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He walked out to the living room slowly. The table was all laid out, with the rakhis and laddoos all on the table. Two chairs faced each other, with presents on each side. On the table lay two rakhis.
Yeah. He expected this. He'd done this exact thing 15 times now. It didn't matter that he was trans- religion was religion. Tradition was tradition. First his sister would tie one, then he would. His brother would walk away with two rakhis, like every year.
"Aarshiya, come." said his mother, calling his sister to sit. His brother sat down automatically. This was a practised routine. Every single year.
Except, this year it hurt. It hurt more than it did previous years. He'd known he was trans for years now, seen this exact scene play out. But it hurt more this time, knowing that they knew. They knew, and they didn't care. They'd rather pretend nothing changed.
He watched silently as his father started clicking pictures. His mother was muttering under her breath- a chant passed down from generation to generation. Except, she didn't know it. Only his grandmother had known, and she wasn't here to sing it. They'd taken it for granted, and now his mother didn't know it either. Traditions lost to time.
"Aadha, poora?" Aarshiya asked his brother, pointing to the sweets. The rakhi was tied. "Do!" his brother said as a large smile appeared on his face. He watched his sister giggle and feed his brother two whole laddoos. One more minute, just an exchange of gifts, and then he'd be in that position. He tried to push down the anxiety rising in his chest and force out a smile. He was pretty sure it only came out as a weak smirk, but that was the best he'd get.
"Smile!" his dad instructed his cousins as they exchanged their gifts and turned to face the camera. Oh, yeah. Pictures too. He was wearing the most androgynous thing he could find in his closet, but it still felt way too girly for his liking. Or even for his comfort.
He moved towards his sister's chair as soon as they were done, before his mother could say anything. If he was going to have to tie a rakhi, he could at least do it without having to hear his deadname.
"What are you doing?" Aarshiya asked. She genuinely looked confused.
"My…turn?" he asked her, now also confused. She'd done this for longer than he had, why was she asking?
"Sit there, idiot" she told him, pointing to his brother's chair. One which he was now getting up from.
Wait, what. That was the boys' chair. Where his brother had sat, and his uncle would sit as his mother tied the rakhi. And they were telling him to sit there?
He tried to hold back his tears as he sat down. On the boys' chair. Somewhere he'd been wanting to sit ever since the rakhi when he was 7 and his mother had kicked him off it. She'd explained to him that girls tie rakhis to boys, not the other way around.
And now here he was. Almost 10 years later, getting his first rakhi tied. He'd only come out 2 weeks earlier, and he really didn't think anyone cared, let alone acknowledged and accepted him. They were having a hard time showing it, at least.
His mother murmured the chant once more, and his sister tied him a rakhi. "Keep still!" she told him with a smile. "And I expect a big gift. Not the stuff you give Madhav. Sisters are special, you know. You have to learn these things if you're gonna get a rakhi tied to you" she told him with a wink.
He couldn't speak. Or think, really, so he just nodded. His mouth displayed the biggest smile it was capable of, and he was pretty sure everyone around him could see the tears in his eyes. He didn't care how he looked. This was his first rakhi.
"Aadha, poora?" his sister asked, words that would ring in his head the entire rest of the day as he inevitably replayed the memory in his head.
"P-Poora." He stuttered out, and found himself with a full laddoo in his mouth, and a gift in his hand. He handed his sister a packet of chocolate originally meant for his brother. "I'm expecting better next year." his sister said, shaking her head teasingly.
They took pictures that he was sure he'd hate later. He was wearing a suit that made him dysphoric. He was pretty sure he was on the edge of an anxiety attack. But none of that mattered. He was in the boys' chair.