force your voice deeper—people just assume you’re a woman.** And every time you correct them, they **apologize awkwardly, as if you’re the one who’s wrong.**
To make the situation even worse, my nipples get hard when ever I see a man. most of the time I had to cover them with my long hair but i have to find a solution to this soon!
**It’s suffocating.**
You try to get a job again. You send out your resume, hoping to get something—anything. But the rejections keep coming. Your **savings are disappearing fast.**
You don’t know how much longer you can keep going like this.
---
### **Three choices appear before you:**
1. [[look for a scientist.]] (Maybe a scientist can figure out what’s happening.)
2. [[Your clothes don’t fit anymore, and you desperately need to shop.]] (You need something that actually fits your body.)
3. [[You need to find a job first and then fix your body.]] (Money is running out—you need income before anything else.)
What do you do?
### **The Women's Clothing Store**
You stand outside the **brightly lit boutique**, shifting uncomfortably. The large glass windows display mannequins dressed in elegant skirts, floral blouses, and figure-hugging dresses. A **large sign above the entrance reads “Divya’s Trends – Women’s Fashion.”**
You’ve been struggling for weeks—pulling at loose waistbands, hiding your increasingly soft figure under oversized T-shirts. **You can’t ignore it anymore.** You need something that fits.
Taking a deep breath, you step inside.
---
The **air inside is filled with the scent of perfume and fabric softener.** Soft music plays in the background—a familiar pop song, though you barely register it.
**It’s packed.**
**Women of all ages crowd the aisles, browsing through racks of colorful clothing.** Some are holding up tops to examine them in the mirror, others are flipping through stacks of jeans. **There’s laughter, chatter, the hum of casual conversations.**
You feel **out of place.**
For years, you’ve walked past stores like this without a second thought. But now? **Now, you’re standing here, surrounded by women, looking for clothes that will fit your increasingly unrecognizable body.**
The **store is divided into sections**:
- **Casual wear** – T-shirts, leggings, and comfortable tops.
- **Office wear** – Blouses, skirts, fitted trousers, and formal dresses.
- **Ethnic wear** – Sarees, kurtas, embroidered salwar suits.
- **Lingerie & Undergarments** – Brightly colored bras, lacy panties, shapewear.
Your eyes linger on the last section **for a second too long.**
---
The **undergarment section is lined with delicate lace, silk, and soft cotton fabrics.** A wall of **mannequin torsos showcases different bra styles**—push-up, balconette, bralette, full-coverage. **Panties in various cuts and materials hang neatly below.**
The **colors range from soft pastels to bold reds and blacks.** Some sets are embroidered with delicate floral designs, others are completely sheer.
Two women nearby giggle as they examine a matching bra-and-panty set. **You quickly look away, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and embarrassment.**
You don’t belong here.
But you can’t ignore the problem either. **You need to find at least a temperory solution** Your chest lacks any support and bounces on even the slightest movement. Your hips feel strange in your old boxers, it feels tight around the bands and loose in the front. **Even the way fabric clings to your skin feels… wrong.**
And most importantly, you need something to hide your nipples, you can't use you hair or your wierd hand gestures to cover them in public
You swallow hard and step away, pretending to browse elsewhere.
---
“**Hello, ma’am! Welcome to Divya’s Trends! Can I help you find something?**”
You freeze.
A young saleswoman, **probably in her mid-20s, smiles warmly at you.** She’s dressed in a stylish kurti and leggings, a store badge pinned to her chest. **She looks at you with the same friendly professionalism she would offer any other female customer.**
You open your mouth to correct her. **To say that you’re not—**
But the words don’t come out.
She’s still smiling, waiting for your response.
well It's not her fault!, ** She sees **exactly what everyone else has been seeing for weeks.**
**A woman.
But… would that make things any better?
The moment stretches too long. You need to respond.
---
1. [[Take your measurements.]] (Maybe it’s best to know your new sizes before buying anything.)
2. [[Pick up clothes randomly and go to the trial room.]](Just grab something that looks like it might fit and test it out.)
3. [[Across the road, you see an old clothing store with almost no people in it.]](Maybe you’ll be more comfortable shopping somewhere quieter.) NOT READY YET
What do you do?### **Congratulations! You’ve reached an ending.**
Your decision to ignore the changes, believing you could fix them later, has cost you your identity.
---
You always knew something was wrong.
Every time you looked in the mirror, every time you touched your body, it was impossible to deny.
You were **changing into a woman.**
But no matter how severe the changes became—your softening features, your widening hips, the weight of your chest—you **kept telling yourself it wasn’t permanent.**
That you could **reverse it.**
That as soon as you had **enough money**, you’d go to a **real doctor,** get the right treatment, and **go back to normal.**
So, you waited. And waited.
Until one day, you realized **it was already too late.**
---
It happened suddenly.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through your lower abdomen, making you double over in agony. It was worse than anything you had ever felt before—like something **inside you was tearing apart.**
And then, **you saw the blood.**
Your hands trembled as you touched the wet stain between your legs. The **dark red smear on your fingers sent a cold shiver down your spine.**
This wasn’t normal. **This wasn’t normal.**
Panic surged through you.
You had no choice. You had to get help.
You rushed to the nearest **government hospital**, ignoring the stares from strangers as you clutched your stomach. Your long hair, your slender frame—**to them, you were just another woman in distress.**
---
The examination room was cold. Sterile. The doctor, an older man with sharp eyes, barely glanced at your ID as he gestured for you to lie down.
You hesitated, but the pain was unbearable.
**"Where exactly are you feeling discomfort?"** he asked, preparing his tools.
You tried to explain—**your genitals, your abdomen, the blood!!.**
His expression darkened.
The check-up was **thorough. Too thorough.** You felt exposed, humiliated, but nothing compared to the dread settling in your gut when the doctor finally spoke.
**"This... this isn’t possible."**
His gaze met yours, full of suspicion. **"You’re completely female. Genetically. Biologically. There’s no sign that you were ever male."**
Your mouth went dry. **What?**
**"Your DNA, your internal organs... everything is consistent with a natural-born woman.
Are you high on something woman?? If this ID truly belongs to you, then it’s fake."**
are you a thief?? do you what's the crime for identity theft??
You sat up, heart hammering. **"No, I—I've always been..."**
But you couldn’t finish the sentence. Because it **wasn’t true anymore.**
**The evidence was gone.**
Every last trace of **who you used to be**—your male identity, your DNA, even your most intimate parts—**had been erased.**
The doctor sighed, his eyes unreadable.
**"This is serious. If this is fraud, you could be arrested. I'm going to handover these id's to the police"**
Thieves like you should go to jail..
Jail !!??
Your breath hitched.
You didn’t stay to hear the rest.
You bolted from the room, ignoring the shouts behind you. **You ran, ran, ran, until your lungs burned and your breasts ached **
By the time you reached your apartment, you knew you couldn’t stay there.
They would come looking for you.
Your ID, your bank records—**everything tied you to a name that no longer existed.**
If you wanted to live, if you wanted to start over, you needed a new identity.
---
It wasn’t easy finding someone who could help.
But desperation makes you resourceful.
After days of searching, whispers led you to an **underground agent.** A man who specialized in **erasing pasts and creating new ones.**
The price was high. But you had no choice.
you spent all the money you had left for this month's utilities
The process was swift.
When the final papers were placed in your hands, your fingers trembled as you read the name written there.
A **woman’s name.**
Your new name.
You whispered it aloud, just to see how it felt.
It didn’t feel real.
But it had to be.
Because **there was no going back.**
---
Life after the change was strange.
You were a **ghost of yourself**, existing in the world under a name you hadn’t chosen, a body you hadn’t asked for.
Finding work was difficult. **Until one day, you got lucky.**
you saw a post **Microsoft call center** was hiring. **They preferred female employees.** Something about women’s voices being more soothing, more effective.
You applied. You got the job.
It wasn’t much, but it was **stability.**
Sitting in your cubicle, headset in place, you stared at your reflection in the screen.
The long hair. The soft features. The slender hands typing on the keyboard.
It should have felt alien.
But it didn’t.
You sighed. **Maybe you had just gotten used to it.**
The world saw you as a woman. Your documents said you were a woman.
And deep down, maybe... **you had accepted it, too.**
and suddenly receive a call...
Hii this is **anjali from Microsoft** how can i help you?
---
**Hey Anjali, If you like this story, please dont forget to follow me on deviantart and patreon, probably you might find something even more interesting there**
Thank you..
Restart your journey - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
You hesitate for a moment before speaking.
“Uh… I think I need my measurements taken.”
The saleswoman’s smile brightens. **“Of course, ma’am! Come with me.”**
Your stomach twists again at the way she addresses you, but you don’t correct her. **There’s no point.**
She gestures for you to follow her deeper into the store. Past the racks of clothing, past the lingerie section, past the dressing rooms. At the far back, **there’s a small, semi-private fitting area—separated from the main store by a soft pink curtain.** A small sign beside it reads:
**“Personal Fittings – By Appointment Only.”**
“Please step inside,” she says, pulling the curtain aside.
Your heart pounds as you step in.
---
The space is **smaller and more intimate** than a normal dressing room.
A **large, well-lit mirror** takes up most of one wall, reflecting your image back at you. There’s **a plush white ottoman** in the center, a few drawers built into the side wall, and a rack of **measuring tapes, fabric markers, and sewing pins neatly arranged.**
The saleswoman steps inside with you, letting the curtain fall shut behind her.
“Go ahead and remove your top, ma’am,” she says cheerfully. “We’ll start with your bust measurement.”
Remove… your top?
You shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, she needs access to measure you properly. But the request **sends a wave of anxiety through you.**
You dont have a choice. **You need clothes that fit.**
Hands slightly unsteady, you pull off your oversized T-shirt, exposing your bare upper body.
The saleswoman remains **calm and professional, as if she’s done this a thousand times.** If she notices your nervousness, she doesn’t say anything.
She grabs a **soft fabric measuring tape** from the rack and steps closer.
She wraps the measuring tape around your chest, just under your pectorals.
You tense up as the tape **gently presses against the softness of your skin.**
“Hm… 38 inches underbust,” she murmurs, jotting it down in a small notepad.
Then, she moves the tape **higher, wrapping it around the fullest part of your chest.**
You feel **every inch of pressure** as she adjusts the tape to ensure accuracy. The sensation is **foreign, intimate, and deeply unsettling.**
“Full bust… 40 inches,” she announces, making a note. “That gives you a cup size of… let’s see…”
She quickly does some mental calculations.
**“That would be a B cup, ma’am.”** ... 38B, that's the number, you should be looking for in the tags of the Bra that you're looking for to buy
Your breath catches. with a slight satisfaction that your bra size is smaller than your ex-girl friend
she's a **C cup** you say to yourself as if that's something to be proud of.
She continues with the rest of your measurements:
- **Waist:** 30 inches
- **Hips:** 40 inches
- **Shoulders:** Slightly narrower than before
When she finishes, she steps back, smiling warmly.
“All done! Now that we know your sizes, I’ll get you some sample clothes that fits properly.”
She steps over to one of the built-in drawers and pulls out a neatly folded **bra-and-panty set**.
hmm, 34....36.....38, there 38B “This should be a perfect fit for you”
You hesitate, staring at the delicate fabric in her hands.
She **watches you expectantly.**
You can’t refuse. Slowly, you take the garments and turn toward the mirror.
Slipping the bra over your arms, you **fumble with the clasps**, unfamiliar with how to put it on properly.
The saleswoman chuckles. “Let me help.”
You stiffen as she **gently guides your arms through the straps and fastens the clasp at your back.** Then, she adjusts the cups to sit properly over your chest. ( well they are breasts acording to her and the rest of the world)
The **moment you feel the support, you realize just how much you needed it.**
Your **chest feels lighter, more controlled, less exposed.**
It was quite hard to breath with this thing on, but Its definetly worth the benefits it provides.
Then a matching panties slide up your legs effortlessly, the fabric soft against your skin. They fit **perfectly—almost too perfectly.** your almost invisible tiny penis is now completely invisible under the panties.
You stare at your reflection. you are keep starring......
The saleswoman steps back, **studying you with an appraising eye.**
“You look absolutely beautiful.”
Your slightly flicker and came back to senses.
No one has ever called you that before.
But she isn’t joking. **She means it.**
You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the moment, when she suddenly claps her hands together.
“Actually… I just had an idea.”
You glance at her, confused.
“Our store is currently looking for a model for an upcoming underwear advertisement,” she explains. **“We need someone with natural beauty, and you would be perfect.”**
The words hit you like a punch to the stomach.
You blink. **Did she just…?**
Your lips part slightly, but no words come out.
She keeps smiling. **Waiting for your response.**
Your mind **races with emotions—shock, embarrassment, disbelief.**
An **underwear model? You?**
You barely managed to convince yourself to buy women’s clothing, and now this?
Your heart pounds. You don’t know what to say.
You don’t know what to do.
1. [[Doing this one ad could help you financially.]](You do need money… and maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.)
2. [[Thank her for the help and purchase a few underwear and casual clothes.]] (You’re already overwhelmed—just get what you need and leave.)
What do you do?
Your heart pounds as you **nod awkwardly at the saleswoman** and step away from her. **You don’t correct her.** You don’t explain. **You just walk.**
You don’t know what you’re doing.
You just know you **need** clothes.
And so, without thinking, you **march straight into the aisles.**
---
You don’t want to be here. **You don’t want to be here.**
you rush through the bra section, while holding your bouncy chest at one hand
And your other hand **shoots out** and grabs a bra from the nearest rack.
Then another.
Then another.
Without thinking, you **sweep your arm along the rack, gathering bras of different styles, sizes, and colors.**
- **A white, fancy one**
- **A black sporty one**
- **A simple, modest one.**
- **A red something...**
You don’t even check the sizes . and you have no idea what thier names and purposes are. after picking up a few,
You **turn toward the panty section.**
A row of **matching sets** catches your eye. You **snatch up a few of them**
In multiple colours and sizes just like the bras
You don’t hesitate. **You throw them all over your arm and move on.**
---
The **casual wear section** is next.
Your fingers **graze over soft fabrics, bright colors, floral patterns, and intricate embroidery.**
You don’t have curves. **Do you?**
Before doubt can creep in, you **grab a handful of outfits at random**:
- **A blue kurti with delicate silver embroidery.**
- **A chudidaar set in deep maroon.**
- **A breezy, knee-length summer dress—yellow, with tiny white flowers.**
- **A crop top and high-waisted jeans combo that looks… oddly stylish.**
Your arms are **overflowing with clothes now.**
You ignore the stares of the other shoppers. If they’re confused by your frantic movements, **you don’t care.**
Your only goal is to get to the trial room **as fast as possible.**
---
You **make a beeline** for the back of the store. A long corridor lined with **individual changing rooms** stretches before you.
A store attendant stands by the entrance, checking customers as they go in. She barely glances at you before giving you a numbered token.
“**Please don’t take more than five items at a time, ma’am.**”
You nod hastily, **ignoring her words**
**You push open the door to a tiny, mirror-lined cubicle and step inside.**
The **lock clicks shut.**
The **mirror reflects… a sweaty androgenous person in a loose hanging male outfit**
Your **arms are full of women’s clothes.**
Your **hair is long, messy**
Your **soft chest presses against your loose shirt.** nipples slightly poking through!
The **pile of underwear sits in the corner.**
You **swallow hard.**
you made it..
---
1. [[Take your time and try on all the clothes you brought.]]
2. [[Try your best to make this quicker.]]
What do you do?
You step away from the brightly lit women’s boutique, heart pounding. **That was too much.**
The crowd by itself was enough to make you think twice. The sheer amount of **bras, skirts, and dresses** surrounding you.
It was overwhelming.
Your **hands feel clammy** as you glance around, searching for an escape. Then, across the street, you see it—
A **small, old-fashioned store**, tucked between a pharmacy and a bakery. The **signboard is faded**, its golden lettering barely legible:
**“Sundari Silks & Styles”**
There’s **no flashy display window**, just a **plain curtain covering the entrance.** More importantly, from the outside, **it looks empty.**
**Perfect.**
Taking a deep breath, you cross the road and step inside.
---
The first thing you notice is **the smell**—a mix of **sandalwood, incense, and old fabric**.
