Ashiq

The applause, the chanting, and the screams were deafening.

Pounding of feet.
Roaring.
Whooping.
Hollering.

The emcee had to yell into the microphone to be heard over the cacophony.

“And now… All you lovely people better keep that energy up, because we’re gonna bring out the star of the show. She needs no introduction, but hell, she’s getting one anyway. Give it up for the one, the only, the devastating Iowa Lott!”

The spotlight found her. Her track, “Badri Ki Dulhania,” was cued up. Her arms rose above her head in a starting pose. And then… she danced. Graceful, evocative, liberating. Her chest heaved with every beat. As she glided across the stage, stopping to single out cute members of the audience, anticipation and joy swelled inside her. She lapped up their attention, awash with a sense of freedom—like she could do this foreve—

========================

“Ashiq beta! Nashta tayyar hai!”

Ashiq groaned and rolled out of bed, momentarily disoriented as the exhilaration from their dream faded. Damn it. The dream had just been getting good.

The morning light crept across the walls, grounding them firmly in reality.

They reached for their glasses, and the blurry wash of navy and green snapped into focus. The painted walls, the bookshelves, even their clothes—all picked by their parents.

They’d had no say in the matter.

They had tried to object several times, but their parents brushed them off with a laugh, convinced they knew their child best.

If that were true, the room would be purple and silver, maybe splashes of pink and teal—instead of floor-to-ceiling green and blue that made them feel trapped in a nature documentary.

“Dear diary,” they muttered while pulling on their school uniform.
“Today’s the day I tell them… Shit.”

Their stomach clenched.

******

In the bathroom, Ashiq carefully applied black eyeliner in the mirror, humming along to the background music Sagar was playing on their phone. It was punky, with banging riffs and sharp, punchy lyrics.

“Does this work?” Ashiq turned to show Sagar their eye and the small beauty spot they’d pencilled on their cheek.

“I guess. What are you going for?” 

Sagar was probably the worst person for makeup advice. Whenever they tried, it looked like they were bleeding—bold, vivid patterns standing out a mile. Ashiq wanted something subtle. Soft.

“Suitable for school.”

“Well, that would be none at all, if you consult the rules.”

They both wrinkled their nose in mock disgust.

“I suppose.”

“Yeah, which is why I think you should go full cat. Meow.”

“Ha! Meow… Well, if I do, and I get detention, you’re coming in with me.”

“As long as it’s not a Friday detention. It’s lemon drizzle cake at lunch, and I’m not missing that for anything.”

“Wow. Some friend.” 

Ashiq joked, splashing water at them. 

“Want some Turkish Delight with your treason, Edmund?”

“As long as it is halal, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Okay, hear me out. Would you not sell your siblings for a chance to be with Tilda Swinton in that coat?”

“I mean, duh. Adeel bhai and Nisha are already gone. Actually, no—I’d pay so much more for that battle outfit at the end. Swords and crown and all. That would make a brilliant number to dance to.”

“God, yes. You’d look good in a crown.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Very… Billy Maximoff vibes.”

Ashiq chuckled nervously. They returned to their makeup, though their hands trembled. When they tried to steady them, the shaking only grew worse and then slipped. A wiggly black line streaked from eye to cheek.

“So… I’m thinking of telling them today.”

“Really? No way! Congrats, yaar.”

“Thinking,” Ashiq repeated, dabbing at the smear with wet tissue. “Unless you can talk me out of it.”
“Do you want me to talk you out of it?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

Sagar gnawed at their polished black nails.

“I think you should. Honestly. When I told my parents, it felt so much better. Even though Mama was confused at first and Papa kept asking if I was sure…”

“But your parents are lovely.”

“So are yours. Aunty Saba is like a second ammi to me, and Uncle Jason… Well, he’s always been so understanding.”

“I know. But when it comes to this… I’m scared.”

“Which bit scares you? You being genderfluid, or you wanting to be a drag queen? Actually, what would you be? Queen? King? Prince? Artist?”

“Iowa Lott. Woman of your dreams. Legend. Icon. Royalty.”

“Ooh, get you! I ain’t calling you ‘Your Majesty,’ though.”

“What? You wouldn’t bow to this stunning vision that stands before you?”

