The next morning, Arun woke up to find his mother-in-law already in the kitchen, humming an old song as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the house. He still refused to wear the nightgown, choosing instead his usual shirt and lungi. But Lakshmi was not discouraged. She knew patience was key.
As he sat at the dining table, she casually placed a small mirror in front of him. “Let me just tidy your eyebrows a little, kanna,” she said, holding a tiny thread between her fingers. “It will make your face look fresh. Just trust me.”
Arun groaned, leaning back. “Amma, this isn’t necessary.”
“Just a little shaping. You’ll thank me later,” she insisted, already beginning her work. He flinched as the thread moved over his skin, but she was quick and skilled. When she finally stepped back, she looked at him with satisfaction. “See? Your face looks much cleaner now.”
Arun glanced at his reflection and stiffened. His eyebrows were thinner, more arched than before. It wasn’t extreme, but the change was noticeable. His protests died on his lips as Lakshmi turned away, already acting as if it were normal.
Then, as he was about to leave the room, she gently placed a small garland of jasmine flowers beside him. “Wear this in your hair,” she said casually.
Arun recoiled. “Amma, no! That’s for women.”
Lakshmi sighed as if dealing with a stubborn child. “It’s just flowers, kanna. Your hair is long, and it will keep it in place. Besides, Priya always loved the scent. Don’t you remember?”
He did remember. She used to tease him by making him hold her jasmine strands, saying they suited him. The memory ached, and before he could think twice, Lakshmi had already gathered his hair and pinned the flowers in place.
“There,” she said with a smile. “See? It’s just a small thing. It suits you, kanna.”
Arun felt the soft weight of the flowers against his head, the sweet fragrance wrapping around him. He wanted to rip them off, but something in Lakshmi’s voice stopped him. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding.
“It’s… just for today,” he muttered weakly.
Lakshmi simply smiled. “Of course, my dear. Just for today
That morning, Arun woke up still wearing the cotton nightgown. He had intended to change out of it, but as he stepped out of his room, Lakshmi smiled approvingly. “Ah, see? Much more comfortable, isn’t it?”
He hesitated but didn’t argue. The fabric was indeed soft against his skin, and he told himself there was no harm in it. But when he sat down at the table, Lakshmi was already moving to the next step.
“Your hair is too messy,” she chided, coming up behind him. “Let me fix it.”
Before he could protest, she began carefully braiding his hair again, her fingers quick and practiced. Arun sat still, his ears burning as he felt the gentle tug of the braid forming. But it wasn’t until she took out a fresh strand of jasmine flowers that his discomfort deepened.
“Amma, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Flowers are for women.”
Lakshmi only smiled, securing the garland into his braid with practiced ease. “And what difference does it make, kanna? It’s just a fragrance. Your long hair will look much neater this way.”
Arun opened his mouth to argue but stopped when he caught a whiff of the delicate scent. Jasmine… the same scent Priya used to wear. A lump formed in his throat. He clenched his fists, telling himself this was just another compromise, another harmless thing.
Lakshmi patted his shoulder. “There, much better. Priya would have loved to see you like this.”
Arun swallowed, the words cutting deep. He felt strange—part of him wanted to rip the flowers away, but another part, the part drowning in grief, didn’t want to disappoint her.
“Just… for today,” he mumbled, his voice hollow.
Lakshmi’s smile was knowing. “Of course, my dear. Just for today.”
But in her heart, she knew. This was only the beginning.
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