Chapter 2: Why Do You Want Clothes?

I woke up to the sound of my sisters’ voices, their laughter sharp and grating against the quiet of the morning. The sunlight streamed through the open blinds, casting long, golden streaks across the room. I blinked, disoriented, as the events of the previous day came rushing back—the stifling heat of the van, the book, the moment of reckless freedom that had left my family stunned. My cheeks burned at the memory, and I instinctively pulled the covers up to my chin, suddenly aware of what I had slipped on before falling asleep.

Or rather, what I hadn’t slipped on.

I was still naked.

I froze, my heart pounding as I glanced around the room. My sisters, Valeria and Natalya, were already awake, dressed and fussing over their hair and makeup in front of the small mirror on the dresser. They were whispering to each other, their voices low but laced with amusement. I didn’t need to hear the details to know they were talking about me. My bag of clothes, which I had left by the foot of the bed, was gone. Panic surged through me as I scanned the room again, hoping I’d just missed it. But no—it was gone.

“Where are my clothes?” I asked, my voice tight with frustration.

Valeria turned to me, her lips curling into a smirk. “Good morning to you too, Maya. Sleep well?”

“Where are my clothes?” I repeated, ignoring her jab.

Natalya giggled, her eyes darting to the empty spot where my bag had been. “Maybe you don’t need them. You seemed pretty comfortable without them yesterday.”

I shot her a glare, but before I could respond, the door creaked open, and my mom walked in. She was holding a cup of coffee, her expression calm and unreadable. Her eyes flicked to me, still buried under the covers, and then to my sisters, who were now openly laughing.

“Mom,” I said, my voice pleading, “where are my clothes?”

She took a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze steady on me. “Why do you want clothes, Maya? After yesterday, I thought you’d decided you didn’t need them. You should think as if you’ve never worn clothes.”

I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. Was she serious? My mom, the woman who had spent my entire life lecturing me about propriety and family reputation, was now suggesting I go without clothes? I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or trying to teach me some kind of twisted lesson.

“Mom, this isn’t funny,” I said, my voice rising. “I need my clothes. Where are they?”

She set her coffee cup down on the dresser and crossed her arms, her expression softening just a little. “Maya, yesterday you made a choice. A very public, very bold choice. If you’re going to stand by that choice, then you need to own it. No half-measures.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “This isn’t about owning anything. This is about me not wanting to walk around naked in front of the entire family!”

My mom sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Sweetheart, I’m not saying you have to walk around naked. But maybe this is a good time to think about why you did what you did yesterday. What were you trying to prove? To yourself? To us?”

I didn’t have an answer. Or at least, not one I was ready to share. The truth was, I didn’t fully understand why I’d done it either. It had felt like an act of rebellion, a way to push back against the suffocating expectations that had always defined my life. But now, in the cold light of morning, it just felt ... embarrassing.

“I wasn’t trying to prove anything,” I muttered, pulling the covers tighter around me. “I was just ... hot.”

My mom raised an eyebrow. “Hot enough to strip in front of your entire family?”

“Yes!” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “I was hot, and I was tired, and I was sick of feeling like I had to be someone I’m not. So yeah, I took my clothes off. Big deal.”

My sisters burst out laughing, and even my mom couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Well,” she said, standing up, “if it’s such a big deal, then maybe you should think about why it felt so freeing. And maybe,” she added, her tone turning sly, “you should think about why you’re so desperate to cover up now.”

I groaned again, flopping back onto the bed. “This is ridiculous.”

“Life is ridiculous,” my mom said, picking up her coffee cup and heading for the door. “Your clothes are in the laundry room. If you want them, you’ll have to go get them.”

I stared at her, horrified. “You want me to walk through the house naked?”

She shrugged. “You did it yesterday. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that yesterday was an accident!” I protested. “Today would be ... intentional.”

My mom paused in the doorway, turning to look at me with a knowing smile. “Sometimes, Maya, the most intentional acts are the ones that mean the most. Think about it.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving me alone with my sisters, who were now laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

“This is not happening,” I muttered, pulling the covers over my head.

But as I lay there, the weight of my mom’s words settled over me. She was right, in her infuriating way. Yesterday hadn’t just been about the heat or the discomfort. It had been about something deeper—something I wasn’t ready to confront. And now, faced with the choice of staying hidden under the covers or stepping out into the world as I was, I realized I had a decision to make.

Did I want my clothes back? Or was I just trying to hide again?

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding as I slowly pushed the covers aside. My sisters stopped laughing, their eyes widening as they realized what I was about to do.

“Maya,” Valeria said, her voice tinged with disbelief, “you’re not going to—”

But I was already on my feet, the cool morning air brushing against my skin. I didn’t look at them as I walked to the door, my head held high. For the first time in a long time, I felt ... free. And maybe, just maybe, that was worth a little embarrassment.

I stepped out of the room, the cool tile floor beneath my feet sending a shiver up my spine. The hallway was quiet, the faint hum of conversation drifting from the common area where the rest of the family had gathered. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my head high, my shoulders squared. If I were going to do this, I was going to own it. No half-measures, just like my mom had said.

As I rounded the corner into the common area, the room fell silent. Every head turned in my direction, eyes wide, and mouths hanging open. My aunts, uncles, cousins—even my little nieces and nephews—stopped mid-sentence to stare at me. My parents were seated on the couch, my dad with his morning coffee and my mom with her ever-present mug of tea. They both looked up, their expressions unreadable.

For a moment, no one said a word. Then, my uncle Carlos broke the silence with a loud, incredulous laugh. “Maya! What in the world are you doing?”

I shrugged, forcing a casual smile. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

My aunt Maria gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just witnessed a crime. “Maya, put some clothes on! This is a family gathering, not ... not whatever this is!”

I glanced at my mom, who was watching me with a faint smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She didn’t say a word, but her expression said it all: This is your moment. Own it.

“Mom,” I said, turning to her, “remember I left all of my clothes at home. This is the only thing I have to wear for the wedding and going home.”

The room erupted into chaos. My relatives began talking over each other, their voices rising in a cacophony of shock, laughter, and outrage. My dad, usually the calm and collected one, looked like he was about to have a heart attack. He set his coffee cup down with a loud clatter and stood up, his face red.

“Maya, this is not funny,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “Go put some clothes on right now.”

I crossed my arms, standing my ground. “I can’t, Dad. I don’t have any. Unless you want to lend me something?”

My little cousin Diego, who was about six years old, piped up from the corner. “Why is Maya naked? Is she going to the wedding like that?”

His mom, my aunt Sofia, quickly shushed him, but the damage was done. The room erupted into laughter again, and even my dad couldn’t suppress a small chuckle. My mom, however, remained calm, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Maya,” she said, her voice steady, “if this is how you want to present yourself to the world, then that’s your choice. But you need to understand that choices have consequences. Are you ready to face them?”