The midday sun filtered through the ancient stone arches as Aaradhya stood quietly in the courtyard, her arms folded loosely, the wind brushing against her bare scalp. She was used to long, thick waves of hair cascading past her shoulders. Now, there was only stillness — and skin.
She had made the decision only days ago. Not out of impulse, not for fashion, not even for ritual — but for clarity.
After months of emotional exhaustion, career anxiety, and the quiet ache of feeling lost, she booked a one-way ticket south. She needed space. She needed silence. She needed to hear herself again.
At the ashram, they talked about shedding — attachments, distractions, illusions. And one day, sitting under the fig tree just past the main temple gate, she realized: she wasn’t afraid of letting go.
She was afraid of being seen after she did.
But when she sat in that wooden chair behind the meditation hall, and the first lock of her hair fell to the stone floor, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t regret it. She exhaled.
And now, standing in her sleeveless blue dress dotted with soft white polka dots, she felt no shame. No longing. Just presence.
People looked. Some in surprise, others in silent admiration. She didn’t care either way. Because for the first time in years, Aaradhya wasn’t performing.
She was just… herself.
Completely uncovered. Entirely free.