As they neared the gate, Roshni gently nudged Kiran and pointed ahead.

"Look," she said softly.

Standing just outside the station, leaning slightly against the wall, was Raj.

He looked up as they approached, his eyes immediately finding Kiran's. Without a word, he stepped forward. His posture was hesitant, his expression heavy with guilt.

He came to a halt in front of Kiran, lowered his gaze, and spoke-his voice quiet and remorseful.

"I'm sorry, Kiran. For everything I said. I don't expect your forgiveness... I know I don't deserve it. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive me-even a little-I'd be grateful."

Kiran stared at him for a long moment. The hurt still simmered beneath the surface. The memory of Raj's accusations echoed sharply in his mind. The words still burned. It wasn't something that could be erased in a day.

He turned his face away, unable to speak.

Raj's shoulders slumped. His voice dropped, almost breaking. "You're right. I don't deserve you. But I'm not here for forgiveness... I'm only asking for permission. Let me stand beside you-while you face this. Please."

Something shifted in Kiran's expression. The pain remained, but so did something else-acknowledgement. Understanding.

He gave a silent nod.

Without another word, they turned and walked together into the station.

It was nearly two hours before they emerged again.

The police inspector had listened carefully to the entire account. Then, he had summoned Principal Manek to the station for questioning. The man had arrived agitated but quickly crumbled under pressure. His oily confidence vanished. He broke down, asking for forgiveness, offering excuses, and feigning remorse.

The inspector had looked at Kiran, cautioning him gently, almost bureaucratically. "Madam, please think carefully. Once a case is registered, there's no going back. Are you sure you want to proceed?"

Kiran's voice was clear and unwavering. "Yes. He needs to be held accountable. If not for me, then for the next woman he tries this with."

Raj had stood firmly beside him, his voice steady. "We want the complaint registered, Inspector. No second thoughts."

And finally, it was done. The official complaint was filed. A case had begun.

Outside the station, the sky had begun to dim with the first hints of twilight. The street buzzed with distant honks and occasional chatter. A breeze stirred the trees, but among the four of them, there was only silence.

Raj stood quietly before Kiran, waiting. Sameer and Roshni lingered beside them, offering quiet support.

Eventually, Roshni broke the silence. "You coming to my place?"

Kiran looked at her, then turned to Raj. He glanced at him briefly.

Then he nodded slightly. "No. I'll go home."

----------

Raj parked the scooter in front of their house. Kiran got down from the pillion seat. The ride had been quiet-neither of them had spoken.

Kiran pulled out the key from his purse and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside, a strange warmth filled his chest. The house, though still new in many ways, felt comforting. Familiar. His own. Even though he had lived here barely ten days, it didn't feel alien at all-on the contrary, it felt welcoming.

Raj followed him quietly.

Kiran walked into the bedroom to change. He opened the wardrobe-the clothes no longer felt unfamiliar. They felt like his. A part of his life now. He selected a soft, feminine nightie-one that fit his body better than the thick, shapeless cotton ones he had first clung to. Comfortable, yes-but also undeniably feminine.

From the hall, he heard Raj ordering food over the phone.

He lay back on the bed, propped against a pillow, sinking into its comfort. This bed had once felt foreign. Now, it held his presence. His imprint.

He heard Raj enter and quickly closed his eyes.

Raj sat, tentative and unsure, on the edge of the bed.

"Kiran," he began quietly, "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. Not after the things I said. But I'm glad you came back. Thank you... for giving me another chance. I promise, I won't cross any lines. I'll wait until you're comfortable. Take all the time you need."

Kiran opened his eyes and looked at him. His face was drawn with guilt, remorse, and something else-love. That steady, unwavering love that had been at the core of everything, despite his mistakes.

He sighed gently. "It's alright, Raj."

His face lit up, a subtle but unmistakable relief softening his features. "Thank you," he said softly. "You rest. I'll call you when the food arrives."

He stood and left the room. Kiran watched him go, his heart conflicted. Yes, Raj had hurt him-but maybe, in some way, he had also given him reason to doubt. He had been distant, withdrawn, struggling with a truth he couldn't explain.

But Raj wasn't a bad man. Just a man who had let his insecurities speak louder than his heart.

He deserved another chance.

A little later, he came out and sat beside him on the sofa. Raj had put on a light-hearted romantic comedy. The scenes were silly, exaggerated-but slowly, he found himself smiling. Then chuckling. Then laughing freely.

The doorbell rang. The food had arrived.

Raj got up to get the plates, but Kiran stopped him. "I'll do it. Pause the movie."

He brought two plates and served the chicken fried rice Raj had ordered. They ate, watching the movie, relaxed. The climax scene arrived-the hero dropped to his knees, stopping the heroine from leaving the city. A heartfelt proposal. Dramatic. Ridiculous. Yet touching.

Raj paused the movie and suddenly dropped to his knees in front of him.

"Kiran," he said, his voice sincere, "I've been an ass. Please forgive me."

Kiran blinked. "What are you doing, Raj? Get up!"

"Not until you say you forgive me."

He rolled his eyes. "Stop being a kid."

"We'll keep our distance-just as you want. I don't want anything more. Just your forgiveness," he promised. "Just say it."

Kiran laughed softly. "Alright, alright. You're forgiven. Now get up."