The walls are **lined with shelves stacked high with sarees**, their **rich silk fabrics shimmering under the dim yellow lighting**. The place feels… **out of time.**
There are a few racks of **Western wear**, but they look **decades old**—modest blouses, long skirts, and outdated dresses **more suited for women in their 50s. or 60s**
You frown. **This is definitely not the place for you.**
Just as you turn to leave—
“**Welcome, dear. Looking for something special?**”
You freeze.
---
Before you can react, **three middle-aged women appear out of nowhere**, **surrounding you.**
They’re **dressed in the most elegant silk sarees** you’ve ever seen, **deep reds, royal blues, and shimmering golds.** Each of them wears **heavy gold jewelry**, their bangles jingling softly as they move.
Despite their age—**likely in their early 60s**—their faces **are flawless**, their posture **regal**, their smiles **unnervingly warm.**
You swallow.
**Who are they? Employees? Owners?**
They certainly **don’t look like regular shopkeepers.**
One of them, a woman with **dark kohl-lined eyes**, gently touches your arm.
“**Leaving so soon? You haven’t even looked around. Take your time, dear. If you don’t find anything, you can go.**”
Her voice is **silky, persuasive.**
You hesitate.
You don’t want to be rude, and besides—**anything is better than going back to that crowded boutique.**
“**Fine, I’ll just look around.**”
---
#
You **pretend to browse**, running your fingers over the heavy silk sarees, nodding at the outdated blouses.
But you **can feel them behind you**—watching.
**Following.**
Each time you move, they **glide beside you**, asking questions in **soft, almost hypnotic voices**.
“**You have such delicate features, dear. Are you looking for something traditional? A saree would look lovely on you.**”
You stiffen. “**I’m not here for sarees.**”
“**Oh? Then what kind of outfit are you looking for?**”
You hesitate, struggling for words.
One of them, a woman with **gray-streaked hair**, tilts her head.
“**Are you searching for work, by any chance?**”
Your breath catches. ( what!!?? how does she know)
“**hmm.. No, Why do you ask?**”
Her **smile deepens.**
“**You just seem… in desperate need of a fresh start. So I thought you must be looking for A job, perhaps?**”
Your heart pounds.
This is **witchcraft!**. How could they know? can they read my mind!?
You haven’t told anyone about your job struggles, yet they **see right through you.**
---
The three women exchange glances, then nod.
Its a good thing, that you showed up here, today dear. You see, Mrs lakshmi here, is leaving for Germany to live with her son Next week. So she she wont be able to work with us anymore.
“**You should work here, dear, Said Mrs Lakshmi**”
Your stomach flips.
“**What? No, I—**”
“**Oh, don’t say no just yet.**” The woman with **gold bangles** steps forward. “**The pay is excellent. More than enough to live an expensive lifestyle.**”
She leans in, voice almost a whisper.
“**More than you could get anywhere else.**” "2######"
Your fingers twitch.
That’s impossible. **A small store like this? Paying more than a corporate job?**
You shake your head.
“**I’m not interested.**” "I have actually applied for a different job", you lie.
But they don’t give up.
“**There are additional benefits, dear. Housing, clothing, personal grooming.**”
Your throat goes dry.
It’s **too much.** Too good to be true. Seriously how can they pay for the shop that has no customer inside?!!, you wonder
You **step back**, shaking your head. “**I should go.**”
But before you can leave, a **thick contract is placed in front of you.**
“**Just sign, and the money will be in your account immediately. And you can Use it for anything**”
Your pulse races.
This isn’t right. **None of this is right.**
But you can’t ignore the fact that—**despite everything—you're tempted.**
The money. The benefits. Mostly just money.. you need them now!
and the job seems so simple. probably you dont even have to do any work!
You stare at the contract, then at the women’s expectant smiles.
As you flip through the pages, your **eyes skim over the neatly typed clauses**—a lot of it is standard employment jargon:
- **Monthly Salary:** A staggering amount, far higher than you expected.
- **Additional Benefits:** Housing, clothing, personal care, and something vaguely described as *“lifestyle accommodations.”*
- **Job Title:** Not specified, simply written as *“Replacement Employee.”*
There are **entire paragraphs written in Sanskrit**, scattered throughout the document. You recognize a few words—phrases like **"परिवर्तन" (Parivartana – Transformation)** and **"समर्पण" (Samarpan – Surrender)**—but the **you couldn't understand the full meaning**
One of the women, the one with **the kohl-lined eyes**, gives you a reassuring smile.
“**Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s just an old formality, dear, from our shop’s long history.**”
Another woman **gently guides your hand** toward the signature line.
“**It’s simple, really. You’ll take over the position of an existing worker—her salary, her benefits, even her personal belongings will become yours. Including all of Lskshmi's jewelry.**”
Her **gold bangles jingle softly** as she flips to the final page, where a **signature line waits for you.**
"**You’re very lucky, dear. We don’t offer this position often.**"
Their voices are **soothing, persuasive**—as if they **know exactly what you want to hear.**
You glance back at the **mysterious Sanskrit text**, unease creeping into your chest.
But the numbers in the salary column—**they're hard to ignore.** and just the Gold, Mrs lakshmi is wearing could worth more than 20 lakh rupees ($23000)
This could **solve everything.**
---
1. [[Sign the contract.]](This could be an easy way out of your problems, Right?)
2. [[Get out of this eerie shop and ask your female friend to help with shopping.]] (This place is too suspicious. It’s better to leave.)
You stare at the saleswoman, your mind whirling.
**A lingerie model?**
The very idea makes you break out in a nervous sweat. But at the same time, you can’t deny that you’re desperate.
**Your savings are running out. You need money.**
And she’s looking at you expectantly, her kind smile unwavering.
You swallow hard and finally force the words out.
“…I guess I can give it a try.”
Her face lights up. **“Wonderful! Let’s get the paperwork sorted.”**
She leads you into a small office in the back of the store, where a **neatly printed contract** awaits on a sleek white desk. You scan the document, noting the **terms and conditions**:
- The store will **cover all costs** of the photoshoot.
- You’ll receive **a generous payment** upon completion.
- Your image may be used for advertisements **both online and in print.**
- If the ad is successful, there may be **more opportunities in the future.**
Your sign here she says..
Shit you cannot use your real name!.. you think for a second and...
Your hands tremble as you pick up the pen and sign your new name for the first time—**POOJA ARORA** , that was the first name that you thought of.
**Now there’s no turning back.**
----
The next day, you return to the store, where a **professional team is waiting.**
A **makeup artist**, a **stylist**, and a **photographer**—all working to transform you into the perfect model.
The **makeup** feels strange against your skin—foundation, blush, eyeliner, mascara—each stroke emphasizing your already **delicate features.**
The **stylist picks out a lacy lingerie set**, helping you adjust the straps and ensuring it fits just right.
And then… it’s time.
You stand under the **bright studio lights**, heart pounding. The photographer positions you in front of a **luxurious, feminine backdrop.**
“Alright, sweetheart,” he says. **“Let’s get started.”**
Your body **freezes with embarrassment.**
this was the first time you stand in front of this many people, in just your underwear and that too in a female body.
Now comes the difficult part,
You don’t know how to pose. You don’t know how to look sexy. You don’t even know where to put your hands.
But the photographer **coaches you through it.**
**“Chin up. Arch your back. Relax your shoulders.”**
Slowly, **awkwardly, you follow his instructions.**
And somehow… by the end of the shoot, you manage to **pull it off.**
---
You assumed the ad would be seen by **a few customers at best.**
You were wrong.
Within **days**, the store’s campaign **explodes across social media.**
People are **obsessed** with the new model—your image is **everywhere.**
Magazines, Instagram, billboards—**your feminine figure, clad in delicate lingerie, becomes the talk of the industry.**
Can you believe that, your old school boys only watsapp group is now active because someone shared a pic of "POOJA ARORA" in it without knowing that the model is actually you!
If it had been before, you would have joined them in the conversation, but now you're too scared to even open the chatbox, cause you know exactly what kind of talks they might be having right now.
------
And soon, **bigger brands start reaching out.**
They offer you **even more lucrative deals**, promising fame, fortune, and a life of luxury.
One photoshoot turns into **two, then five, then ten.**
Each time, the lingerie becomes **more elaborate, more revealing.**
You barely have time to **process what’s happening.**
Because with every passing week…
**Your body is changing.** and you knew it.
Your **breasts**, which already felt **a little uncomfortably , grew even fuller**—from a Bcup to **a full, round D cup.**
you have officialy overtaken your ex-girlfriend in the bra race, you're now a cup size ahead of her.
Your **waist became impossibly small**, accentuating the dramatic **hourglass shape** that photographers adore.
Your **hips expanded to the limit where only women's section fitted you**, your **thighs softened even further**
Your **voice had completely shifted**, growing **smoother, sultrier.**
( even at first with some try you could've passed for an androgenous voice, but now no matter how much you try, you cannot fool anyone.
And within you, you know that it’s **already too late.**
You are a **woman.**
Completely. you pushed it to the point of no return.
And to the people of india and rest of the world.
**You are India’s next upcoming lingerie model.**
---
Your schedule becomes **packed with photoshoots, interviews, and high-end fashion events.**
You travel across the country, staying in **luxurious hotels, wearing designer clothes, attending exclusive parties.**
And every day, **your bank account grows.**
You are now **wealthy beyond your wildest dreams.**
**Every major brand wants you.**
And you’ve come to accept it.
The life you had before—**as a struggling software engineer—is a distant memory.**
Now, you are **a goddess in the eyes of millions.**
---
---
You lean back in your chair, staring at your reflection in the mirror.
Your **perfectly sculpted body**, your **gorgeous curves**, your **glowing skin.**
This is who you are now.
A **wealthy, famous, breathtaking woman.**
**YOU ARE POOJA ARORA**
And the world is **at your feet.**
**Congratulations! You’ve reached an ending.**
hey **POOJA** if you like my work, please dont forget to follow and support me on Patreon and deviantart. thank you for playing so far.
if you wish to explore other paths - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
You swallow hard, your throat dry as you stare at the saleswoman’s expectant smile.
Did she just… call you **beautiful?**
A strange warmth spreads through your chest, a mix of confusion, discomfort, and something else you can’t quite place.
You **need to say something.**
Your voice feels foreign as you manage, “Uh… th-thank you.”
The words stumble out awkwardly.
You see no **mockery or sarcasm** in her eyes—only **genuine kindness.**
It makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.
“I—uh—I should… probably get some clothes,” you add, quickly averting your gaze.
The saleswoman beams. “Of course! Let me know if you need any help.”
You **nod stiffly**, eager to escape the overwhelming situation. Turning on your heel, you **practically bolt out of the fitting room.**
---
Now that you have found your sizes, you start the real shopping...
You barely make it a few steps before realizing **where you are.**
The lingerie section.
**Rows upon rows of delicate bras, panties, and nightwear stretch out before you.**
The racks arranged neatly, with lacy, colorful pieces draped elegantly over hangers. The **scent of floral perfume** lingers in the air.
You inhale sharply.
Let's get this over with, you say to yourself
Yet, as your hands **brush against the soft fabrics**, a strange feeling sets in—**your breasts.. i mean ..ch..chest need these.**
You think again if you should really buy these!
And as much as you want to pretend otherwise, **you have no choice.**
---
Your **first goal is bras.**
Now, as you are standing without the sample bra that you wore in the fitting room, you **feel the weight on your chest to have been magnified.** The simple movements of walking, bending, or even standing **without that bra feels worse**
It’s embarrassing, uncomfortable… and **you have to do something about it.**
You start browsing the racks, **keeping your head low** to avoid eye contact with the other shoppers.
- **Casual bras**—plain, soft, and supportive. You grab two in **neutral colors** that won’t stand out too much.
- **Sports bras**—tightly fitted, designed to **reduce bounce.** You take two, opting for darker shades.
Just as you reach for a third option, a woman nearby glances at you and smiles.
“You have great taste,” she comments lightly.
Your face **burns.**
You nod quickly, mumbling **a barely coherent response** before **escaping toward the panties section.** with 4 bras in your shopping basked
---
This part is even more awkward.
You could still wear boxers and get on with it. a large boxer would still fit your hips, but after wearing the sample panties, the way it felt against your skin made you go for this darring choice.
you go directly to the rack with your measurents and pick of a few random panties.
Your hands are **shaking slightly** as you toss them into your shopping basket.
It feels surreal.
Like this isn’t happening.
Like you aren’t standing in the middle of a lingerie aisle, **shopping for yourself.**
Thats enough with the underwears, you thought
---
You **move away from the lingerie section as fast as possible,** making your way toward something more familiar.
The **kurta and churidar racks** bring a slight sense of relief.
At least these clothes **don’t feel as intimate.**
Still, it was kinda awkward. **shopping at woman's section** . dressing as a woman attracts less attention rather than dressing in male clothes with this body
You spend an **absurd amount of time** weighing your options—**comparing prices, checking fabric quality, ensuring they aren’t too flashy.**
As you inspect the fabrics, **you catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.**
The image stares back—**a slim, androgynous figure mostly leaned towards a female side, long hair falling past soft shoulders.**
You quickly **look away.**
---
Shopping took **far longer than you expected.**
**You overthought every decision**—every piece of clothing, every price tag, every fabric choice.
By the time you **finally** reach the checkout counter, you glance at the clock above the cash counter.
**6:50 PM.**
You blink in surprise. **You spent the entire day here.**
The cashier **scans your items without a second glance.**
Your hands **tighten around your wallet** as the total flashes on the screen.
This is money you can’t afford to waste.
But **you don’t have a choice.**
You pay.
**And walk out of the store.**
---
the street llights have been turned on.
You exhale slowly, shoulders sagging with exhaustion.
The streets are **busier than before**—people heading home, finishing errands, or simply walking without a destination.
As you adjust your shopping bags, **movement catches your eye.**
Someone walking ahead.
**Meera.**
Your **stomach clenches.**
She’s walking alone, her pace unhurried.
You freeze in place, your heart **pounding in your ears.**
**Meera.**
The woman who slapped you.
The woman who humiliated you.
The woman who brought you to the streets!
The woman who…
Your mind **swirls with questions.**
**Was she responsible for my transformation too?**
Did she do something to you?
Or… was it just **coincidence?**
You think all about this while still following Meera.
---
1. [[Confront Meera—probably she had something to do with this.]] (You need answers.)
2. [[Book an appointment with an inexpensive doctor.]] ( probably she had nothing to do with this. just walk away)
What do you do?
Your grip tightens around the shopping bags as you **stare at Meera’s retreating figure.**
The anger that has been simmering for weeks **boils over.**
You don’t care if it’s irrational.
**You need answers.**
You take a deep breath, **step forward, and call out her name.**
"Meera!"
She **pauses**, then slowly turns around.
Her eyes widen slightly in surprise before she quickly composes herself.
A small, almost amused smile plays on her lips.
"Well, well… look who it is," she says, crossing her arms. "Didn’t expect to see you here."
Your heartbeat **thunders in your ears.**
This is it.
The moment you’ve been dreading and anticipating all at once.
You step closer, **forcing yourself to keep your voice steady.**
"You did this to me, didn’t you?" you demand.
Her expression doesn’t change.
"Did what?" she asks, feigning innocence.
"You know what I’m talking about!" You gesture at yourself, **at the body that isn’t yours anymore.**
"Ever since you slapped me, everything started changing. My body… my face… everything!"
Your fists clench.
"You injected me, drugged me, or did something to me. I want you to **fix it. Now.**"
Meera raises an eyebrow.
"And if I don’t?"
Your voice drops to a dangerous tone.
"Then I go to the police."
---
For the first time, **you see a flicker of fear in her eyes.**
It’s quick—gone in a blink—but you **catch it.**
She wasn’t expecting this.
She wasn’t expecting **you to fight back.**
She sighs, rubbing her temple as if dealing with a minor inconvenience.
"Alright. Fine," she finally says.
You blink.
**That was too easy.**
"I knew this would come back to bite me eventually," she mutters, mostly to herself.
Then she looks at you.
"I do have an antidote. But we can’t talk here. Too many people. Come with me."
You hesitate.
She’s… admitting to it?
Just like that?
but you’re too desperate to care.
"Fine," you say. "Lead the way."
---
Meera’s house is **nothing like you expected.**
It’s massive. **More like a mansion than an apartment.**
The **gate slides open automatically**, and the second you step inside, **doors lock behind you with a soft beep.**
you follow Meera to her room
"Where’s the antidote?" you ask, trying to keep your voice firm.
Meera doesn’t answer immediately.
