Reposting this as prior chapters were not showing up sequentially (new author syndrome:) ). Would appreciate feedback / comments. Also suggestions if should post it on kindle and the process for it.
Chapter Four: The Salon Night
The night of Ava’s salon gathering, Aria almost canceled twice. She stood in her bedroom, staring at her closet. It wasn’t about the clothes—she had options now. The soft blush wrap dress hung like an old friend, the black pencil skirt like a promise. Her hair had been styled by Ava just a week before, grazing her shoulders in neat layers. She had heels she could walk in without wobbling.
What terrified her was the company. She had only ever been Aria in controlled spaces: Melissa’s apartment, her own living room, Ava’s studio. Tonight meant being seen—not just by one friend or one mentor, but by strangers.
The doorbell rang. Melissa leaned in, her curls pinned up, wearing a green satin jumpsuit that seemed to pour over her frame. “You look amazing,” she said at once, sweeping her eyes over Aria’s blush wrap dress and delicate necklace. “Stop doubting. Let’s go.”
⸻
Ava’s studio had been rearranged for the event. The racks of clothing were pushed to the sides, mirrors glowing in soft light. A bar cart gleamed with bottles of champagne and slender flutes. Small clusters of people—five, maybe six—stood chatting in low voices, the air threaded with laughter.
Every person there was transformed in some way. A tall blonde in sequins leaned against a mirror, a petite brunette in floral chiffon sat curled on the velvet loveseat, two others in jeans and heels perched at the bar. Some were clearly trans women, some crossdressers, some perhaps drag artists—but each one radiated a sense of being at home.
And then there was Ava, gliding toward them in a black satin slip dress, a glass of champagne in hand. Her platinum hair shimmered under the lights, and her smile—when she saw Aria—was warm enough to melt every nerve.
“Aria,” she said, kissing her cheek lightly. “You came.”
“Yes,” Aria managed, her voice higher now, practiced but natural. “I… wanted to see.”
“And be seen,” Ava added softly, handing her a glass. Their fingers brushed, lingered a moment too long.
Melissa winked, drifting off toward the bar to greet someone she knew. Aria sipped, the bubbles tickling her throat, and turned to watch the room. She felt herself exhale. Nobody stared at her with suspicion. Nobody saw “Arjun.” They saw Aria, as she was dressed, as she felt.
Ava stayed by her side, introducing her to the others—Janelle, who worked in finance and wore sequins with the confidence of a queen; Priya, whose soft floral dress matched her shy smile; Sasha and Mia, partners who had both transitioned years ago and radiated ease. Each conversation was brief but kind, like being welcomed to a table she hadn’t realized existed.
By the second glass of champagne, Aria found herself laughing. Her body moved differently—hips loose, hands expressive. When she crossed her legs, it felt unstudied. She belonged.
⸻
Later, when the group had thinned, Ava touched her elbow. “Come,” she said, leading her to the smaller dressing room at the back, away from the hum of voices.
Aria’s pulse raced. “Is everything okay?”
Ava closed the curtain behind them. The light was softer here, golden. “Yes. I just wanted you to have a moment. You’ve been glowing all night.”
Aria flushed, reaching to touch her hair self-consciously. “I’ve never… felt like this before.”
“I know,” Ava said. She stepped closer, eyes steady, voice low. “I see it in you. The way you carry yourself now. The way you allow yourself to be.”
For a moment they stood so near that the warmth of Ava’s body brushed against Aria’s arm. She could smell her perfume again—amber and something faintly sweet. Her heart drummed.
“You’ve been my client,” Ava continued. “But tonight, I didn’t just see a client. I saw someone unfolding. Someone beautiful.”
The words trembled inside Aria, knocking loose a dam of feeling. “Ava… I don’t know where this is going. I don’t even know if I can—”
Ava silenced her with a fingertip against her lips. Not a command, but a gentle pause. “Shh. You don’t need to know yet. You just need to feel.”
Aria’s breath caught. She felt the faint pressure of Ava’s finger, the intimacy of being held still without force. Her lips parted slightly. When Ava withdrew her hand, the air between them seemed to spark.
Slowly, giving Aria every chance to retreat, Ava leaned closer. Their lips brushed—a whisper, not a claim. The first taste was champagne, cool and sharp. The second was warmer, lingering, a question that answered itself.
Aria swayed into it, her hand rising almost without permission to rest against Ava’s waist, feeling the satin beneath her fingers. Ava’s hand came to rest on Aria’s cheek, steadying her, deepening the kiss just enough to send a shiver spiraling down her spine.
When they parted, Aria’s chest rose and fell rapidly, corset pressing with each breath. Ava smiled softly. “See? Feeling is enough.”
Aria laughed shakily, lips tingling, the mirror beside them reflecting not just her dress and her hair, but the unmistakable flush of being desired.
⸻
Back out in the studio, Melissa caught her eye and raised a brow knowingly, but said nothing. The party wound down, people drifting out into the night, voices echoing down the stairwell.
Ava lingered by the door as Aria slipped on her coat. “Salon nights aren’t just for transformation,” she said quietly. “They’re for connection. I think you found both tonight.”
Aria met her gaze, pulse still fluttering from the kiss. “I think I did.”
The city air outside was cold, but Aria felt lit from within, as though she carried her own warmth. For the first time since the lavender dress in Melissa’s studio, she didn’t wonder whether this path was real or ridiculous. She knew.
And she knew, too, that the journey wasn’t only about clothing or hair or makeup. It was about intimacy. About being touched, seen, wanted.
That night, she lay in bed replaying the kiss until sleep claimed her, lips still tasting of champagne and rose.