Evening Guest

Part 1

I was sitting on the couch, lazily flipping through TV channels. As usual, there was nothing interesting on, but for me, switching channels was a kind of meditation. Ha, maybe. It was Friday evening, and I probably should have gone out for a drink with friends, but—what friends, really, when you’re 37 and you…

DING!

A sudden doorbell chime yanked me out of my apathetic state. I even flinched, dropping the remote to the floor. Who the hell could it be? I wasn’t expecting anyone. It was late, and I lived alone. My heart started pounding nervously, and a few unpleasant scenarios flashed through my mind—anything from an annoying neighbor to something much worse.

I cautiously approached the door and looked through the peephole…

A girl was standing outside.

No, not just a girl.

She was a goddess in human form. Tall, slender, dressed in a tight white dress that didn’t hide her curves but rather emphasized them. In one hand, she held a glass of red wine, and her gaze was directed downward, as if she was studying something on the floor. She must have gotten the wrong door or something—there was no way she was here for me...

Then she lifted her eyes.

And as if she realized I was standing behind the door watching her, she waved her delicate hand and smiled—so soft, so sweet—that my knees almost gave out. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and stepped away from the door. My heart was hammering like I had just run a marathon. Who was she? What did she want?

— Mike, come on, open up already.

Her voice was… mesmerizing. Quiet, but commanding. There was something strangely familiar about it. A shiver ran down my spine. My heart thundered in my chest, my palms grew sweaty. Who the hell was she? How did she know my name?

I swallowed hard, nerves twisting into a tight knot. My brain was running slow, but my gut was screaming: Don’t open the door.

But my body had other plans.

A click of the lock. The door slowly creaked open.

She stood right in front of me.

Tall, slender, with dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and hoop earrings dangling from her ears—my favorite look on a woman. The white dress hugged her figure so tightly, it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was thin, almost sheer—her curves clearly outlined beneath, the swell of her breasts, her nipples pressing against the fabric, the panties clinging to her hips. On her feet—black high-heeled sandals. One hand still held the wine glass, the other hung loosely by her side.

She was exactly how I imagined the perfect woman.

She smelled sweet, warm… vanilla, a faint hint of alcohol, the scent of a woman’s skin. She was looking straight at me—her eyes filled with amusement and… curiosity? As if she was evaluating me.

— Finally. — She smiled, taking a sip of wine. — Mike, you have no idea how much I have to tell you.

I swallowed.

— Who are you? — My voice came out hoarse, like I’d just downed a bottle of whiskey.

She stepped forward. Instinctively, I stepped back, and she slipped inside, leaving behind a faint trace of her perfume. Her movements were light and effortless as she shut the door, while I just stood there, stunned, trying to figure out—why the hell did I let her in?

She turned around, lazily leaning against the door, taking another sip of wine. Her lips glistened slightly under the dim light of my ceiling lamp, and for a moment, I had the impression that she was savoring not just the drink but also my reaction.

— Oh, Mikey… maybe you could at least show some hospitality and invite a lady in? — Her voice was smooth, teasing, as if she already knew exactly how I’d react.

I blinked. Shit, what the hell is going on? Why did I let her in? Why didn’t I just say, "Wrong door," slam it shut, and go back to my mindless channel surfing? That’s what I should have done. That’s what I always do. But now… I felt like I wasn’t in control of myself.

— Um… I… — The words stuck in my throat, but my survival instincts were still kicking. — This is all… weird.

I took a step back, watching her warily. This could be a prank. Maybe Steven set me up? Or, worse—she was a lunatic. Or a thief. I was about to say she should leave, but she suddenly chuckled and, slipping past me, moved deeper into the room with the kind of grace only a woman who knows she’s in charge can pull off. The wine in her glass swayed slightly, but not a single drop spilled.

— No, Steven has nothing to do with this, and I’m not a thief. — She spoke without turning around, a smirk evident in her voice.

I froze. What? How the hell…

— And I’m not crazy, either. — She continued, spinning gracefully on her heel to face me again, that same smirk playing on her lips. — Well… I guess that’s debatable.

She took a few more steps, light, effortless, almost like dancing, as she looked around my apartment.

— Oh wow, it’s all just like I remember… — She dragged a finger across a dusty shelf and glanced at it. — Even this pathetic little magazine with "hot babes." Seriously, Mike? We should’ve thrown this out ages ago, and you’re still fantasizing about Stacy? Staring at some model? Get over her already.

Part 2

I froze. How the hell does she know all this? What the fuck is going on?!

— W-what?.. — I whispered, but my voice trembled, as if squeezed out of a parched throat.

She turned to me with a kind of half-smile—shit, is she mocking me? That’s my thing. And where the hell did she get all this information? About the magazine? About Stacy?