She walks over to a sleek, black **drawer** near the far wall.
Then she turns around.
Her **entire demeanor changes.**
The friendly, slightly nervous woman you confronted outside is **gone.**
"I didn’t expect you to figure it out so soon," she says smoothly. "But since you did…"
She opens the drawer.
And pulls out **a syringe.**
And a gun.
---
Your **breath catches.**
**This was a mistake.**
"You tricked me," you whisper, **taking a slow step back.**
She tilts her head. "Of course I did."
"Why?" Your voice is barely a whisper now.
Meera smirks.
"Because I couldn’t risk you going to the police."
She takes a step closer.
"You want to know what happened to you? Fine."
She **twirls the syringe in her fingers.**
"I injected you with something… special."
Your **stomach drops.**
"You injected me? When?"
Her lips curve into a **mocking smile.**
"You think that slap was just a slap?"
Realization **slams into you.**
The **bump on your cheek.**
The **one you thought was a mosquito bite.**
That was **it.**
That was **when it started.**
"But why?!" you demand.
Meera shrugs.
"Because you pissed me off. And because I could."
She taps the syringe.
"And now that you know, I can’t just let you walk out of here."
---
She raises the **gun** in her other hand.
"Here’s what’s going to happen," she says, her voice **calm.**
"You’re going to **stand still.** And you’re going to **let me finish what I started.**"
You **freeze.**
Your **entire body screams at you to run.**
"Or," she adds with a small smile, "you can try something stupid and get shot."
You **have to decide.**
---
1. [[Obey her and stop.]](You don’t want to die.)
2. [[Try to run and jump out of an open window.]](Escape is your only chance.)
What do you do?
You exhale sharply, turning away from Meera and quickening your pace.
You shake your head, **pushing the thoughts away.**
You have **more pressing matters to deal with.**
Your body **isn’t normal anymore.** You need **to fix it.**
By the time you step inside your apartment, the exhaustion **fully crashes into you.**
Shopping all day, avoiding stares, carrying bags—it all takes a toll.
You drop the bags onto your bed and slump into a chair, rubbing your temples.
Your gaze drifts toward the **shopping bags.**
Inside them are **the only clothes that actually fit you now.**
With a deep breath, you **pull them out and begin sorting.**
---
One by one, you take your **old shirts, jeans, and jackets** and hold them against your **new reflection.**
The result is always the same—**they don’t fit.**
- Your shirts are **too loose around the shoulders but too tight around your chest.**
- Your jeans **no longer sit right** on your waist.
- Your jackets **feel oversized**, as if they belong to someone else.
Piece by piece, you **set them aside.**
For now, you **Cant use them until you have your old body back!.**
Instead, you take the **new clothes** and carefully organize them:
- **Lingerie** in one drawer. (You hesitate before placing them inside.)
- **Casual kurtas and churidars** neatly folded.
- **A single formal outfit** for emergencies.
---
You grab your phone and **search for doctors who specialize in biotechnology.**
Most options are **far too expensive.**
Until—
**One ad catches your attention.**
🔹 **Dr. Arvind Rao** – Specializing in cutting-edge biotechnology and genetic reconstruction.
🔹 **Affordable consultation fee!**
🔹 **No questions asked. Full discretion.**
Your pulse **quickens.**
This is **exactly what you need.**
Without hesitation, you **book an appointment.**
---
Morning comes too quickly.
Your nerves are **on edge.**
placing your hand inside the rack, you grab the first bra that your hand touches. It did not take much effort this time as you have been practicing with the bras for hours.
boxers would do for now, you thought!
Next, you pick out an outfit—a simple kurta and leggings. Something **modest, nothing too attention-grabbing.**
As you dress, the **sensation of the fabric against your smooth skin** is unsettling.
You ignore it.
This **ends today.** you said out loud to yourself.
And You grab your bag and step out.
---
The clinic was **tucked away in an older part of the city.**
The building is **small but clean, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it.**
A **single metal door** stands at the entrance.
You push it open.
Inside, the **air is cold**—too cold.
A receptionist, an older woman with sharp eyes, barely glances at you.
“Appointment?”
“Uh… yes. With Dr. Rao.”
She **nods, typing something** before motioning toward a door.
“Go inside.”
Your fingers tighten around your bag strap.
**This is it.**
You step forward.
---
Inside, the office is **minimalist, almost sterile.**
A single desk, a cabinet filled with vials, and a reclining **examination chair**.
Dr. Arvind Rao stands beside it.
He’s **tall, late 40s, clean-shaven with neatly combed black hair.** His **white lab coat is spotless.**
The moment he sees you, his **eyebrows raise slightly—but there’s no shock.**
“You must be… Arjun?”
You think for a second!.
Hearing **your old name** after so long **feels strange.**
“I—yes,” you say quickly.
He gestures toward the **chair.**
“Sit. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Your hands tremble slightly as you move forward.
As you **settle in,** Dr. Rao begins his examination.
- He checks your **vital signs**—all normal.
- He scans your **skin, hair, and muscle mass.**
- He **measures your hormone levels.**
Finally, he steps back, **arms crossed in thought.**
“Well,” he says, “I have good news.”
Your heart **leaps.**
“You **can** be fixed.”
A rush of **relief floods through you.**
Dr. Rao continues, “It won’t be easy, but I have the means to **restore your original male physiology.**”
You barely process his next words.
Because for the first time in **weeks,** you finally feel **hope.**
---
Dr. Rao slides a **legal contract** toward you.
“This is an experimental procedure,” he explains. “There are risks. But if you sign this, I’ll do everything in my power to make you a man again.”
Without hesitation, **you sign.**
**Whatever it takes.**
Dr. Rao **smiles faintly** before preparing the **syringes and equipment.**
“You’ll wake up as a man again,” he assures.
The last thing you hear is the beeping of machines as anesthesia **pulls you into darkness.**
---
It felt just like a few seconds,
A heavy, **floaty** sensation washes over you.
Somewhere in the distance, you hear **muffled voices,** the faint beeping of machines.
Your body feels **strange.**
Different.
A dull ache pulses in your lower abdomen, radiating outward like a slow, rolling wave.
The sensation **spreads**—from your hips to your chest.
Your fingers twitch.
You **try to move,** but everything feels **slow and heavy**
Then—
A voice.
“Ah, you’re waking up.”
---
Your eyelids flutter open, **the harsh fluorescent lights blinding you for a moment.**
Blurry shapes come into focus.
Dr. Rao stands over you, a satisfied look on his face.
“How… do you feel?”
Your throat is **dry,** your voice **hoarse.**
“What… happened?” you rasp.
Dr. Rao **with a neutral face.**
I have a good news and a bad news.
“Good news—your male reproductive organs has been restored.”
For a moment, **relief surges through you.**
Then what's the bad news, you asked with a soft voice—
for which the doctor did not respond
what is it, you question again, this time a bit louder
Something **isn’t right.**
Something **is very, very wrong.**
**Your male organs were the only thing I was able to restore**, he said in a trembling tone
**No.**
Frantic, you shove the **hospital blanket aside.**
Your breath **catches in your throat.**
---
Your body is…
**Female.**
Completely, **undeniably female.**
And even more pronounced than before**
Your chest—**full, heavy breasts pressing against the hospital gown.**
and then beyond your breasts, you saw....
The thing that **sends your stomach into a freefall?**
Between your legs, nestled beneath the curve of your **feminine hips…**
Your **manhood is still there.** and it looks bigger than before, probably bigger than it ever was!
Your mind **shuts down.**
This....this **can’t be happening.** what did you do to me?
**What did i become?** you turned me into a freak!!
---
You stare at him, **shaking.**
this isn’t what I wanted!”
Dr. Rao shrugs.
“Well, technically, I fulfilled your request. You wanted to be a man again, but your body was already too far gone. So I simply… **compensated.**”
You struggle to sit up, your **new body feeling foreign, unbalanced.**
Your breasts **bounce slightly** with the motion.
Your legs clamp together, trying to **ignore the unnatural mix** between them.
This isn’t real.
It **can’t be real.**
But the weight of your **full breasts, the alien sensations, the undeniable pressure between your legs…**
It’s **all real.**
You **grit your teeth.**
**How am i supposed to live like this?**, you question him in an angry, androgenous voice
the doctor had turned you into a living wet dreams of many anime fans
---
Dr. Rao steps back, folding his arms.
“Well, lucky for you, I have **connections.**”
His voice is **calm, measured—almost pleased.**
“There’s a high demand for… **exotic individuals** like yourself.”
Your stomach **twists.**
“What do you mean?”
Dr. Rao smirks.
“You’ll need money, won’t you? Adjusting to your new life won’t be easy, and securing a normal job with your… unique condition? **Almost impossible.**”
He tilts his head.
“But there is one profession where your new body would be highly valued.”
Your breath catches.
“No. No way.”
Dr. Rao chuckles.
“High-end escorts make an **incredible** living. And with your features? **You’d be a top-tier rarity.**”
You feel **sick.**
Your hands curl into **tight fists.**
“This is insane,” you whisper.
Dr. Rao shrugs.
“Think about it. You won’t find another opportunity as good as this.”
He hands you a **business card.**
A name is written in gold lettering.
**Madam Saira – Elite Escort Services**
Your pulse **pounds in your ears.**
---
Days later, with **no other options left,** you step into Madam Saira’s office.
Her eyes **scan you,** taking in every inch of your **curves, your unique body.**
A slow smile spreads across her lips. when she see's the bulge in your pants.
“Oh, darling,” she purrs.
“You are going to make **a fortune.**”
And so, you **Begin your New life as (text-colour:magenta)[Kitty.]**
**Congratulations. you have reached an ending**
**You have become a high-end futanari escort.**
Hey (text-colour:magenta)[KITTY] if you enjoyed this journey, please do follow my Pareon and deviantart page. i would apreciate the support and thank you for reading.
If you wish discover your other possible wild endings - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
Your breath comes in **short, ragged gasps** as Meera takes a slow, deliberate step toward you.
The sleek black **gun in her right hand** remains steady, trained directly at your chest.
The **syringe in her left hand** glistens under the soft artificial lighting of the room.
Your **legs tremble** as you remain frozen in place.
This is it.
**There’s no escape.**
Meera’s voice is smooth, almost comforting.
“You made the right choice.”
She closes the remaining distance between you, her **fingers tightening** around the syringe.
“Now, don’t move.”
And with **one swift motion**, she **plunges the needle into your neck.**
The second the **cool liquid** enters your veins, your **body seizes.**
A **hot wave of energy** floods your muscles, making you **stumble backward.**
You **gasp, clutching your throat** as a strange **warmth blooms inside you.**
Your heart **slams against your ribs, beating unnaturally fast.**
The transformation has **already begun.**
Meera watches with **calm, analytical interest**, her gun still raised in case you resist.
But you **can’t resist.**
---
Your **shoulders cave inward**, losing their broad, masculine structure.
Your **arms shrink**, becoming **thinner, softer, more delicate.**
You feel a **strange pulling sensation** along your waist.
It **pinches inward,** giving you a slender, exaggerated hourglass shape.
At the same time, your **hips widen**, stretching your lower body into a **noticeably pear-shaped form.**
Your **thighs swell,** becoming **round and thick** while your **calves smoothen into soft, sculpted curves.**
Your once-flat **stomach** tightens into a smooth, **feminine midsection.**
You place a hand on your torso, **feeling the undeniable softness.**
You’re **shrinking in height**, becoming **smaller**
---
Your **chest tightens** for a brief moment, as if something is **building beneath your skin.**
And then—
**A heavy pressure expands outward.**
Your **pecs swell, rounding out into soft, full bell shaped breasts.**
You clutch your chest in **shock, your fingers sinking into the plush, growing flesh.**
They keep **swelling, shaping into a perfect, pair of dangling breasts.**
Your **nipples darken, becoming larger and more sensitive.**
Just breathing **makes them tingle.**
A **wave of strange pleasure** pulses through your new chest.
Your **bra-less state** makes every small movement **embarrassingly sloppy.**
---
You **feel your jawline soften,** your **cheekbones lift,** your **nose become smaller.**
Your **lips plump**, gaining a **full, kissable shape.**
Your **eyelashes lengthen**, your **eyebrows arch delicately.**
Your **Adam’s apple vanishes.**
A glance at your reflection in a nearby **glass panel** confirms it.
A **beautiful woman** stares back at you.
Her **long, wavy hair cascades down her back** in perfect, silky strands.
Her **lips tremble, her wide eyes** filled with **fear and confusion.**
But that’s **you.**
**You’re her now.**
---
A sudden **cold dread** washes over you as you **realize one last thing hasn’t changed yet.**
Between your legs.
You reach down, **desperately checking, hoping—** that you find your tiny friend
But as soon as your **fingers brush your lower body,**
You **know.**
It’s **gone.**
Your **masculinity has been completely replaced by a deep crevase.**
---
Meera steps closer, admiring her work.
"Beautiful," she murmurs. "Better than I expected."
You **tremble**, unable to form words.
You feel **exposed, weak, helpless.**
But it **isn’t over.**
Not yet.
Meera walks back to the **black drawer** and pulls out something **new.**
It’s a **sleek, futuristic headgear** with intricate **silver wiring.**
She approaches you, **smiling.**
---
“I’m going to re-program your brain,” she states bluntly. “Not your memories, not your intelligence. You’ll remember everything. But your instincts, your desires, your behaviours—they will all change completely. This device will make sure You will think and act exactly as any proper, obedient Muslim woman should.”
Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. “W-what does that mean?” you stammer, though you already fear the answer.
Meera smirks. “It means you will no longer be able to speak to any man other than your husband. You won’t even think of it. Your mind will reject the very idea of talking to a man who is not your lawful husband or direct family. No casual conversations, no friendships, no messages, no eye contact. Nothing. You will belong to one man only.” and That man will be one of my employee
She tilts her head slightly. “You also won’t leave the house alone. Ever. The idea will feel unnatural to you. It will terrify you. You’ll crave the presence of your husband, needing his permission for everything, just as a devoted muslim woman should.”
So that I wouldn’t have to worry about you anymore.
You feel sick. Your legs wobble, and you reach for the chair behind you, gripping it for support.
“That’s not all,” Meera continues mercilessly. “You’ll always cover yourself—completely. The thought of exposing your skin or hair in front of strangers will fill you with overwhelming shame. You will dress modestly at all times, willingly and without question.”
She lets the words sink in, watching as your breathing grows heavier.
“And, of course, you will embrace your role as a wife. You will love your husband. You will serve him. You will obey him.”
She leans closer, her voice now a whisper.
“You will want nothing more than to be the perfect Muslim wife.”
A deep chill spreads through your body. The implications are horrifying. This isn’t just some physical transformation—she is about to alter the very core of who you are. You will still *remember* who you were, but you won’t *want* to be that person anymore.
Your mind will betray you.
---
Before you can scream, before you can fight, Meera seizes the moment. She lifts the strange headgear and places it over your head, locking it into place. It’s tight, suffocating, and your breathing grows shallow.
The moment she presses a button on a small remote, your vision blurs.
A sharp, electric sensation pulses through your skull, and suddenly, your thoughts feel sluggish. Strange whispers fill your mind—soft, repetitive, hypnotic.
(text-colour:magenta)[*"A good Islam woman does not speak to men who are not her husband."*
*"A good Islam woman covers herself in modesty."*
*"A good Islam woman is obedient, gentle, and devoted."*
*"A good Islam woman serves her husband with love and dedication."* ]
The words loop over and over again, etching themselves into your subconscious. You *know* they are not your own thoughts, and yet, they feel so... natural.
Something inside you resists. You try to hold on to who you were.
But the headgear doesn’t stop. It drills deeper and deeper into your mind.
You feel a shift. A tiny, almost imperceptible shift in your emotions.
The idea of covering yourself—of wearing long, flowing garments—doesn’t seem *wrong* anymore.
The thought of speaking to a strange man makes your stomach churn in discomfort.
The whispers grow louder.
(text-colour:magenta)[*"A good Islam woman finds peace in submission."*
*"A good Islam woman loves her husband and obeys him with devotion."*
]
You let out a strangled gasp as warmth floods your body. A strange sense of contentment washes over you. Your initial horror begins to fade, replaced by something else.
Acceptance.
A tiny voice at the back of your mind screams, but it grows weaker.
You don’t *want* to fight it anymore.
