Re-education process

A muffled hum of conversation filled the living room. She moved gracefully, carefully setting the tray with tea cups on the low table in front of the guests. The traditional Indian sari glided softly over her body, its long end trailing almost to the floor. Each time she bent over, the weight of her chest unpleasantly reminded her of her new condition.

"God, how much longer will this go on?" she thought. "A week has passed, and nothing. Absolutely no contact. Why are my parents silent?" She discreetly tucked a stray lock of her thick black hair back into place, once again feeling its heavy, unfamiliar length irritate her, catching on the sari. "How do women deal with this? It's so uncomfortable."

She continued to act as though everything was fine, trying not to reveal her inner panic. The men in the room, including her "husband," carried on their conversation in Hindi. Complex phrases and subtle hints about family matters flew past her. A week ago, she wouldn’t have understood a word, but now... now Hindi was the only language she could speak.

"The re-education program..." She gritted her teeth mentally and straightened up, feeling the weight of her chest pulling her forward. "They said this was supposed to help. But why am I still here? Why in the body of this... woman?"

She glanced at her husband, who nodded politely to the guests. He was a young, attractive man, but his eyes held no warmth or understanding. To him, she was nothing more than the perfect wife, raised by tradition—attentive to his needs, silent, and obedient.

"They promised it was temporary!" Her internal monologue grew louder with each passing minute. "Maybe this is all part of the lesson? Or have they changed their minds? Damn, I wasn’t supposed to pretend for this long!" She nervously looked at herself—her sari, her small wrists adorned with bracelets, her firm chest that seemed to only get in the way of moving freely. "When will I be able to be myself again?!"

- Aisha, bring more tea - her husband’s voice was calm, but demanding.

"Aisha... No, that’s not my name!" She suppressed her irritation, stood up straight, and reached for the teapot again. Her hand slid over the soft fabric of the sari, which constantly interfered with her movements. "This is impossible... How do they wear this every day?"

As she passed by, her eyes met those of one of the guests. His piercing, appraising look sent a strange chill through her. This new, female appearance felt foreign to her, yet at the same time... real. Too real.

"I just want this to end. But... why does it feel so... permanent?"

She looked at her husband. Did he understand who was really in this body? It seemed not. It was as if she had always been his servant—silent, reserved, and compliant. No one asked questions because everything seemed so natural for Aisha.

A week ago, "she" had been a guy from a wealthy family, disappointing his parents with his reckless behavior and refusal to follow their traditions. When that mysterious re-education program came up, his parents jumped at it, confident it would straighten him out. But, to his dismay, they didn’t know that the program meant a complete swap of "consciousness," and they were pleased with how "he" had changed.

Because now, inside their son’s body, was the real Aisha, happy to have such a chance to prove herself and become someone with more opportunities. And him... he was trapped here, in her body, thinking it was all part of the re-education process, not realizing that he was already living someone else’s life. The longer he stayed, the more he became Aisha.