But this is the thing about an urge. One can only deliberate up to a point. After that one just surrenders. Mayank opened the door further, then made a dash for it. He ran blindly, the dress restricting the easy movement of his thighs. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, smudging the big mascara circles he had drawn around his eyes. He shut the toilet door behind him. One-third of the mission was accomplished. Now for the piss, and the return sprint. Mayank lifted his dress and released a jet of urine into the WC.

Mayank had no intentions of staying in the toilet longer than the act required. He was not going to sit around in that deathly white cubicle contemplating the risk factor. He was going to run and hope for the best. He opened the door. There was nobody outside. The door that led to the bar was shut although there were still people on the other side.

Mayank scampered down the passage on tiptoe. He must have been two doors away from his room when he heard the bar door creak open. He had no option but to keep running. They were behind him now. It was best he did not turn around to see who it was. That would give his identity away.

He reached his door but did not turn around to face it. Instead he stopped dead in his tracks, his body not facing the panel but at right angles to it. He turned the knob, pushed the door with his right shoulder. Swati was still sleeping. Almost immediately Mayank heard the group go past. They were talking excitedly amongst themselves. Mayank was too breathless and terrified to listen.

He knew they had seen him but only from the back. He hoped they thought it was a girl spending the night in his room, not him dressed up as a girl. He hoped they were drunk and self-absorbed; maybe they hadn’t even noticed that there was someone in front of them. He looked down at his legs and wished they were not so hairy. He wondered how Swati could sleep so soundly in a strange bed.

The Farewell