You blink slowly as Meera reaches forward and removes the headgear. There is no rush, no force. The cold metal lifts away from your skin, and for a moment, your head feels exposed—vulnerable—like something precious has been taken from you.
The world around you feels hazy, like waking up from a deep dream.
Your head is light, your body warm, and an odd sense of tranquility settles over you. There’s no panic, no fear—only a quiet stillness, as if everything has fallen into place.
The sensation is unfamiliar but… comforting.
You exhale softly, hands resting neatly on your lap as your gaze lowers instinctively. You don’t look Meera in the eye. The mere thought of meeting her gaze feels improper.
You feel… different.
No, not different.
Right.
Everything feels right.
Meera studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she speaks.
“How do you feel?” Her voice is measured, calm.
You take a breath, considering the question.
There is no rush to respond. A proper muslim woman speaks only when necessary, and she chooses her words carefully.
“I feel…” Your voice is soft, and delicate. Even the way you speak has changed—gentle, controlled, feminine. “…at peace.”
Meera smiles. “Good.”
She walks around you slowly, observing you as if analyzing her work.
“Do you understand what has happened?”
You hesitate, not because of confusion, but because your thoughts are ordered differently now. There is no rebellion in your heart, no resistance. Everything she has done… everything she has told you… it all feels natural.
“Yes,” you say simply.
“Tell me.”
You bow your head slightly.
“You have guided me to the correct path,” you say, the words flowing effortlessly from your lips. “I was lost before. I spoke when I should have been silent. I behaved without modesty. I lived without purpose. But now…”
You pause.
“…I understand.”
Meera’s smile deepens. “And what do you understand?”
You lower your gaze further, hands pressing gently against your chest in a gesture of humility.
“That I was created to be a devoted wife,” you say. “That my place is beside my husband, serving and obeying him with love and respect. That my beauty is for him alone. That I must carry myself with dignity and modesty, as all proper Muslim women do.”
A shiver of pleasure runs through you as you speak the words aloud. You believe them. You know them to be true.
Meera nods approvingly.
“You are ready,” she says.
You lift your head slightly at that, though your eyes remain respectfully averted.
“Ready for what?”
Meera’s expression turns knowing, and a strange warmth fills you. You already know the answer.
---
Meera moves toward a nearby table and picks up a long piece of fabric. It is black, flowing, and elegant. She unfolds it carefully, then turns back to you.
“This is your niqab,” she says.
Your heart flutters.
She steps closer, and you remain perfectly still as she drapes the fabric over your head, securing it gently. It covers your face, leaving only your eyes visible.
A rush of warmth fills you. A deep sense of protection, of comfort.
This is how it should be.
This is who you are now.
Meera steps back, admiring her work. “How do you feel?”
You lift your hands slightly, touching the edges of the fabric. It feels natural, as if it was always meant to be there.
“I feel… complete,” you whisper. I feel safe..
Meera nods approvingly.
“There is only one thing left,” she says. “Your husband.”
The word sends a shiver through you. Husband. The man you will belong to. The man who will protect you, guide you, and provide for you. A part of you wanted to scream, but that feeling disappeared immediately.
Meera gestures to the door. “He is waiting.”
You rise gracefully to your feet, your movements careful and elegant. Your entire body is covered, just as it should be. There is no hesitation as you walk toward the door, toward the life you were always meant to have.
Toward your husband.
And as you step forward, you know—deep in your heart—that this is true happiness.
This is your destiny.
---
One month has passed since that fateful night, and you no longer question anything.
You sit on the floor of your husband’s home—a modest yet comfortable house. Your hands rest neatly on your lap, adorned with delicate rings that symbolize your marriage. A soft, flowing hijab covers your head, its fabric cool and familiar against your skin.
Your body feels *right* now. The curves, the softness, the feminine grace—it is all as it should be.
You are a devoted wife, and your husband is your world.
You do not speak unless spoken to. When you do, your voice is soft, respectful, and never directed at another man.
Your home is your sanctuary. You do not leave without your husband's permission. The outside world holds no appeal for you anymore.
Your modest clothing is a part of you now. The thought of exposing your body—even a single strand of hair—fills you with shame. you feel almost naked without the niqab
Your husband enters the room, and you instinctively lower your gaze. You rise to your feet gracefully, your heart swelling with love and devotion.
He gestures for you to come closer, and you obey without hesitation.
He is your protector. Your provider. Your purpose.
You no longer remember why you ever fought this.
This is where you belong.
This is who you are.
You are a devoted Islam woman. A Muslim wife.
**YOU ARE (text-colour:magenta)[SAMINA AHMAD]**
And you have never been happier.
***Congratulations! you have reached an ending**
Hey **SAMINA**, if you liked this ending, please get your husband's permission and follow my deviantart and Patreon page.
Thank you for reading.
To Restart the Game - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
Meera's words still echo in your ears.
_"You’re going to stand still and let me finish what I started."_
No.
No, you’re not.
You’ve lost **everything**—your job, your identity, your body.
But you are **not** going to lose your **life.**
You **lunge** for the nearest window.
Meera **reacts instantly.**
_"Stop!"_
Her voice is sharp—an order—but you **ignore it.**
The gunshot **rips through the air** before you even reach the window.
---
A white-hot **shockwave of pain** explodes in your side.
It feels like someone **swung a sledgehammer into your ribs.**
Your knees **buckle.**
Your fingers **scrape against the window ledge** as you **crash to the floor.**
Your brain screams **Move! Get up!**
But your body doesn’t listen.
A choked gasp escapes your lips as you **clutch your side.**
The warmth pooling beneath your fingers… **it’s blood.**
Your blood.
**You’ve been shot.**
---
Meera **approaches slowly.**
Click. Click. Click.
Her heels tap against the cold floor as she crouches next to you.
Her **face is unreadable.**
"you've made the wrong choice" she murmurs.
Your **vision blurs.**
The pain is everywhere.
Every beat of your heart **pushes more blood out.**
You try to speak, but the words come out as a **weak, broken whisper.**
Her **fingers brush your cheek.**
"Sweet dreams," she whispers.
Then **darkness consumes you.**
---
(text-colour:navy)[(align:"=><=")+(box:"=XXXXXXXX=")[### *The Bengaluru Times*
#### *Date: Monday, April 14, 2025*
### **Nameless Woman Found Dead Near Kaveri Riverbanks**
**Bengaluru** – Early this morning, local authorities discovered the **body of an unidentified woman** near the banks of the **Kaveri River.**
The victim, estimated to be in her early twenties, was found **with a single gunshot wound to the abdomen.**
Investigators have not yet determined the cause of death or identified any suspects.
No missing persons reports match the woman’s description.
Police urge anyone with information to come forward. ]]
---
### **Congratulations!** 🎉
**You have reached an ending!**
You **died as a nameless woman*
If you ever come back to life, please do visit my patreon and deviantart page and thank you for travelling so far.
To restart your life - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
You take a deep breath and thinking where to start.
The **small trial room** is **narrow but well-lit**, a long mirror stretching from **floor to ceiling**. Bright **white fluorescent lights** reflect off its surface, making every detail of your appearance **uncomfortably clear**.
A simple **wooden bench** sits against the wall, and on top of it—**the pile of clothes you carried in**.
Your hands feel **clammy** as you stare at them.
No time to think about this.
You need to **find something that fits**.
---
Your fingers **hesitate** as they brush over the pile.
Panties.
The word alone feels **alien** to you.
probably finding the correct size of panties should be the easiest, you think
your **old underwear no longer fits properly**—it’s too empty in the front, but the waistband is extremely tight, making you feel uncomfortable in your own clothes.
You grab the **first panty from the pile**.
A **plain black cotton bikini-style panty**.
You read the **tag** to distract yourself.
- **Size:** L (40-42 inches)
- **Material:** 95% Cotton, 5% Spandex
- **Feature:** Breathable fabric, full coverage, tagless for comfort
**L-size should fit, right?**
You **strip out of your old underwear**, heart pounding.
And that black panties in your hand, The **fabric is soft against your skin** as you pull it up.
…It’s **too loose**.
You sigh, pulling it down and tossing it aside.
You grab another.
This one is **a size M (36-38 inches)**—a **blue satin bikini-cut panty with a lace waistband**.
Your hands tremble as you pull it up.
It fits **better**, but there’s **still a slight looseness** around the waistband.
Annoyed, you grab a **size S (32-34 inches)**—this time, **a soft pink lacy panty with a scalloped edge**.
- **Material:** 90% Nylon, 10% Spandex
- **Feature:** Stretchable waistband, moisture-wicking
As soon as you pull it up, it **snaps into place perfectly** against your hips.
You **stare at yourself in the mirror**, hands running over the waistband.
Your **hip size is around 34 inches.** and your waist is extremely small
That’s…
**this fits you perfectly** although there is tiny bump. but that bump is the only thing thats still holding your past.
The lace feels **delicate**
And—**it fits.**
You swallow hard, shaking off the thought.
You need to **move on**.
You glance at the pile.
The **next challenge is bras.**
You sigh.
**This is going to be a nightmare.**
---
You **know nothing about bras**. not that you know about panties. but at least that's not as complicated as the bras
Where do you even start?
Your **eyes scan the pile**, and you pick out one that **looks simple enough**—a **plain, lightly padded T-shirt bra**.
You check the **tag**:
- **Size Options:** 34B, 36B, 36C, 38B
- **Material:** 82% Nylon, 18% Elastane
- **Feature:** Seamless cups, underwired support
You grab a **36B**, thinking it’s a safe bet.
First, you **slide your arms through the straps**.
Then, you try to **fasten the hooks behind your back**.
…It’s **impossible**.
You twist your arms, **straining to reach the clasps**.
The **elastic band digs into your skin**, and the straps feel **awkwardly placed**.
Frustrated, you pull it off and **try a different method**—**fastening it in the front first, then twisting it around.**
This works **better**, but as soon as you pull the straps up…
**It feels tight.**
Too tight.
The **band presses uncomfortably into your ribs**.
You take a deep breath, staring at yourself in the mirror.
It **looks** fine, but it **feels too tight**.
You sigh, tossing the **36B** aside.
You grab a **38B instead**.
This time, as you **fasten it and pull the straps up**, something **clicks into place**.
The band is **firm but not restrictive**.
The **cups actually support your soft flesh.**
Your **nipples don’t rub uncomfortably** against the fabric.
It… **fits.**
Curious, you grab a **36C** next.
It fits, but **there’s a small gap in the cups**, making it feel slightly **too loose** at the top.
So, **38B is the right size.**
The realization **unnerves you.**
Before you can think too much about it, you decide to **try different types of bras** to see how they feel.
---
Now that you **know your size**, you grab a **push-up bra next.**
**Tag Details:**
- **Material:** 85% Polyester, 15% Spandex
- **Feature:** Thick padding, underwired, designed for lift
As soon as you put it on, you notice the difference.
The **thick padding** **pushes everything up**, creating **a visible cleavage**.
You **adjust yourself awkwardly**, feeling **strange** at how… **full you look.**
You turn sideways, staring at the mirror.
It’s… unsettling.
You quickly take it off and grab a **wireless bralette next.**
**Tag Details:**
- **Material:** 95% Cotton, 5% Lycra
- **Feature:** No underwire, stretchable, breathable
This one feels…
**Soft. Light. Barely noticeable.**
You raise your arms, twist your torso—**it moves with you.**
This one is **the most comfortable so far**.
You sigh, relieved.
Just as you reach for the next bra—
**There’s a sudden knock on the door.**
You **freeze.**
A voice calls out:
**"Excuse me miss? there is a bra lying outside the door?"** can you please open the door
1. [[Open the door.]]( to check if you had dropped any on the way)
2. [[Ignore it and continue trying on bras.]]
What are you even doing?
Your arms are **overflowing with bras, panties, kurtis, chudidaars, dresses, and jeans.** You barely even looked at the sizes. You just wanted to **grab something, anything, and get out of here as fast as possible.**
**Deep breath.**
You **dump the pile onto the bench** and glance at yourself in the mirror. **Your old T-shirt and baggy jeans hang awkwardly off your frame.** They used to fit you perfectly—just a few months ago, in fact.
Now?
Now, every fucking thing is different!. your overall look is… disgusting, but not in a bad way!!.
**No time to think. Just try something on and leave.**
---
You **grab the first bra on the pile—a lacy black one.**
You don’t even check the size.
How hard can it be?
You **fumble with the straps, the hooks, the underwire.** You try putting it on like a T-shirt. **That doesn’t work.**
You spin it around, hook it in the front, then twist it backward. **That doesn’t work either.**
When you finally manage to fasten it, something feels **wrong.**
**It’s too tight.** Your chest **spills over the top, and the straps dig into your shoulders.**
Panic rising, you **strip it off and grab another one**—this time, a simple white cotton bra. **It’s too loose.** The cups gape awkwardly, offering no support at all.
You groan in frustration. **How the hell do women do this every day?**
---
You grab **a random pair of panties—a pastel pink one with lace trim.**
Just put it on and move on.
You **step into it, pulling it up your legs…**
…only to realize **it’s way too small.**
The waistband **digs into your hips, and the fabric stretches uncomfortably.** You squirm, trying to adjust it, but it just **feels wrong.**
You strip it off, grabbing a different pair—a **simple black cotton one.**
This one fits better… but **it feels weird.** **The fabric hugs your skin too closely.** The cut is different from anything you’ve ever worn before. **It makes you uncomfortably aware of your body in ways you don’t want to be.**
You exhale sharply.
**This is a disaster.**
---
Determined to just **pick something and get out**, you grab a **kurti** and pull it over your head.
It’s **too tight around the chest** but loose around the waist.
You yank it off and try a **chudidaar set.**
The pants don’t even go past your thighs. **Great.**
Frustrated, you **switch to a modern outfit**—a crop top and jeans.
The **top fits, but it’s short.** It **reveals too much of your waist, too much of your shape.** You feel exposed, uncomfortable.
The jeans? **They barely go past your hips.**
Nothing you tried fits. **Nothing works.**
You’re **sweating now, frustrated and exhausted.**
there is still a lot of clothes to try, are you trying on the same clothes again and again??
Oh god this is a mess!. I'm mixed all the clothes.
What were you thinking? **You are not organized and you still haven't figured out what your size is!.**
You glance at the pile of clothes still left to try.
**No.** **You’re done.**
---
With a heavy sigh, you strip out of the ill-fitting clothes and **pull your old T-shirt and jeans back on.**
You look in the mirror one last time.
The frustated reflection messy androgenous version of you staring back **at you **
You **shove the rejected clothes into a messy pile**, open the door, and step out of the trial room…
**A sales rep is standing right outside.**
[[Take your measurements.]]
The knock on the door **startles you**, but the words that follow send **a jolt of panic down your spine.**
**"Excuse me, ma’am? is this your bra?"**
Ma’am.
The word **rings in your ears**, making your heart **hammer** inside your chest.
You stand **frozen**, still wearing **nothing but a bra and panties.**
For a moment, you think about **ignoring it**, pretending no one is there.
But then you think otherwise.
**A bra lying on the floor?** near the door—trying on one bra may be helpful in making the decision. And
You must have **dropped it** while rushing in with loads of clothes.
You **bite your lip**, debating what to do.
It’s just a quick action—you **open the door slightly, grab the bra, and shut it again.**
**No one will see you.** and even if they do, they are all woman, so it doesnt matter right!?
It’ll be **over in a second.**
Without thinking further, you reach for the **lock** and turn the knob.
The door **creaks open slightly**, and you **quickly bend down**, reaching for the fallen bra.
**That’s when your eyes meet hers.**
Standing just outside the door, **her phone in one hand and a skeptical expression on her face**, is **Riya.**
**Your college classmate.**
Your **stomach drops.**
Riya is someone you **never got along with.**
You don’t hate each other, but there was always **a negative tension between you.** not to mention, you were responsible for one of her break-ups. you never liked her dating your best-friend.
She was **outspoken, witty, and merciless** when it came to **calling people out.**
And now, she’s **looking right at you.**
In a **woman’s bra and panties.**
**At first, she doesn’t recognize you.**
She tilts her head slightly, her eyes **scanning your face**, then glancing down at your body.
You feel **naked under her stare**, despite being technically covered.
You know you should **slam the door shut, but your body won’t move.**
Then, it happens.
Your **face betrays you.**
Your **expression of sheer panic** is enough to make her pause.
Her **eyebrows furrow** slightly, and you see the exact moment **it clicks.**
Her eyes **widen.**
She takes **half a step back.**
"Wait a second…" she mutters, her gaze locking onto yours.