At that moment, she tilted her head as if studying me, squinting like a professor examining some strange museum artifact. Her chest hung slightly under the dress, making the thin fabric stretch even more, outlining her shape in clear detail. But there was something... off about her expression.

— Well, Mike, what can I say… You look like you just shit yourself, ha-ha! — Her voice suddenly changed. The softness, the smoothness disappeared, replaced by an exaggerated roughness, even a slight rasp.

I flinched.

— W-what?

But she just snorted, set her glass down on the table, then theatrically pulled out an imaginary pack of cigarettes from thin air, tapped it against her palm as if shaking one loose, put it between her lips, and pretended to light it.

— Yeah, bro, some real fucked-up shit going on, huh? — she muttered in a low voice, one that grated strangely in my ears with its coarse, eerily familiar tone.

I went cold.

She glanced at me sideways, savoring my reaction, then let out a noisy breath as if exhaling smoke and shook her head.

— Shit, I’m quitting, uhh… Haven’t smoked for a whole year, man, — she added, frowning, and then, as if irritated, flicked away the imaginary cigarette with a curse.

And then she burst out laughing.

Loud, sudden, mocking. She even threw her head back slightly, leaned back, and slapped her thigh—exactly how I laugh when something is so ridiculously funny that it’s more out of nerves than amusement.

— Sorry, couldn’t resist, — she lifted her glass with grace, took a sip, then ran her tongue over her lips.

I swallowed. What. The. Fuck.

— W-what the... — My voice broke. I felt an icy chill crawl down my spine. — Who the fuck are you?!

She tilted her head, studying me as if deciding what to do next. Her lips slowly curled into a smile, but her eyes gleamed with mockery.

— Oh, come on, Mike, you’re not that stupid. You know exactly what’s happening here.

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump of fear and confusion lodged in my throat. Every cell in my body screamed: This can't be real.

But this woman—this goddamn familiar woman—stood in front of me, speaking in my words, moving like me, smirking like me.

And she looked…

— Shit… — I exhaled, grabbing the back of the couch as if it could keep me anchored in reality. — This… this is some kind of prank, right?

She rolled her eyes—exactly the way I do when someone is talking absolute bullshit.

— Jesus, Mike, do you even hear yourself? — She squinted, then lazily ran her fingers along her chin as if scratching a beard—then suddenly jerked her hand away. — Oh, old habit. Funny, huh? All these years in this body, and my hand still reaches for it. Can you imagine? By the way, do you still jerk off to…

She made a dramatic pause, relishing my reaction. I tensed, something inside me flipping over. The cold lump of fear twisted into something else… something much deeper.

— …the idea of turning into a chick?

It was like I got electrocuted. Heat and cold slammed into my head at the same time, sending a tremor through my entire body. I sucked in a breath, but it wasn’t enough. The world tilted.

What the fuck? No one. No one knows about this!

I stared at her, barely breathing. My heart pounded so loudly in my chest that the sound roared in my ears.

— I... I... I don’t... That’s not true! What the hell are you saying?!

She smiled, but this time it was softer, almost… sympathetic. She slowly stepped closer, her heels clicking in rhythm with my frantic heartbeat. Her dress rustled, revealing her thigh with every step.

Stopping just inches away, she tilted her head slightly, studying my face.

— Mike, — her voice was soft again, almost gentle. — Alright, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so blunt about our secret…

Her hand touched mine, slowly, but gently, pulling it up toward her chest. I didn’t even realize how my palm ended up pressed against her soft, warm, rounded mound, feeling the incredible firmness through the thin fabric of her dress.

I shuddered. My hand twitched, but she didn’t let me pull away. Her fingers tightened around my wrist, pressing it firmly against her, and under my fingertips, I could feel the taut, hardened peak of her nipple.

She let out a quiet breath, barely audible, but the sound hit me like lightning to the back of the head. I felt the heat rising from my stomach to my throat.

— What are you doing? — My voice came out hoarse, stuck somewhere in my dry throat. — I… I can’t… this is…

She tilted her head slightly, that mysterious half-smile playing on her lips—a mix of amusement and something… else. She even blushed a little, but her gaze remained firm.

— Can’t what, Mike? — Her voice was soft, almost an echo in my mind. — Touch your own chest?

I ripped my hand away as if burned, staring at her face. But now I knew—I had seen that face before.

I had definitely seen it. In FaceApp. When I made my female version.

What. The. Fuck.

Part 3

— Go to hell! — I exhaled, backing away and grabbing the back of the couch. — This… This is bullshit! You can't be me!

I said it and immediately realized I'd spoken out loud. Shit, no, no, I need to think of something.

She laughed. A bright, husky laugh with a teasing edge—exactly the way I laughed when I tried to hide my awkwardness.