“Whatever delusional chemicals are in that eyeliner, I want some. Also… Iowa Lott? Really?”

“What’s wrong with it, dick?”

They laughed.

“You know I’m only kidding, right?”

“I know.”

“It’s a lovely name. And hey… if you do decide to tell them, I’m here for you. If you don’t, I’m here for you, too. Yeah?”

“Thanks, yaar.”

“Pronouns today?"

“He, she, they.”

“Got it.”

“Yours?”

“They.”

“Nice.”

“Hey, I’ve had a thought. Do you want me to be there when you tell them? You know, for support, so it’s not so daunting? I can stay for dinner—Aunty’s always asking me to anyway.”

“That… would actually be really nice. Thanks.”

“Of course. Kiss for luck?”

“Yeah.”

===========================

The rest of the school day dragged by in a haze. Through history and math, English and chemistry, Ashiq’s mind kept returning to the conversation ahead. Finally, classes ended, and as they walked home with Sagar, their stomach was fluttering.

They were actually going to do this. Shit. This was terrifying. Completely terrifying. But hopefully, it would be liberating—just as they felt when performing, whether in the kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom… anywhere, really, where no one else could watch them. Judge them.

*******

When they stepped through the door, the delicious smell of home cooking hit them. Saba, Jason, Adeel and Nisha were in the kitchen, finishing up the evening meal.

“Sagar beta, you’re staying for dinner, haan? I made extra sabzi just in case.”

“Ji, Aunty. Thank you.”

Sagar touched their hand to their heart.

********

After dinner—plates of karahi, daal, and rotis cleared away—the family had settled around the TV for Pointless.

True to their word, Sagar sat beside Ashiq on the leather sofa.

Ashiq took a deep breath, steadying themself just as their nani had taught them before performing bharatanatyam as a child—focusing on each inhale, letting the memory of her gentle encouragement fill them with courage.

“Ammi, Baba… kya main aap se kuch baat kar sakta hun?”

The formal Urdu felt right for this moment—more respectful, more serious.

“Hmm? Of course, you can, beta. Do you want us to switch this off?”

“It might help, yeah.”

“You heard the boy, Saba.”

Ashiq squirmed in their seat, instantly regretting the decision. The silence felt heavy. At least with the TV on, Saba and Jason’s gaze was focused elsewhere. Now they had their undivided attention. They had the spotlight. All eyes were on them, and unlike in their dream, they had no battle armour of sequins and makeup to protect them.

“You’ve got this,” Sagar mouthed, gripping Ashiq’s hand tightly.

“So… I’ve been thinking. A lot. And I need to tell you something.”

Ashiq’s voice caught as nerves overwhelmed them. Seeking comfort, they switched back to English; the language felt safer for these new words.

“I’m genderfluid.”

The words hung in the air.

“I wanted you to know because you’re my parents, and I love you.”

Their words trailed off, uncertainty settling heavily as they waited for a reaction.

“That’s… not what we thought you were going to say if we’re being honest,” Jason said at last, adjusting his glasses.

“I thought you were going to say you and Sagar are dating.”

“Um… … … Ashie?”

Sagar’s eyes widened, their grip on Ashiq’s hand tightening.

“Oh, um… um… Actually… Err… we, um, — Can we … um … put a pin in that? Ha—”

“… … … I see. Well. I can’t say I fully understand, because I don’t. But thank you for telling us, beta.”

“Oh, mera bachcha, come here. Come here. It’s alright.”

Saba crossed the room and hugged Ashiq tightly.

“So what does this mean? Practically speaking?”

“So I use he, she, and they pronouns. And my gender identity and expression are… Um, fluid.”

“Like water?”

“Yeah. Kinda.”

“Okay. Okay. This will take some time for us to understand fully, but…” 

Saba paused, choosing her words carefully. 

“You will always be our child. Hamara pyara bachcha. And that isn’t going to change. I hope you know that.”

Jason joined their embrace.

Saba turned to Sagar, who was tapping their foot on the mat.

“Sagar, beta,” she beckoned for them to join the hug, “here now.”

“Ji, Auntie.”

Sagar nestled into the hug, with all the glow of a proud partner. Ashiq returned the broadest beam.

Wrapped in their parents’ arms, Ashiq felt the same warmth as in childhood—safe, loved, accepted.