Your lips **part slightly**, but no words come out.
The **silence between you is deafening.**
Then, Riya’s lips **curl into a slow, amused smirk.**
"Arjun?"
Your **breath catches.**
**She knows.** She knows!!!! some how she recognised me!
You **snap out of your frozen state, lunging for the door.**
But it’s **too late.**
A **quick flash** of her phone’s camera **blinds your vision for a split second.**
She **just took a picture.**
Your hands **shake** as you finally slam the door shut, locking it **twice.**
Your mind is **spinning.**
She just took a picture of you.
**Wearing a bra and panties.**
**This is bad. This is really, really bad.**
Outside, you hear Riya **laugh.**
Not a loud laugh—just a **soft, disbelieving chuckle.**
"Oh my god, Arjun. What the hell is this?"
Her voice is **dripping with amusement** and something else—**power.**
You don’t answer.
Your entire body is **shaking.**
Riya **taps on the door playfully.**
"Come on, say something. Are you really crossdressing now?"
You squeeze your eyes shut.
It doesn’t matter what you say.
She **has proof.**
She has **everything she needs to destroy your life.**
And knowing Riya, she won’t **let this go.**
----
You rush to **change back** into your clothes as quickly as possible, but it doesn’t **change the fact of what just happened.**
By the time you **step out of the trial room**, Riya was **gone.**
But your **phone buzzes.**
A new message.
You **dread looking at it**, but you already know who it’s from.
It’s a picture.
**Of you.**
In **female lingerie.**
From **her.**
Followed by a message:
> **"Guess we are even now?"**
Your throat goes dry.
It’s over.
Over the next few **days, rumors start spreading.**
**Your college friends start texting you weird messages.**
Some are **curious, some are mocking.**
The **picture circulates.**
Somehow, **people start believing a different story.**
That you’re **taking hormones.**
That you’re **trying to transition.**
That this isn’t **just crossdressing.**
At first, you try to **deny it.**
But the **damage is done.**
The whispers turn into **assumptions.**
Assumptions turn into **facts.**
And soon enough…
**Now you have no other choice but to change your identity**
**even if you change back to being Arjun, it wont be the same again.**
You don't want to be **Arjun** anymore. that bitch has destroyed your life..
the only choice left is to **embrace the changes and start living as a woman in a new city with new identity.**
with that in mind, without any second thought, you sold all your stuff and moved to Gujarat. you have officialy changed your name to **(text-colour:magenta)[JEENAL PATEL]**
unfortunately, you werent able to change your identities on your university degree. so yoo wont be able to work as any engineering professionals.
while you were walking on streets of Ahmedabad, you saw a poster "Female care-takers wanted for nursery kids". It's better than not doing anything, you think and start dialling the number given under the poster.
**Congratulations! you have reached an ending.**
Hey (text-colour:magenta)[JEENAL], if you liked the ending, please do follow me on Patreon and deviantart. and make sure you have no kids around, while browsing through my contents. I dont want you to lose this job
And thanks for reading so far.
You think you could do better - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
Your heart **pounds violently** in your chest as you stand frozen, staring at the locked trial room door.
The **woman outside** thinks you dropped a bra outside**
**Did she really just say that?**
Your **hands feel clammy**, gripping the soft fabric of the bralette still wrapped around your chest.
For a moment, you really thought of opening the door and quickly grab that bra lying outside the door.
But… you didn't.
Instead, you **stay silent, unmoving.**
After a few seconds of silence, **the footsteps fade away**.
You **exhale sharply**, pressing your hand against your squishy chest.
the bra clearly shows the roundness of your chest** and just seeing yourself in the mirror in bra turns you on. but not the way you imagined though
Shaking the thought away, you **turn back away from the mirror** and focus on **finishing what you started.**
---
> **Size: 38B**
> **Material:** 88% Nylon, 12% Spandex
> **Feature:** Delicate lace, semi-sheer cups, slightly structured
You slip into it, **feeling the lace glide over your smooth skin.**
It’s **different from the others.**
The **cups are delicate**, revealing just a hint of skin beneath the fabric. The **design is feminine**, accentuating shape rather than **just support.**
You move your arms again—**testing the fit.**
The **cups lift your chest slightly**, but unlike the push-up bra, this one **feels subtle, refined.**
…It’s not uncomfortable.
You find yourself **admiring the design**, running your fingers over the intricate patterns of lace.
It’s strange.
Just days ago, **you never would’ve imagined** standing in a trial room, carefully selecting which bra fits you best.
But here you are.
And it feels… **oddly normal.**
You **take a deep breath**, giving yourself **one last look in the mirror** before slowly unclasping the bra.
**You’ve made your decision.**
Your **size is 38B.**
You now know **what fits you best.**
---
With the **underwear section completed**, you turn to the **pile of clothes you brought in**—a mix of **churidars, tops, kurtis, and a few western outfits.**
You reach for **the first item.**
It’s **a deep blue churidar with golden embroidery** along the neckline.
You **hesitate** before slipping it over your head.
The **fabric flows down** your frame smoothly, **cool and soft against your skin.**
The **kameez (top piece)** fits snugly around your chest but **loosens at the waist**, falling **gracefully over your hips.**
You reach for the **dupatta**, draping it over one shoulder like you’ve seen others do.
Your reflection in the mirror **steals your breath away.**
You look like any typical girl, you could see on banalore roads… and definitely high on the hottor scale
For a moment, your hands **twitch at your sides.**
A strange part of you wants to **pose—just slightly.**
Instead, you **tear your gaze away** and move on to the next outfit.
---
You grab a **soft cotton blouse** paired with **a long skirt.**
The **skirt flows smoothly as you step into it**, hugging your waist and **flaring slightly at the bottom.**
You pull the **blouse over your head**, adjusting the sleeves.
It’s **light. Airy.**
Something about the way the **fabric moves with your body** feels… effortless.
You **take a few steps, watching yourself in the mirror.**
Your body, the clothes, the way you move…
**is messing up with your mind!!.**
---
After trying **all the outfits**, you make your choice.
You **change back to your old baggy clothes**— leaving all the clothes you tried at the trial room.
The store feels **as crowded as before**, filled with **women browsing through racks of clothes.**
The shopping is just about to begin. it took you so far just to figure out the right size. Only god knows how long it's gonna take to buy all the stuff you need at right price.
The **saleswoman from earlier** spots you immediately.
She **smiles warmly** and walks over.
**"Oh, wow! Did i not get a proper look at you first?!"** she exclaims.
You feel **heat rise to your cheeks**.
Before you can respond, she **tilts her head slightly, eyes scanning you.**
**"You’re absolutely beautiful, you know that? Have you ever considered modeling?"**
Your breath **catches.**
…Modeling?
---
you just ignore her and [[Thank her for the help and purchase a few underwear and casual clothes.]]
Every time you leave the house, strangers **assume you’re a woman.** It’s frustrating and humiliating.
You need a solution. And doctors aren’t going to help. **You need a scientist.**
Finding a scientist who would entertain such a bizarre case isn’t easy. You spend days scouring the internet, sending emails, and making calls. Most of the replies are **dismissive**—some outright ignore you. Others suggest psychiatric help.
Then, you find a **private research facility on the outskirts of the city.**
The place is known for handling **experimental genetic studies.** Their work is mostly classified, but you manage to dig up a name: **Dr. Prem kumar.**
He’s a **brilliant but eccentric** geneticist, rumored to work on cutting-edge projects. Desperate, you send him an email detailing your case.
Hours later, you receive a reply:
> **"Your case is... unusual. Come to my lab tomorrow. I'll see what I can do."**
It’s the first real response you’ve had. You don’t hesitate.
---
The next evening, you arrive at a **secluded lab facility.** The building is old, tucked away in a quiet industrial zone. You hesitate for a moment, then knock on the heavy steel door.
A few seconds later, the door opens, revealing a **tall, bearded man in his late 40s.** His glasses sit low on his nose, and his lab coat is messy, covered in ink stains and coffee splashes.
**"You must be the one who sent me that email,"** he says, scanning you from head to toe.
You nod. His **eyes narrow** as he observes you carefully.
**"Fascinating..."** he mutters, stepping aside to let you in.
The lab is cluttered with papers, monitors displaying **DNA sequences**, and strange-looking machines humming in the background.
You sit across from him, trying to explain everything—how it all started, the gradual transformation, the strange effects on your body. He listens intently, occasionally scribbling notes.
**"And you have no idea how this began?"** he asks, adjusting his glasses.
You shake your head. **Could it have been Meera? The slap?** The thought crosses your mind, but it feels ridiculous.
Dr. kumar hums thoughtfully.
**"Alright. I need to run some tests. If what you're saying is true, this isn't just hormonal imbalance—it's genetic alteration."**
---
Over the next few hours, Dr. kumar **takes multiple blood samples, scans your body, and runs a full genetic analysis.** You feel like a lab rat, but at this point, you’ll endure anything for answers.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leans back in his chair, staring at the screen.
**"This is... incredible,"** he says at last.
You lean forward, your heart pounding. **"What is it?"**
Dr. kumar adjusts his glasses, still focused on the data.
**"Your DNA has been... rewritten."**
You blink. **"Rewritten?"**
well actually still be re-written, every second, he adds.
He turns the screen toward you, showing a complex **genetic sequence.**
**"Look here. This section is completely foreign—it’s like someone introduced a secondary genome into your body. And the way it’s acting... it’s overriding your male genetics. Bit by bit."**
You swallow hard.
**"Can you fix it?"**
Dr. kumar hesitates. Then, he sighs.
**"There could be two possible solutions."**
---
Dr. kumar turns back to his screen, tapping his fingers against the table.
**"Option one: I can inject a **genetic blocker**. It will halt any further transformation immediately. But..."**
You frown. **"But what?"**
He adjusts his glasses. **"You’ll be stuck like this. You won’t become more feminine, but you won’t regain your masculinity either. Your body will remain exactly as it is now."**
Your heart sinks. **You’d be trapped in this in-between state forever.**
**"And the other option?"**
Dr. kumar hesitates.
**"A genetic enhancer."**
Your eyes widen. **"What does that do?"**
He leans forward. **"It’s experimental. Highly unstable. But in theory, it should amplify your male genetics and completely erase the feminine alterations. It would force your body to revert to a fully male state."**
**"But?"** you ask, sensing the hesitation in his voice.
Dr. kumar sighs. **"It’s never been tested on a human before. There’s no way to know if it will work as intended."**
Silence fills the lab.
You stare at the screen, your mind racing.
1. [[Use the genetic blocker.]] (Stop the transformation, but stay in your current feminized state.)
2. [[Proceed with the genetic enhancer.]] (Risk everything to try and fully restore your
masculinity.)
3. [[Look for a different doctor.]] ( maybe scientist wasn't the best option for you)
What do you do?
The ink barely has time to dry on the paper when you feel an icy shiver crawl up your spine. The shop's environenment changed—**thicker, heavier, suffocating**. The soft murmurs of the three elegant women have **fallen completely silent**, as if even their voices had been taken away.
Then, from behind you, a presence emerges.
A woman—**older than the other three** probably much older—steps forward with slow, deliberate grace. where did she come from?? The moment your eyes fall upon her, a surge of fear **grips your chest like a vise.**
She is **stunningly elegant**, draped in a deep crimson silk saree embroidered with golden patterns that seem to shimmer and shift. The thick gold jewelry adorning her **wrists, neck, and ankles do not jingle** as she moves; instead, they rest against her like chains of absolute authority.
Her **skin is flawless**, her face glowed with **wisdom beyond mortal comprehension**. A deep **vermillion bindi** rests on her forehead, pulsing with a faint glow. Her eyes—**dark, endless pools of shadowed knowledge**—pierce through you like she’s staring into your very essence.
The three women who had surrounded you just moments ago now **stand silently with their heads bowed**.
You take a step back, only to realize that your body feels… **paralysed.** Heavy. The space around you suddenly **feels disconnected from reality**—like the shop has been cut off from the rest of the world.
A pit forms in your stomach.
**What have you done?**
The older woman smiles, and that smile alone is enough to **freeze your blood.**
“Welcome,” she says, with her soothing voice* “I see you have signed the contract. How delightful.”
You swallow hard. Your throat is **dry, tight, uncooperative.**
“W-Who… who are you?” Your voice sounds weak, barely above a whisper.
The other three women raise their heads. The one in the jade green saree steps forward, **her elegance now carrying an eerie stillness.**
“We are not mere shopkeepers, dear.” She tilts her head, eyes gleaming with something **unfathomable**. “We are not even human.”
Your pulse quickens.
The second woman, dressed in deep sapphire blue, steps closer. “We are what your people once revered and feared—**demigoddesses**.”
“Demigoddesses?” you whisper
The fourth woman—the terrifying, regal one—takes another step toward you.
“I am **Maha Maya Yogini, the Supreme.**”
Your knees nearly **buckle.** The name… it rings with **power**, with something far beyond your understanding.
Maha Maya’s eyes never leave yours. “And you, my dear, have just **sealed your fate.**”
Your breath comes in **short, panicked gasps**. You **grip the table beside you**, trying to steady yourself.
“W-What do you mean?” you stammer, **heart pounding violently**. “What are you going to do to me?”
The three demigoddesses exchange knowing glances before turning back to you.
The one in red—**Mrs. Lakshmi, you thought**—smiles.
“We are simply giving you what you agreed to,” she says smoothly.
Your fingers clench.
You don’t understand.
Your gaze **snaps down to the contract**, to the **Sanskrit words you couldn’t read.**
Maha Maya tilts her head ever so slightly.
“Shall we show you exactly what that means?”
As Maha maya snapped her finger, the entire contract was translated to english.
-----
The signer agrees to the following conditions, by their own free will:
**The Signer Shall Replace One of the Current Employees**
Upon the successful submission of this contract, the signer will inherit the role, possessions, and salary of the previous occupant.
This is a binding exchange, and once completed, the previous employee will be released from their obligations.
**In Exchange, the Signer Shall Surrender the Following:**
Their Gender (as it exists in its current form).
Their Age (to align with the previous employee’s life stage).
Their Mortal Identity, as it conflicts with the role assigned.
**This Contract Cannot Be Revoked.**
Once the transformation is complete, the process cannot be undone by any means other than the natural completion of duty.
A new replacement must be found before the signer may be released from service.
**The Length of Service is as Follows:**
The signer shall work at the establishment for no fewer than 200 years or until another replacement willingly submits to this contract.
Time within the store does not pass as it does outside; all memories of one’s past life will fade as the new identity becomes the dominant self.
By Signing, The Signer Accepts Their Fate.
Resistance will be met with futility.
The demigoddesses retain full rights over the signer’s essence, body, and soul.
-----
Your **stomach churns violently.**
You **run.**
You don’t think—you just **bolt.**
Your feet **pound against the floor** as you make a dash toward the shop entrance. The **door looms ahead**, and for a moment, **hope flares in your chest.**
You **reach out—**
And **slam directly into Maha Maya.**
She’s **standing in front of you,** despite never having moved.
Your **breath hitches in horror.**
You spin around and sprint in the opposite direction—**through the aisles, past shelves of sarees, past golden-trimmed mirrors.**
But no matter where you turn—**she is there.**
Every time you try to escape, you **end up right in front of them.**
It’s as if the **shop itself is bending reality** to ensure you cannot leave.
After what feels like **an eternity of running**, your legs give out. You collapse to your knees, panting, **chest heaving.**
You can’t escape.
**You can’t escape.**
------
Maha Maya stands before you, **unmoving, untouched, unaffected.**
And then, something else happens.
Mrs. Lakshmi, the elegant woman in red, steps forward.
She turns to Maha Maya and **kneels.**
“Bless me, O Supreme One,” she says, **her voice full of reverence.** break me free
Maha Maya places a hand upon Lakshmi’s head.
And in **a single instant,** Mrs. Lakshmi’s body **glows with radiant light.**
You watch in **shock and horror** as she **shrinks in age, her form transforming before your eyes.**
Her hair darkens, her **wrinkles fade, her body shifts**—until she is no longer the middle-aged woman you saw before.
She is now **young, breathtakingly beautiful, standing completely naked.**
A **smile of pure serenity** graces her lips. And then—
She **vanishes.**
Gone.
