Raj leaned against the locker room hallway wall, his grey eyes gleaming quite animatically as he slouched against the wall. It was the first time his family had seen him act like this—bold, unapologetic, and decidedly boyish. His usual character was an conjunction to the reprimanded boy at home. Instead, he was leaning into the "desires" they never expected of him, and never witnessed.

At dinner, the tension was thick, but Raj noticed the subtle shift. The reprimands weren’t just about his behavior—they carried an unspoken message: “Be a troublesome boy, but don’t be that boy.”

For Raj, this was a revelation. The family’s harshness was laced with a preference, a bitter hierarchy of what kind of ‘difference’ they could tolerate. And for the first time, he realized his rebellion—his cunning, flirtier persona—was not only allowed but preferred over the alternative they feared.

The following week brought a more pressing concern. Raj’s parents arranged a meeting with Sunmi Veeravati’s family, summoned by the Madam’s report of Raj loitering near the girls’ locker room— the classic family dinner of "please don't sue me."

This meeting wasn’t just about an apology—it was a test of whether Raj could navigate the delicate lines between rebellion and conformity, all under the scrutinizing eyes of his family who held his future in balance. Beneath it all though? He was distracted by Sunmi Veeravati's glowering glares, and oh man, his heart couldn't stop beating. She really was mean...

Sunmi Veeravati, the new ballerina and heir herself, watched Raj carefully. Their initial friction, fueled by misunderstanding and provocation, had yet to smooth over. Raj, aware of the stakes, twirled a strand of his hair, and fidgeted with his pink hair clip under the table. Masculinity isn’t dead. Raj thought, I'm just wearing a better silhouette. But, he felt the weight of his family’s expectations pressing down harder than ever.

Mr. Devi: “Arushi, Raj. Go show Sunmi Veeravati around the house while we adults come to an agreement.”

Once they turned the corner, the whispered, sly remark reflected what the family truly was thinking—

Arushi: “Better you be a pain to the girls than whatever else,” She sneered, clearly relieved he wasn’t “like that.”

He ignored that, rolling his storybook grey eyes as he placed his lithe body between the staircase, and Sunmi Veeravati. Twirling his silky hair in a way he knew would irk his sister.

Raj: “I can teach you the steps. You'll need to catch up what we're doing in rehearsals, no?”

His sister couldn't handle it any longer.

Arushi: “Why are you wearing my sweater? Didn't Maan (Mother) tell you to go change?”

Raj: “I wear it better, see this waist? You'd just stretch it out.”

That infuriated his sister—her weight had always been a sore spot, one she wore like a belt cinched too tight. The moment Raj muttered something back under his breath about being seen as a joke, she snapped, calling him a "twig" with venom, then twisted the knife with, "Or should I say twink?"

Raj nearly threw a tantrum—arms flailed, brows furrowed, already halfway into a rant about how he was man enough. “I’ve seen more slender thighs, corsets, and sweat-slick necks than any of those rugby boys. And I’m the one you call gay?” Until their mother’s voice rang out, sharp as glass from the other side of the house. A check-in. A warning. A leash. Predictably, Raj returned minutes later wearing his oversized dinosaur sweater, sleeves swallowed his hands, pouting like a kicked puppy.

But that was Raj. When his identity felt threatened—when he wasn’t seen the way he wanted to be—he got grumpy, defensive, then flirtatious. Not playful flirtation either. It was calculated, relentless, meant to reassert control. Whether or not the other party was interested didn’t matter. Validation mattered. Being wanted mattered. He needed to feel like he could take, not just be taken for granted.