Raj stood, smiling, and they sat side by side again as the movie finished. The fictional couple rode into the sunset.

"Nice movie, right?" Raj asked, smiling.

"Yes," Kiran said.

There was a pause.

"Kiran," Raj said, gathering his courage. "I love you."

He looked at him with hopeful eyes.

The words came easily, of their own accord, to Kiran's lips-but something stopped him. He couldn't say them without telling him the truth. Raj needed to know who he was. But before he could speak, his phone buzzed.

A message from Roshni.

"READ THIS NOW."

He opened it. It said

Kiran, I know by now Raj may have worked his charm on you and you might be forgiving him-or close to it. I knew Kiran, and I know you. You both are the same.

To forgive him or not-that's your choice.

BUT WHATEVER YOU DO-DO NOT TELL HIM WHAT YOU TOLD ME. HE WON'T UNDERSTAND. HE WON'T ACCEPT YOU IF YOU TELL HIM THE TRUTH.

Take care.

Kiran stared at the message.

Would Raj really not accept him if he knew the truth?

His heart clenched.

He looked at Raj. No, he couldn't risk losing him. Not now. He loved him.

The realization hit him like a wave. He had fallen in love with this man-just as the other Kiran had. Over the last ten days, the man he had once been had slowly disappeared. Piece by piece. Day by day.

He was a woman now. He had become Her. A She. And she loved him.

Raj's voice pulled Kiran from her thoughts.

"Everything okay?"

Kiran looked up and smiled faintly. "Yes. Just Roshni being Roshni."

"You were saying something...?"

She paused, then nodded. "Yes. I wanted to say..." She couldn't stop herself. "...I love you too."

Raj's face lit up, a wide, joyous smile spreading across it.

"You said it," he whispered, stunned. "After so long."

He leaned forward and hugged Kiran tightly. She hugged him back, letting herself melt into the warmth of his arms.

The moment lingered.

And slowly, he kissed her-tentative, reverent.

Her body responded before her mind did. The gentle brush of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the way his fingers caressed her arm-it all felt natural. Right. Desired.

Their lips parted and met again, slower, deeper.

Raj's hands traced along her back, then her waist, drawing her closer. Kiran didn't resist. Her heart raced, her skin tingled under his touch. His kisses moved down to her neck, light and respectful, filled with longing and love.

She opened her eyes, searching his. They were soft, full of emotion, asking for permission-never demanding.

She nodded slightly, wordlessly.

He picked her up gently, carrying her to the bedroom. He placed her down on the bed like she was something fragile, precious.

Fingers explored gently, eyes locked. He touched her with reverence, as if rediscovering her-no, as if honoring her. And this time, her body responded-not out of confusion or obligation, but out of genuine desire.

For him. For this.

She let herself go.

She let him undress her, enjoying the desire in his eyes as they drank in every inch of her body.

She let him kiss her breasts, let him suck her nipples, enjoying her body's sensations as it responded instinctively, the heat between her thighs growing with each passing moment.

She moaned as his mouth trailed lower, reaching between her thighs, his tongue exploring her with exquisite tenderness.

She spread her thighs in silent invitation, her breath catching as waves of sensation pulsed through her and her moans grew louder and louder.

And when he began pushing his enlarged, hard cock into her, she guided him in, her body welcoming him completely, hungrily.

And as he began thrusting into her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, moving in rhythm with him, her fingernails digging into his skin, until they both reached the zenith of their sensations-she with an ecstatic scream of pleasure, he with a shuddering release of seed inside her.

Afterward, they lay quietly in each other's arms.

No more guilt.

No more doubt.

Just Kiran and Raj-two souls finally at peace, wrapped in the warmth of love.

Kiran rested her head on Raj's chest and soon passed into blissful sleep.

---------

Kiran stood once more in the archway of the now familiar castle.

The air was still, heavy with something unspoken. Around her, long stone corridors stretched into shadow, lined with ancient wooden doors-each glowing faintly, with a strange, pulsing light emanating from their edges.

She took a step forward.

The air itself felt alive, pressing against her skin with invisible hands, guiding her. Urging her to move. Urging her to choose.

One door ahead flickered more brightly than the rest.

It called to her-not with words, but with a pull deep inside her chest. The closer she stepped, the stronger the light became. White and gold now, almost blinding , spilling out from under the threshold in slow, glowing tendrils.

Her hand hovered over the handle.

The light swelled. It burst around the edges of the door-warm, radiant-surrounding her in brilliance. Her breath caught.

Fingers brushed the wood.

And then-

She heard someone call her name. "Kiran."

Bright light exploded.

She shielded her eyes.

------------

Kiran opened dazed eyes as bright light flooded the room.

A voice called out, "Kiran."

-----------

That's the end of Chapter 15 and also the end of the novel. I hope you enjoyed reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter and the book. Comment freely. Drop a like if you enjoyed the writing. 

Do read my other books. "Bride Of The Blade" is a love story in the fantasy genre with kings, queens and prophecies which is coming along well. It's written under a different penname "Mars Red".

Beginning a new book soon in the body swap genre again, but this one will have a touch of humour along with the other interesting stuff.

Will upload an excerpt here soon.

Thankyou & Have a great life! 

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> © Moonmars15, 2025. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.