All that remains are **her discarded clothes and jewelry, pooled on the floor where she once knelt.**
Your **blood runs cold.**
Your trembling hands grip the floor as you **stare, unblinking, at what just happened.**
Slowly, Maha Maya’s **piercing gaze** turns to you.
Your **lungs squeeze tight.**
Her lips curve into a small, knowing smile.
“Well then,” she says, stepping toward you.
“**Are you ready?**”
Your heart **hammers against your ribs**.
You try to **move backward**, to escape her approach—**but the most you manage is a slight arch of your spine.**
Your body is no longer yours to control.
Maha Maya stands before you now, looking down at you with **amusement.**
Then, slowly—**she lifts her hands.**
Not her physical ones.
No—these are **astral hands**, translucent, shimmering, glowing with an **ethereal golden light.**
They reach **toward you**.
And then—
They **plunge into your chest.**
-----
A **searing, bone-deep cold** pierces your chest the moment Maha Maya’s **astral hands sink into you**.
Your **mouth opens in a silent scream**—but no sound escapes.
It is not pain, not exactly. It is something **far worse**.
A feeling of being **peeled apart** from the inside. Of something being **wrenched out of you**, something essential, something that has always been **yours**.
You **claw at your chest**, desperate to stop whatever is happening, but your arms feel **weak, sluggish**, as if they no longer fully obey you.
Maha Maya’s dark eyes are **calm**, almost **amused**, as her astral fingers tighten their grip around something inside you.
Then, with a slow, deliberate pull—
She **extracts your soul.**
You **gasp** as a **shimmering, transparent version of yourself** is yanked out of your body.
It hovers **between you and Maha Maya**, suspended in the air like a **ghostly reflection**.
At first, you barely recognize it—your **masculine form**, outlined in **pure energy**, pulsing faintly with **traces of strength, youth, and virility**.
But even as you stare in horror, you see it begin to **change**.
Maha Maya’s **graceful fingers weave through the air**, twisting and reshaping the very **essence of your being**.
The broad shoulders of your **soul** **narrow**.
Your muscular frame **dwindles**, mass fading away as if it was never there.
The very core of your **masculinity** begins to **erode**, melting away into something **softer, rounder, older.**
Your **soul’s face**—your face—**ages before your eyes.**
Wrinkles creep across its surface
Your **jawline softens**, losing its sharp definition.
Your **chest swells**, your pectoral muscles **sagging slightly**, reshaping into something unmistakably **feminine and mature**.
The **shadow of long, graying hair spills down** its back, pooling over shoulders that have **lost all traces of their former strength.**
And then, it was done—
Your **soul is no longer yours.**
It is a **shadowy figure of an old woman.**
This **isn’t you.**
It **can’t be.**
Your breath comes in **short, panicked bursts**, your entire body trembling.
Maha Maya smiles **warmly**, as if she has simply done you a **small favor.**
“Such a simple exchange,” she muses, **rolling your reshaped soul between her fingers** like a precious artifact.
Your **voice finally returns**, but it is **small, weak, desperate**.
“P-Please,” you whisper. “S-Stop this…”
Maha Maya’s **gaze flicks back to you, unbothered.**
“Oh, but it is already done, child.” this is your soul now. don't you want it back?
With **unnerving gentleness**, she **guides the shadowy soul toward your trembling form.**
You **thrash**, trying to resist, but your body no longer belongs to you.
The moment the altered soul **touches your skin**—
A **deep, paralyzing warmth floods your veins.**
It is **not pleasant.**
-------
You feel **your flesh shift, your bones creak, your very essence warp** as the physical transformation takes hold.
Your **vision blurs** as the first, most devastating change begins—
Your **height collapses.**
A sickening **sensation of compression** overtakes you, as if an **invisible force is crushing you downward.**
Your limbs **shorten**, your spine **curves slightly**, your once-tall frame **shrinking inch by inch** until you are **no longer towering over the demigoddesses but standing at their level—or shorter.**
Your **hands**,, now appeared **slimmer, more delicate with more wrinckles**—your fingers tipped with **short, neatly trimmed nails.**
Then—
Your **face.**
You feel it **changing** before you can even process it.
The **smoothness of youth vanishes**, replaced by **fine lines and gentle wrinkles** that trace along your forehead, around your mouth, near the corners of your eyes.
Your **cheeks loses even their little sharp definition that was left**, gaining a **fuller, more matronly shape**.
Your **lips soften**, your **eyebrows arch slightly higher**, your **nose narrows **.
And then, **the final, most horrifying realization** creeps in.
Your **chest.**
The subtle weight you had already noticed before is now **unavoidable.**
A **soft, heavy pull** drags at your torso, your pecs having completely **swelled and rounded** into a **full, matronly bust**.
Not **perky, not youthful—**
**But mature, heavy, saggy.**
Your **nipples tingle with raw sensitivity**, pressing against the fabric draped over you.
Your **waist curves inward slightly**, but your **hips expand outward, thickening with an unmistakable femininity.** like you have already given birth twice.
Your **thighs feel fuller**, your **stomach slightly softer**, and your entire **form shows sign of middle-aged femininity.**
You try to **speak**, to **cry out**, but your voice—
It is **different.**
Richer. Deeper. Warmer.
Not the voice of a young man—**not even the voice of a young woman.**
It is the **refined, mature voice of a woman**
And then—
A single strand of hair falls into your line of sight.
A **long, dark strand—**
It is **streaked with gray.**
You **shudder violently.**
Maha Maya’s voice is **soft, almost teasing** as she reaches out to **cup your aged cheek.**
“Much better, don’t you think?”
Your **stomach churns.**
This **can’t be happening.**
You are **not this woman.**
You are **not this old.**
You are **not—**
But your **reflection tells a different story.**
The mirrors around the shop now **only reflect a single image**—
A **middle-aged woman**, draped in loose fabric, her long **graying hair cascading down her back**, her body **full and undeniably feminine**.
And that woman—
**Is you.** she's mimicking all your slight bodily moves.
----
Maha Maya steps back, a satisfied smile on her lips.
“Now,” she says smoothly.
“Let’s get you **dressed.**”
And immedietly all your clothes vanishes.
You **feel it**—the **weight of your new body, the sag of your matured breasts, the heaviness of your changed form.**
You are **standing naked in the middle of the shop.**
Your **hands fly to your chest**, an instinctive attempt to **shield yourself**, but it only makes things worse.
The moment your fingers press against your **soft, full bosom**, an unsettling **shock of sensitivity** runs through your body.
Your **nipples tighten** against the cool air, the **matronly softness of your curves pressing into your own hands.**
A fresh **wave of horror** washes over you.
This isn’t a dream.
This isn’t some **temporary illusion.**
This is **real.**
Your **breath hitches**, panic rising in your throat—
Until a warm, delicate hand **rests against your shoulder.**
You **flinch**, turning sharply to find **Mrs. Kamala**, one of the three demigoddesses, standing beside you with a **gentle smile.**
“There, there,” she murmurs, her tone soothing.
“It must feel strange, I’m sure. But don’t be afraid. You’ll grow into it.”
Grow into it?
**No. No. No.**
You want to **scream**, to **run**, to **do anything**—but your **body betrays you**, frozen in place.
Mrs. Kamala **lifts a richly woven silk saree**, unfolding it with practiced ease.
“This should suit you well,” she says approvingly.
The fabric shimmers under the dim light, a luxurious shade of **deep maroon, embroidered with delicate golden patterns.**
It is **beautiful. Elegant. old**
It is also **completely inappropriate for you.**
Or at least, for **who you used to be.**
But now—
You glance at the mirrors around the shop, and the truth stares back at you.
A **mature, middle-aged woman**, her bare shoulders **exposed**, her full, shapely form **on display**, her face lined with wrinkles
Your lips tremble.
Your heart pounds as **Mrs. Kamala steps closer**, gently guiding the fabric over your body.
“You’ll get used to dressing properly,” she says, expertly draping the saree around your transformed form.
Her fingers work **effortlessly**, tucking and pleating the silk with the skill of someone who has done this for **centuries**.
The fabric clings to your **new shape**, emphasizing the **fullness of your hips, the softness of your stomach, the curve of your mature bosom.**
The weight of the saree **presses down on you**
Every fold, every pleat feels **final**—like the closing of a door you can never reopen.
Your **legs feel weak**, your breath unsteady.
But they are **not finished with you yet.**
A **second pair of hands** reaches for you—Mrs. Dakini, another of the elegant demigoddesses, holding a **heavy set of gold jewelry.**
She starts with **the earrings**—thick, intricate **golden jhumkas** that sway as she fastens them onto your ears.
The **weight** is immediate, tugging slightly at your lobes, It jiggles with every little movements, just like your breasts.**
Then comes the **golden necklace**—an elaborate, **temple-style choker** that sits snug against your neck, followed by a **longer necklace that drapes over your deep mature cleavage.**
The heavy gold **rests against the bare skin of your collarbones**, each link cold against your warmth.
More **bangles** slide onto your wrists, thick golden pieces that **clink softly** as you instinctively move your hands.
Finally, Mrs. Dakini reaches for your **hair**, her fingers grazing against the **long, graying strands that now cascade down your back.**
She gathers them up, skillfully **twisting them into a traditional single Braid**, securing it with **golden pins and jasmine flowers.**
A **sweet floral scent** surrounds you, mingling with the richness of the silk and gold.
And just like that—
You are **completely adorned.**
A fully dressed, fully ornamented, fully **transformed** middle-aged woman.
A soft chuckle reaches your ears.
You turn to see **Maha Maya Yogini**, the Supreme herself, watching you with a knowing smile.
She steps forward, her **presence suffocating**, even in its elegance.
Reaching out, she lifts your **chin with a single finger**, forcing you to meet her gaze.
The moment her **dark, timeless eyes** lock onto yours, a chill runs down your spine.
“Tell me, child,” Maha Maya says, her voice **gentle, yet unbearably powerful.**
“What is your name?”
The question **paralyzes** you.
Your name.
You **know** your name.
You can **hear it** in your mind, the identity you’ve held for years—
But the moment you try to say it—
Nothing comes out.
Your lips part, but no sound follows.
Your **throat tightens**, your mind fogs, and all at once, the name you’ve always known feels **distant, unreachable.**
It is there—somewhere—**but it is no longer yours to claim.**
Maha Maya’s **smile deepens.**
She leans in slightly, her presence both **terrifying and divine.**
“No need to dwell on the past,” she murmurs.
“For you have a new name now.”
She lifts her hand, drawing an **elegant, golden sigil** in the air with a single flick of her fingers.
The symbol **glows for a moment**, then vanishes—
And **something stirs deep within you.**
Like a **thread snapping into place.**
A **new name settling into your soul.**
Maha Maya’s voice is **soft, yet inescapable** as she speaks it aloud:
**“From this moment forth, you shall be known as… Mrs.Tara.”**
The moment the name Reaches your ears,—
A **strange, all-consuming warmth floods through you.**
And the name echo in your mind, something within you **accepts it.**
Like it was always meant to be yours.
The moment stretches endlessly, your **breath shallow, your mind spinning.**
Until Maha Maya steps back, **pleased**.
“Congratulations,” she says.
“You have fulfilled the contract.”
You **stagger**, trying to hold onto some sense of control, but there is nothing left to hold onto.
Everything is **gone.**
Your **past, your identity, your body, your name.**
All that remains—
Is **her.**
The **middle-aged woman** standing in the mirror.
Draped in silk, adorned in gold, her long **graying hair pinned neatly**
And **she is you.**
----
Desperation surges within you, and you **turn to Maha Maya, falling to your knees.**
You **clasp your hands together**, bowing your head before her **divine presence**, as if pleading for mercy.
"Please," you whisper, your voice cracking.
"Change me back."
Maha Maya’s **smile does not falter.**
She **tilts her head**, studying you with a mixture of **amusement and expectation**.
Then, in a voice as soft as silk, she replies—
"But my child… you agreed to the terms, did you not?"
Your body **stiffens**.
Your **stomach churns** as you remember.
The **contract.**
The **cursed contract written in Sanskrit.**
The moment you **signed your name**, you sealed your fate.
You **shudder** as realization washes over you.
But still—you **cannot accept it.**
Not yet.
You **shake your head violently**, your loose earrings jingling with the motion.
"I didn't know! I didn't understand what it meant!"
Maha Maya simply **chuckles**, stepping closer.
"Oh, but that is not our concern, dear. A contract is binding, whether you understood it or not." And remember, you singned it willingly and no one forced you.
Your **breath hitches.**
Tears **prickle at your eyes**, but you **force them back.**
You refuse to cry.
You refuse to accept this.
"Please," you try again, swallowing your pride.
"You are a goddess! Surely you can undo this!"
Maha Maya **leans down slightly**, her **ageless, piercing gaze** locking onto yours.
And then—
She **smiles.**
"Of course I can," she says, ever so gently.
she continues, "you must fulfill the contract first."
"Two hundred years," she Said
"Serve your time here, and then—when the next unfortunate soul steps through those doors—you shall be freed."
Your **vision spins.**
Two hundred years!1??.
Two **centuries** in this body.
Your **throat tightens** with overwhelming nausea.
You clutch at the fabric of your saree, your **newly adorned fingers digging into the silk** as panic threatens to consume you whole.
Maha Maya **straightens** once more, adjusting her pallu.
"There is no need for such distress," she says, her voice calm and composed.
"You will have everything you need—wealth, shelter, fine clothes, and respect. Is that not a fair exchange?"
You **stare at her in horror.**
She speaks as though she has done you a **favor.**
As though this is a **privilege**.
You look around, hoping—praying—for some means of **escape.**
But the other two demigoddesses, **Mrs. Kamala and Mrs. Dakini**, are already **leading you deeper into the shop.**
Your **bare feet stumble** against the smooth marble floor as they gently but **firmly guide you toward a large wooden desk.**
There, waiting for you, is a **ledger.**
A **massive, ancient-looking book**, bound in dark leather and inscribed with **golden Sanskrit script.**
Your **heart pounds** as you watch **Mrs. Kamala pick up a quill** and dip it into a pot of thick, dark ink.
She turns to you,
"Come now," she urges.
"It is time to sign yourself into the records. You must make it official, dear."
You are **one of them now.**
AN ** Employee of the shop.**
Until, one day—
Someone else walks through the door.
And then—
And only then—
Will you be free.
**Congratulations! You have completed this path.**
Hope you liked this path of the story,** (text-colour:magenta)[ Mrs Tara ]*. please don't forget to follow me on Patreon and Deviantart
thank you travelling so far
If you wish to try again - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
A lump forms in your throat.
"**I... I need to think about this,**" you stammer, stepping back.
Their smiles don’t falter, but their eyes seem to gleam with something unspoken.
“**Of course, dear. But opportunities like this don’t come often. Don’t take too long.**”
You force a polite smile and **quickly make your way out.**
The moment you step through the door, it feels like you’ve escaped something **dangerous.**
You’re back on the **busy shopping street,** **what now?** how am I going to buy the clothes that I want!?
---
As you stand there, feeling **utterly lost**, a sudden thought crosses your mind—**Ananya.**
She was **one of your closest friends** back in college. You used to **share everything** with her—stupid jokes, life problems, even your deepest insecurities. **She never judged you.**
But over time, **you drifted apart.** Life and work got in the way.
You hesitate for a moment before pulling out your phone and scrolling through your contacts. Her number is still there.
Taking a deep breath, you press **call.**
The phone rings twice before you hear her voice—**slightly surprised.**
**"Hello?"**
“Hey, Ananya…” you say, feeling awkward.
**A pause.** Then, in an amused voice—**"Oh my god. Look who finally remembered me!"**
You chuckle nervously. **"Yeah… it’s been a while, huh?"**
**"No shit, Sherlock. I thought you moved to another planet or something."** and what happened to your Voice!!? have you been practising mimicry? haha?
you bite your teeths with embarrasment.. and lower your voice a bit to sound masculine and completely ignore the comment she just made with a simple laugh.
You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. **"Listen, I… need a favor."**
That gets her attention. **"Oh? This is interesting. What kind of favor?"**
“**I need help… buying some clothes.**”
Silence. Then—**laughter.**
**"Wait, wait—what?! You’re calling me after, what, two years? Because you need a fashion consultant? What happened to you?"**
You hesitate, unsure how to explain. **"It’s… complicated. I just thought you’d be the only person who won’t judge me."**
There’s a pause.
Then, softer this time—**"Are you okay?"**
Something about her concern makes your chest tighten. **"I don’t know."**
Another pause. Then, with no hesitation—**"Where are you?"**
You tell her the location.
