Kalyani’s beauty was only amplified by the vibrant Holi powders that now clung to her. She was a typical sight for the festival of color, except there was a problem; moments ago, before the powder had covered her, she had not been Kalyani at all. She had been Kyle, a white American tourist curious about the festival.

As the powders hit Kyle, he felt a jolt of electricity. His skin burned, then tingled as it darkened to a deep brown. Muscles shifted, bones crunched, and fat redistributed as his body reformed. His chest expanded, forming soft, round boobs where a flat expanse used to be. His waist and hips cinched into an hourglass shape, accentuating a newfound femininity. Arms and hands slenderized, fingers became delicate and adorned with gold bangles. His feet and legs underwent a profound change, slender and graceful, adorned in intricately designed sandals. His once-male anatomy gave way to a woman’s, every detail reshaped and redefined. At the same time, his clothes tightened before morphing into the fabric of a sari.

His ears were filled with the deafening beat of drums, drowning out his heavy breathing. With each hit of the drums, a rush of memories invaded his mind: playing Holi as a child, warm family dinners, singing traditional songs with a beautiful voice he recognized as his… hers.

A wave of emotions then hit her hard. Confusion. Elation. A strange sense of belonging. The timid Kyle was washed away. Now, as Kalyani, she felt a confidence that was completely alien to her old self. It was an urge to join the dance, to be part of the pulsating crowd. And she did, moving with a confidence and grace she never knew she had.