“**Give me twenty minutes.**”
---
True to her word, Ananya arrives **exactly twenty minutes later.**
The moment she spots you, she **freezes.**
Her eyes widen. Her mouth opens slightly, as if trying to form words but failing.
"**What the hell…?**" she whispers.
You shift uncomfortably. **"Yeah, so… about that."**
She takes a step closer, **her eyes scanning you.** Your **smooth, hairless skin. Your oddly soft-looking frame. The way your oversized shirt barely hides how much your chest has changed.**
“**Arjun, what the hell happened to you?!**”
You sigh. “**It’s… a long story.**”
**"I have time."**
So, you tell her. **Everything.**
About the slap, about the strange changes, about how you’re slowly **losing everything that made you… you.**
Her expression goes through a range of emotions—shock, disbelief, concern.
When you finally finish, she exhales sharply.
**"Okay. That’s insane."**
You nod. **"Tell me about it."**
She crosses her arms, studying you for a moment. Then, suddenly—**she flicks your forehead.**
"**Ow! What the hell?**"
"**That’s for not calling me earlier, dumbass.**"
You blink, then laugh despite yourself. **"Okay, I deserved that."**
She grins. **"Damn right, you did. Alright, let’s go get you some clothes before people start thinking you’re a lost rich widow or something."**
---
With Ananya by your side, **things feel… easier.**
You no longer feel like you’re **drowning in a sea of judgmental stares.**
She helps you navigate the **women’s section** without making a big deal out of it. She even **makes it fun.**
At one point, she holds up a ridiculous **bright pink dress.**
"**This would look great on you.**"
"**Not funny.**"
She smirks. **"No, but seriously. What are we looking for? You wanna go subtle or are you embracing this whole… situation?"**
You sigh. **"I just want to wear something that fits. And doesn’t make me look ridiculous."**
Ananya nods. **"Got it. Let’s start with the basics."**
She helps you pick out some **comfortable, neutral-colored clothes**—things that won’t draw too much attention but will actually fit your current body.
you never thought she'll be the one helping you buy your first bra. ("38B" , dont forget that number! I cant measure you everytime you need a bra, she laughed )
She even **gave you tips** on what fabrics feel better on smoother skin, how to layer things to minimize attention, and which cuts might work for you.
It’s **strange**, but for the first time in weeks, **you don’t feel completely alone in this.**
She even paid for all these stuff.
you're finally done with shopping and It's dark already.
---
1. [[Thank her for the help and tell her to stay in touch.]](You appreciate this, but it’s time to part for now.)
2. [[It's been a long time—hang out with her for a little longer.]](You’ve missed this. Maybe spending more time with her isn’t a bad idea.)
With the last shopping bag in your hand, you turn to Ananya.
She smiles, arms crossed, as she looks at you. **“Well, that was fun. Weird, but fun.”**
You chuckle softly. **“Yeah… I guess it was.”**
Ananya tilts her head, studying you. **“You sure you’re gonna be okay?”**
You hesitate. The truth is, you **don’t know.**
But she’s already done so much for you. Dragging her into your mess **any further** doesn’t seem fair.
So, you force a small smile. **“I think I’ll manage.”**
She doesn’t seem convinced. **"You don’t have to do this alone, you know."**
That hits something deep inside you. You swallow. **“I know. Don't worry I will be alright.”**
A beat of silence. Then, suddenly, she steps forward and **wraps her arms around you.**
The hug catches you off guard.
It’s the first time in months that someone has held you like this. **Not out of obligation. Not out of pity. Just… as a friend.**
After what feels like forever, she finally pulls away.
**“Stay in touch this time, dumbass.”**
You nod. **“I will.”**
She gives you one last, lingering look before turning and walking away.
You watch her disappear into the busy street before you exhale sharply, adjust your shopping bags, and head home.
---
You set your shopping bags down, running a hand through your hair. you take off the hair-clip and your hair cascades down just below your shoulder. you give your head a little shake to bring your wavy hair into position and gently tie them in a messy bun.
The whole day has been a blur, and your mind is still trying to process everything.
**Maybe you should rest.**
But as you move towards your desk, something caught your eyes.
A **small, white visiting card** lies on the surface.
You pick it up, your fingers trembling slightly.
It was a Doctor's visiting card
**How did this get here?** You don’t remember seeing it in your apartment before. maybe it accidentally fell off into your stuff when you vacated them from the office that you got fired from.
Whatever.. then move to your bed and pass out.
you wake up at 11 am the following day.. wow that was one of the best sleep you ever had...
Time to look for sollution!
you go back to your desk.
---
1. [[You find a doctor’s visiting card on your table.]] ( the same one you saw yesterday)
2. [[look for a scientist.]] (A doctor might not be enough—you need someone who understands genetics and bio-experiments.)
You step out of the store with Ananya, the weight of the shopping bags in your hands feeling lighter than the relief settling in your chest.
“Thanks for this,” you say, giving her a small, sincere smile. “I really appreciate it.”
Ananya waves you off. “Oh, please. You make it sound like you won’t see me again.”
“Well… I mean, it’s been a long time. I don’t want to bother you or—”
She **grabs your wrist**, stopping you mid-sentence.
“Dude.” She looks straight into your eyes. “**Don’t ghost me again.** I already lost you once, I’m not losing you again.”
Something about the **seriousness in her voice** makes your heart clench.
You chuckle nervously. “Alright, alright, I get it. But I should probably head home.”
Ananya **raises an eyebrow**, a smirk forming on her lips. “Really? You just got new clothes, had a major life crisis, and you’re gonna go home and mope? Nah, that’s not happening.”
She gestures toward a **sleek, black motorbike** parked nearby.
“Hop on.”
You blink. “Wait, what?”
She tosses you a helmet. “We’re going to **Nandi Hills**.”
Your eyes widen. “That’s like an hour away!”
Ananya shrugs. “Yeah? And? You got somewhere better to be?”
You hesitate for a moment but then shake your head with a laugh. “You really don’t take no for an answer, do you?”
She grins. “**Nope.** Now get on.”
---
With some effort, you swing your leg over the bike and settle behind her. You can **feel the warmth of her body** just inches away, you could smell the scent of her **faint perfume**
The engine roars to life, and before you know it, you’re **speeding down the highway**, the city lights fading behind you.
The ride is exhilarating—the cool wind brushing against your face, thankfully she helped you tie your hair in a certain way so that it wont be all over your face.
Halfway through the ride, Ananya calls out over the wind, “You’re holding on for dear life back there.”
“Because you drive like a maniac!”
She laughs. “Relax! I won’t let anything happen to you.”
And for some reason, you believe her.
---
By the time you reach **Nandi Hills**, the city below is a sea of twinkling lights. The sky is clear, the stars shining **brighter than you’ve seen for a long time.**
Instead of the usual tourist spots, Ananya takes a **small dirt road** leading to a secluded cliffside.
“It’s my little secret,” she says as she parks the bike.
You hop off, stretching your legs. “I don’t know how you find places like these.”
She winks. “I have my ways.”
You both sit on the **edge of the hill**, looking down at the city far below.
For a while, there’s just **silence.**
The kind of **comfortable silence** that only happens when you’re with someone who really understands you.
Then, suddenly—
“You’re beautiful.”
You snap your head toward her. “Huh?”
Ananya smirks. “That’s the **fourth time** I’ve said it tonight. Thought you’d catch on by now.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well… I don’t really feel beautiful.”
She tilts her head, studying you. “Why not?”
You sigh, hugging your knees. “Because… this isn’t me. I didn’t choose this.”
Ananya leans back on her arms. “Maybe. But does it have to be a bad thing?”
You look at her, surprised. “You’re saying you’d be okay waking up in a completely different body?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. But I do know that life doesn’t give us a choice sometimes. We just have to roll with it.”
Then, after a long pause, she takes a deep breath.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she says, her voice quieter now.
You raise an eyebrow. “What?”
She hesitates for a moment, then looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.
“I’m… **gay.**”
Your eyes widen.
She chuckles nervously. “I’ve known for a long time, but I never really told anyone except Kavya, our college mate.”
So you two are ....?, your words stumbled in silence
"Yes, we were in a relationship" but that didn't go well, she said.
You sit in silence for a moment, letting it process.
Then, without thinking, you reach over and **squeeze her hand.**
She looks at you, surprised.
“You were there for me always,” you say softly. “I’m here for you too.”
Ananya swallows hard, looking away. “You always knew how to say the right things, didn’t you?”
You laugh. “Not really. I just mean it.”
A small smile tugs at her lips.
You both sit there for a while longer, just **existing in each other’s presence.**
And then—
She turns to you, eyes searching yours.
Slowly, she leans in.
Her face is just inches from yours, her breath warm against your lips.
She hesitates for just a second, giving you the choice.
1. [[Kiss her.]]
2. [[Politely tell her that you can’t.]] (You care about her, but this isn’t what you want. She apologises and offers to drop you home.)
The world seems to slow down as Ananya leans in, her lips just inches from yours. There’s a brief moment where you can still pull away, still say something, but instead, you find yourself **closing the gap**.
Your lips meet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels… **right**.
She’s gentle at first, testing, exploring. But when she feels you **respond**, she deepens the kiss, her fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer.
You don’t resist. **You don’t want to.**
A small sigh escapes from you as Ananya’s lips move against yours, soft yet demanding. Your hands, uncertain at first, find their way to her waist, feeling the **warmth of her body** beneath your touch.
Her hands trace down your back, sending shivers up your spine. You can’t help but melt into her, pressing yourself against her as the intensity of the moment grows.
For the first time in weeks, **you forget everything**—the changes, the confusion, the fear. Right now, it’s just you and her, wrapped up in each other, the cool night air and the distant city lights making it feel like you’re the only two people in the world.
She **breaks the kiss**, her forehead resting against yours, both of you **breathing heavily**.
“Wow,” she murmurs, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
You look into her eyes, feeling something **new** stir inside you. Something warm. Something… **you needed**.
“I didn’t know I wanted this,” you admit.
Ananya cups your cheek, her thumb tracing over your lips. “That’s okay,” she whispers. “I’ll show you.”
And just like that, she kisses you again, deeper this time, and you **let yourself go.**
---
You both fell in love with each other that night. over time your love got stronger and you completely vacated your house and moved in with her. for somereason, she likes to be the dominated one.
In the weeks that follow, **Ananya stood by your side.**
She helps you adjust, supports you through every change, **reminds you that you are beautiful** no matter what.
One day, as you sit together, she takes your hands in hers.
“What if,” she says, eyes full of emotion, “you stopped fighting it?”
You look at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
She smiles gently. “What if you stopped seeing this as something that was done to you? And instead… saw it as a new start?”
You hesitate, thinking about her words.
“What if you chose to be **you**?” she continues. “Not as who you were, but as who you are now?”
A lump forms in your throat. “Are you saying I should… live as a woman?”
Ananya nods. “Not because you have to. But because you **want to.**”
she did a great job convincing you.. maybe it was the love that convinced you. but you never again thought about changing back
As weeks passed, your body slowly morphed into a complete woman. it has completed the tranformation. The first period you received that month made that crystal clear.
Ananya wanted to celebrate that... she gragged you into her room and started kissing you passionately.
What starts as a celebration kiss quickly turns into something more. **She takes control**, guiding you, leading you in a way that makes your **body tremble with need**.
Her hands explore you, **caressing, teasing**, making you feel things you never thought possible.
A soft moan escapes your lips as she **trails kisses down your neck**, her touch setting your skin on fire. Your body feels **alive**, every nerve tingling under her fingertips.
She whispers in your ear, “**Do you trust me?**”
You nod, breathless.
Her fingers trace down your body, exploring your newfound pleasure spots in your **breasts, nipples, and your navel**. Every touch sends waves of **pleasure you’ve never known before.**
She **teaches you**—shows you the beauty of surrender, of **letting go**, of **experiencing pleasure as a woman.**
And for the first time, you **accept it.**
You embrace the new sensations, the new emotions. You **embrace yourself.**
By the time the night is over, you **aren’t the same person** you were an hour ago
You’ve changed.
And you **don’t regret it.** she brought your deepest secrets to spot light..
---
A year later, you stand in front of a **sacred fire**, dressed in a **stunning red saree**, your heart racing as Ananya smiles at you.
Your hair is styled elegantly, adorned with fresh jasmine flowers. Your makeup is **flawless**, accentuating your soft features.
You feel… **beautiful.**
More importantly, you feel **happy**.
Ananya gently lifts a **golden mangalsutra**, the sacred symbol of marriage, and ties it around your neck.
The moment it **rests against your skin**, something inside you **wanted to make shed tears**.
You are overwhelmed with joy
This is **right.**
As the priest chants the sacred mantras, you **look into Ananya’s eyes**.
And you **know**.
You’ve found your place.
You’ve found your home.
You are **Ananya's wife.**
And you wouldn’t change a thing.
---
### **Congratulations! You have reached an ending.** 🎉
You became a lesbian...
Hello Ananya's wife, if you enjoy your married life, please dont forget to follow and support me on Patreon and deviantart. thank you for reading
You think you can do better - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
As Ananya leans in, her face inches from yours, your heartbeat quickens.
You **freeze**, your mind racing.
You care about her—**a lot**—but something about this moment feels… off. Not because of her, but because of **you**.
Just as her lips are about to brush against yours, you gently lift a hand, placing it softly on her **shoulder**.
“Ananya… wait.”
She stops immediately, eyes flickering with uncertainty. “What’s wrong?”
You take a deep breath, trying to **find the right words**. You don’t want to hurt her.
“I… I just don’t think I can do this.” Your voice is soft, but firm.
Her expression shifts—first to **confusion**, then to **understanding**, and finally to **regret**. She leans back, creating space between you two.
A heavy silence settles between you.
“I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I fucked-up the moment.”
You shake your head quickly. “No, no—it’s not your fault. You’ve been amazing tonight, really. I just… I’m not ready for something like this.”
She looks down at her hands, fidgeting slightly. “Yeah… I get it.”
More silence.
Ananya **forces a smile** and clears her throat. “It’s late. I should drop you home.”
You nod quickly. “Yeah… okay.”
She stands up first, dusting off her jeans, then offers you a hand. You take it, letting her pull you up.
----
As you hop onto the back of her bike, she hands you your helmet without saying much.
The ride home feels different from before.
The thrill from earlier is gone. The **cool night breeze** that once felt exhilarating now feels almost **lonely**.
Ananya doesn’t say a word the entire way.
Neither do you.
You **want** to say something—to reassure her, to make sure she knows you still care. But you don’t know **how**.
By the time she **pulls up outside your place**, the tension is still there, lingering like an unfinished conversation.
You get off the bike, holding onto your shopping bags.
“…Thanks,” you say, your voice hesitant.
She nods, not quite looking at you. “Yeah. Anytime.”
You hesitate, then add, “We’re still good, right?”
Ananya glances at you, her lips pressing together. Then, finally, she **gives you a small, tired smile**.
“Yeah,” she says. “We’re good.” "you can't get rid of me that easily!", she said trying to break the awkwardness with a joke.
But something in her tone tells you that things might not **entirely** be the same.
Before you can say anything else, she revs her engine and speeds away into the night.
You stand there for a moment, watching her disappear.
With a deep breath, you turn and head inside.
---
Once inside, you place your shopping bags aside and glance at yourself in the mirror.
Your **long hair is a mess** from the ride. Sighing, you pull out a hairbrush and redo it, tying it back neatly.
Then, without another thought, you collapse onto your bed, **exhausted**.
Sleep comes quickly.
---
The next day, you wake up with a **clear goal** in mind: **finding a way to reverse this transformation.**
you take a quick shower, wear one the bra's Ananya helped you buy.. 38B it read on the tag, you involuntarily smile remembering Ananya's comment from yesterday
no more juggling distraction, you say to yourself and open your laptop.
You spend **hours** researching online, going through medical forums, clinic directories, and personal testimonials.
Eventually, you stumble upon a doctor who seems **perfect** for your situation.
Dr. Siddharth Kapoor.
- **Specializes in bio-tech Mbbs.**
- **Has treated rare hormone-related cases before.**
- **Highly recommended by multiple patients who had no luck with other doctors.**
Your pulse quickens as you read through the reviews. If anyone can figure out what’s happening to you, **it’s him**.
But then—
when you check his appointment schedule.
**Fully booked for the whole month.**
Your fingers tighten around the mouse.
A whole month? Can you even **afford** to wait that long?
You take a deep breath, trying to think logically.
Maybe it’s worth booking now and waiting it out… but then again, you could try finding another doctor. **Someone who can see you sooner.**
----
1. [[Book an appointment for next month.]] (Dr. Kapoor seems like the best option. You’ll have to wait, but it might be worth it.)
2. [[Look for a different doctor.]] (You can’t afford to wait a whole month. There must be someone else who can help sooner.)
The moment you book Dr. Siddharth Kapoor’s **earliest available appointment**, relief floods through you—if only briefly. **One month.** That’s how long you have to wait.
You tell yourself you’ll manage. **You’ve already endured so much.** What’s another month?
At first, it’s small things.
Your **hips widen slightly**, your **skin feels even softer**, and your **hair continues to grow ridiculously fast**— It has now almost reached your hips. and Maintaining this hair is eating up all your morning time.
Your **breasts** are **No longer small **. Not that it looked smaller before but at least you were able to stop it's movement with a bra. but now even with a bra, it bounces everytime you make a sudden movement.
the increast in your bust size made you to go shopping one more time. unfortunately, you don't have Ananya with you this time. now you wear a 36 DD, a much larger improvement compared to before and that too in just a month.
Your waist has **narrowed significantly**.
Your **thighs are fuller**, smoother, and your ass is much rounder and larger.
Your reflection no longer holds **any** trace of masculinity. **You look like a woman now. Completely.**
-----
One morning, as you **try to pee standing up**, nothing comes out.
Your stomach tightens.
You **look down**.
Your **penis is almost gone**.
What’s left is just a **small opening**, barely resembling anything from before.
hesitantly,
You **sit down**, trying to pee. **It works.**
Your hands shake as you reach down, fingers brushing over the **soft, unfamiliar skin**.
It still hasn't completely transformed into a vagina.. but how long do you have?
You just have to **hold on**. A few more days.
By the 4th week, you’ve completely adapted, you don't care about the bounces of your breasts. you involuntarily sit whenever you wanted to pee.
Your savings are almost **gone**, and getting a job seems **impossible**—who would hire you when your ID still says "Arjun" but you **look nothing like him**?
-----
But finally—finally—the day comes.
Your **appointment with Dr. Kapoor.**
You barely sleep the night before.
The next morning, you dress in **the least feminine outfit you own**, hoping it’ll make you feel like yourself. It doesn’t.
As you step into Dr. Kapoor’s **high-end clinic**
The **receptionist**, a middle-aged woman, barely glances at you before saying, “Ms. Arjun?”
You swallow. “It’s… just Arjun.” you say in a female voice.
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question it. “Dr. Kapoor will see you now.”
Heart pounding, you enter his **clean, minimalist office**.
Dr. Kapoor is a tall, sharp-eyed man in his **early fifties**, wearing a **crisp white coat**. He gestures for you to sit, examining you **curiously**.
“I read your case file,” he says, his voice calm. “Tell me everything.”
And you do. **Every detail.**
His expression remains unreadable.
When you finish, he **leans back**, fingers steepled.
“This is… highly unusual,” he admits. “But not impossible.”
Your breath catches. “You—you believe me?”
He nods. “There have been **a similar case I have read some where. but it wasn't on humans.**, If my theory is correct, this isn’t just a hormonal imbalance. This is something…” His eyes narrow. “**genitically Engineered.**”
Your stomach **drops**.
“Someone did this to me?” I knew it.. that bitch Meera was responsible for this.
“I can’t say for sure. But I can fix it.”
If there is even a single cell in your body, that havent been affected, there is a high chance that you can walk out of this hospital as a man again.
Hope **floods** through you. “How?”
Dr. Kapoor **smiles slightly**. “A few tests first.”
---
The next few hours are a **blur**.
- **Blood tests.**
- **MRI scans.**
- **A full-body examination.**
Finally, **Dr. Kapoor returns**, holding a **syringe filled with a pale blue liquid**.
“This,” he explains, “will restore your body’s original balance. Your cells still hold the genetic memory of who you were. This will trigger them to revert.” I have managed to collect one unaffected cell from your body and re-engineer it to reverse the changes.
if you had should up even a week late from now, it would've been impossible. usually the sign to tell that is when you have your first period, that is like the point of no return. lucky for you, you made it in time.
now lift up your sleeves.
Your hands tremble as you roll up your sleeve.
“Will it hurt?”
“A bit. And you’ll need to sleep through the process.”
You barely hear him. You just **nod**.
He **injects the serum**.
The **sting** barely registers before **darkness swallows you whole**.
---
When you wake up, you feel… **different**.
Your **body is heavier**, broader.
Your **chest feels flat again**.
And as you sit up—
Your **heart nearly stops**.
Your hands—**large again**.
You rush to the mirror, barely daring to **breathe**.
**Your reflection stares back at you.**
Not the woman from before.
**Not an androgynous figure.**
**You.**
**Arjun.**
Exactly the way you were before all of this started.
Your **Adam’s apple is back**.
Your **muscles are there**.
Even the **stubble on your face**—**everything** is back.
A laugh bubbles up from your throat, half **disbelieving, half ecstatic**.
It’s **over**.
It’s really, truly **over**. I'm finally me!!
Dr. Kapoor steps into the room, smiling slightly.
“Well?” he asks.
You look at him, barely able to **contain your joy**. you run over to him and hug him instantly.
“…Thank you,” you breathe.
And you exit his hospital as a man.
**You’re Arjun again.**
---
### **Congratulations – You Reached an ending!!**
You **escaped the transformation** and made it back to your original self!
**You’re just happy to be yourself again.**
hold your horses Arjun.. dont be so happy.. you just got lucky..
Are you man enough to try again? - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
seeya on the other side..
You sit in silence for a long moment, staring at the screen filled with your altered genetic sequence.
Dr. kumar watches you carefully, waiting for your decision.
Finally, you take a deep breath. **"I'll take the genetic blocker."**
He raises an eyebrow. **"Are you sure? This means accepting everything that has already happened. There’s no going back."**
I mean it literally. no matter what surgeries you do, your body will regain your current body propotions and that goes with your hair and nails too. cutting your hair wont be of any use.
you wont be growing more than what you have now either. it will always hang slightly just below your shoulder. of course you can style it the way you want.
your height, weight everything. no matter how much you eat or workout, it will stay the same. on the brighter side you will retain your beauty for a longer time, much.. much longer time. keeping everything in mind.
Is that still a yes? there is no going back later.
You nod, your hands tightening into fists. **"I know. But I can’t risk the enhancer. I need stability. I need to stop changing."**
Dr. kumar exhales slowly, then stands up. **"Alright. Let’s begin."**
---
Dr. kumar retrieves a **small vial filled with a clear blue liquid.** Inside, strands of **modified genetic material** swirl gently, like a living organism suspended in time.
**"This will integrate with your body and halt the transformation process. You won’t feminize any further, but everything that has already changed will remain exactly as it is."**
You watch as he fills a syringe with the fluid. Your heart pounds as he walks over, rolling up your sleeve.
**"This will sting a little."**
You barely register the **sharp prick** in your arm before a cold sensation spreads through your veins. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before—a deep, **cool numbness** that seems to settle into your bones.
Your vision swims for a moment. Your fingers tremble.
Then… **stillness.**
The sensation that had plagued you for weeks—the constant, creeping shift of your body—**disappears.**
You exhale slowly, a strange sense of **finality** settling over you.
**It’s over.**
---
Over the next few weeks, you gradually adapt to your **new reality.**
People **continue mistaking you for a woman**, and at first, it frustrates you. But slowly, you start to realize—**they’re not wrong.**
Your **features, your voice, your body language… everything about you has shifted.**
One day, you stand in front of the mirror for hours, studying yourself. The long, silky hair. The delicate shape of your face. The gentle curves of your body.
**You’re not a man anymore. But you’re not fully a woman either.**
You exist somewhere in between.
**And maybe… that’s okay.** you can't do anything about it anyway!
---
With no job and dwindling savings, you’re forced to **rethink your entire career.** Returning to the biotech company is out of the question, especially after how you left things with Meera.
You consider programming from home, but something inside you resists the idea of **hiding away.**
Instead, you push yourself out into the world.
Over time, you **build a new life—one that accepts who you’ve become.** You start connecting with others who understand your experience, finding support in **LGBTQ+ communities** where your story isn’t met with confusion or judgment.
You learn to **dress for your body**, exploring styles that suit your unique form.
You even **experiment with makeup, voice training, and social presentation**, realizing that the version of yourself you once clung to **no longer exists.**
It takes months—years, even—but one day, you wake up and realize something You've always wanted to fell about yourself.
**You’re happy.**
---
Sitting in a small café, sipping tea, you catch your reflection in the glass.
For the first time in a long while, **you recognize the person staring back.**
You aren’t the boy who once walked these streets, filled with quiet arrogance and careless choices.
You aren’t the confused, desperate person who watched their body shift beyond recognition.
You are **you**—something new, something different.
And that’s okay.
The world still sees you differently. Some accept you, others don’t. But what matters is **you’ve accepted yourself.**
**Your journey is far from over, but for the first time, it feels like it’s truly yours.**
---
### **CONGRATULATIONS!**
**You have reached the "Transcendence" ending.**
You have chosen to stop your transformation and embrace life as a trans person.
Your story continues, but this chapter has come to a close.
hope you liked the story. if you did, please follow me on patreon and deviantart for more such content. thankyou for reading so far.
If you still don't know your bra size, probably you need to explore more paths.
make different choices this time - [[BANGALORE DAYS]]
You take a deep breath.
The stress over the decision presses down on you . **If you take the genetic blocker, you’ll be stuck in this androgynous form forever.** No more changes, no more surprises—but no way back, either.
But the **genetic enhancer**…
It’s risky. Unstable. Experimental. But if it works, you could be fully **restored to your male self.**
You look at Dr. kumar. **"I’ll take the genetic enhancer."**
He lets out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. **"I was afraid you’d say that."**
He stands and walks toward a **large, sealed refrigeration unit.** The room hums with the low vibrations of high-tech machinery. With a hiss, the door opens, releasing a gust of icy mist. Inside, a single vial of violet liquid rests in a **locked metal compartment.**
Dr. kumar carefully removes it, in an extremely careful way. **"This is the only one of its kind."**
You swallow hard as he brings it over, setting it on the table between you. The vial **flickers faintly, as if alive.**
**"Listen to me carefully,"** he says, his voice lower now. **"This has never been tested on a human before. We’re dealing with genetics at a fundamental level—once we start, there’s no stopping it. No reversing it."**
You meet his gaze. **"I understand. And I still want to do it."**
He sighs. **"You’re either the bravest or the most reckless person I’ve ever met."**
He picks up a syringe, carefully extracting the glowing liquid. It **swirls hypnotically** as he pulls it into the needle.
**"Lay back,"** he instructs.
Your heart pounds as you recline on the examination table. **This is it.**
Everything is going to be ok.. you say to yourself.
---
The cold alcohol swab on your skin sends a shiver down your spine.
Dr. kumar holds the syringe **just above your arm.**
**"Last chance to back out."**
You shake your head. **"Do it."**
He nods and **pushes the needle in.**
The liquid enters your bloodstream, and for a moment—nothing happens.
Then, **fire erupts inside your veins.**
A sharp gasp leaves your lips as your entire body tenses. **It’s like your cells are being burned all at once.**
Your vision **blurs**—your pulse **thunders** in your ears.
Dr. kumar steps back, monitoring the screens. **"Something’s happening. Your DNA is shifting at an accelerated rate—"**
Your breath catches as **heat pools in your core**, spreading outward. Your muscles feel like they’re **melting**, your skin tingling from the inside out.
Something is **wrong.**
You clutch the edges of the table as your **torso tightens, your waist pulling inward.** Your **hips expand**, pushing outward **far too much**—curves forming **rapidly**.
**"Doctor—something’s wrong—!"**
Dr. kumar's eyes widen as he looks at the monitors.
**"No. No, no, no! This isn’t supposed to happen!"**
---
Your **chest tingles**—a deep, aching pressure building beneath your skin.
Then—**growth.**
A sharp moan escapes your lips as your **pecs swell outward**, becoming **full, round, and heavy.** You feel them **push against your shirt, stretching the fabric**.
They don’t stop.
**They keep growing.** one of your breasts have torn the side of you t-shirt, and is hanging outside. your hips does the same thing to your pants.
Dr. Rao stumbles backward. **"This isn’t enhancing your male genes—it’s amplifying the female transformation exponentially!"**
Your **nipples tingle and throb**, standing **painfully erect** as your oversized **breasts grow too large for even a normal woman.**
Your waist tightens **even more**, your **hips expanding to unnatural proportions.**
Your legs stretch longer, becoming **shapely, smooth, and toned**, your thighs pressing together **thicker than ever.**
You tremble as **pleasure pulses through you, overpowering your senses.**
Your **face softens**, your lips plump, your **cheekbones refine** into something absurdly feminine.
Your **hair cascades down your back** in **voluptuous, silken waves.**
**Even your voice changes.**
**You sound breathless. Feminine. Overwhelmingly seductive.** the octaves of your voice has reached so high.
It’s **too much.** **Too extreme.**
This **isn’t even a normal woman’s body—this is something unnatural. Hyper-feminine. Exaggerated beyond reason.**
You **sit up**—but your **new breasts are so heavy, you struggle to balance.**
Dr. kumar **stares at you, completely speechless.**
Your clothes are **ruined**, torn apart from your **unnatural growth.**
**Your body is an impossible hourglass.**
An **overwhelming, erotic masterpiece of femininity.**
And it’s **permanent.**
---
Your mind races.
This was **supposed to restore your masculinity**—not **turn you into some ultra-feminized version of a woman.**
The reading showed that since your body had more female gene than the male one, the vial i gave you attached to the female gene and started to attack the male genes.
to compensate for that, the remainder of your males genes were released by your shrinken testes to fight the vial, resulting in this hyper feminisation.
Dr. kumar rubs his forehead, still trying to process all these informations.
**"There’s… no way to reverse this."**
Your heart sinks.
**"No way?"** you repeat, your voice **sultry, breathy—nothing like before.**
He shakes his head. **"None. Whatever happened, It happened and like I said, You're stuck like this. Forever."**
You look down at yourself—your **massive, impossibly curvy figure**
You gambled everything.
And **you lost.**
without any hope, you wear the largest lab-coat in Dr. kumar's lab and start walking towards the bus stop.
You move through the streets fully aware of every single pair of eyes turning toward you.
Men gawk openly, their gazes trailing down your body, lingering on your exaggerated curves. Some whistle, others murmur to themselves—but all of them stare.
Women react differently. Some whisper behind your back, others give you looks of jealousy, curiosity, or outright disbelief.
You try to walk as naturally as possible, but your exaggerated body refuses to cooperate.
Your hips sway too much, your chest bounces uncontrollably, and your thighs rub together in ways that make every step feel deliberate and sensual.
Even your face betrays you—your full, plump lips seem to naturally settle into a pout, your lashes are long and fluttery, your gaze naturally smoldering.
Finding a job is going to be impossible hereafter!
Even when you try applying somewhere, you quickly realize no one takes you seriously.
Your credentials, your skills, your experience—none of it matters.
All they see is your body.
At job interviews, men struggle to maintain eye contact, constantly distracted. Women glance at you with thinly veiled skepticism.
with no other choice, you were pushed into modelling.
----
**months and years have passed**
you now make a lot of money. the photoshoot you did for a playboy magazing as a bimbo model, got a huge hit.
You scroll through your social media feed, staring at photos of yourself—posed seductively, draped in luxury.
You read the comments.
Men thirsting after you.
A week later, you receive an email, The message read, **"YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED AS THE BIMBO QUEEN FOR THE 2025"**
You feel slightly excited as you read that message..
Because deep inside you know, that you earned it..
---
### **Congratulation on reaching the ending**
> **"Your ambition led you to this fate. In your desperate attempt to reclaim your masculinity, you have become something beyond even womanhood—an exaggerated, hyper-feminine (text-colour:magenta)[BIMBO]. This is who you are now. Forever. Congratulations…?"**
if you like staying as a bimbo, please do follow me on patreon and deviantart and thank you reading so far.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"=======XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX===")[If being a bimbo doesnt satisfy you, how about you start over
[[BANGALORE DAYS]] ]