— Jesus, Mike, — she breathed out, shaking her head, — this is such déjà vu. I’m telling you, I had the exact same reaction. Almost word for word.

I sucked in air sharply.

— What the hell are you even talking about?

She sighed, smoothing her dress and running her fingertips over her thigh, as if checking if everything sat perfectly. Then her gaze lifted back to me, and… something changed in it. A faint blush touched her cheeks, and she looked away, almost shy.

— Do you… like me? — her voice suddenly lost that mocking confidence from earlier. There was hesitation in it now, almost a childlike shyness, but at the same time, a hidden provocation.

I swallowed. Shit. My heart started pounding like crazy again. Why was she asking that? Why was she looking at me like that?

— W-what? — I took a step back but caught the edge of the rug and almost crashed onto the couch.

— Well… — she swayed her hip slightly, making the dress stretch just a bit over her figure. — I’ve imagined this meeting so many times over the years, you wouldn’t believe it, but…

She fell silent for a second, as if gathering her thoughts. Then she giggled. A light, almost girlish laugh.

— …but memories get mixed up, and honestly, you’re not the only one nervous right now. We both are. — She paused again, as if testing her own confidence, then smirked, swirling the wine in her glass. — God, this is so weird. You have no idea how much. I remember standing just like this, in your place… once. When all of this was just beginning. I feel like I’m even quoting her right now, and she… I mean, I…

She stared at me, and something in that look sent a sharp jolt through me.

— Enough with the cryptic bullshit. I… Okay, I get it, you’re me, right? But like, my female version, and—

— Shh… — Her finger slid over my lips, her nail lightly grazing the tip of my nose, sending a strange, ticklish sensation through me. She tilted her head slightly, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. — Just answer the question, Mike… Do you like me?

I swallowed hard. Shit, what kind of question is that?! In front of me stood the girl of my dreams—tall, slender, in a perfect dress, smelling of sweet vanilla perfume… She was smiling. That damn half-smile…

— I… — My throat tightened. — Yeah… but—

A wide grin spread across her face, and, to my surprise, she suddenly started spinning, arms outstretched. Her hair flew around her, and her dress, following her movements, slipped over her thighs like a light mist. Wine splashed from her glass, but she didn’t care. Wine splashed from her glass, but she didn’t care. She laughed—loud, reckless, like she had finally broken free.

I froze. It was both mesmerizing and terrifying to watch.

— Hey, stop, you’re gonna spill everything! — I took a step forward, reaching out to stop her. — What are you doing?

She stopped just as abruptly as she had started spinning, looked at me with a sly smile, and took a step closer. Now her face was right in front of mine, and that warm, intoxicating scent hit me again. She tilted her head slightly, squinting as if deep in thought.

— Sending you home, Mikey, — her voice was soft, almost tender, but there was something inevitable in it.

I blinked.

— Home? — I echoed, not immediately understanding. — What do you mean?

She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. Then her gaze locked onto mine again—sharp, direct, eerily familiar.

— You’ve never liked waiting, Mikey, — her voice dropped slightly, laced with a smirk. — And I’m exactly like you, LITERALLY, in case you forgot, so I can’t stand it either when someone drags things out.

Everything disappeared.

Darkness. Or rather, the complete absence of any light. The walls of my apartment, the magazines, the TV I had been absentmindedly flipping through earlier, bored of my everyday life, and, of course, the stains from the wine she had spilled. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel the air, feel myself, and a strange lightness in my body.

We were standing in emptiness. No, not quite emptiness. There was a floor, but it felt nonexistent. Like I was standing on the surface of a black mirror that reflected nothing except the strange, shifting space around us.

— Sorry for the rough transition, but this way is easier, — her voice echoed in my head, but I couldn’t see her. — You know we’ve always been straightforward.

— Where are you? Where the hell am I?! — My voice rang out, swallowed by the vast emptiness.

— Right here, Mikey, don’t be scared, — her voice was steady, but I could hear the hint of anticipation in it. Like she already knew exactly what I was going to ask next.

I tried to take a step forward, but the space around me rippled, like the surface of water. The black mirror beneath my feet remained solid, but its surface seemed to breathe, subtly vibrating.

— What is this place? — I swallowed. — And what the fuck is happening here?!

Part 4

— Mike, relax, — she said softly. — I know what you're feeling right now. I know because I've already lived through this moment.

I tensed up, my fingers gripping the air as if searching for something to hold on to.

— What? — My voice was hoarse, foreign even to myself. — What the hell are you talking about?

She suddenly emerged from the darkness again, standing before me in all her beauty. Her heels made no sound, yet I could feel every step she took, as if this damn emptiness was transmitting the vibrations straight into my chest.

— I was you, — she said, tilting her head slightly. — Or rather, I was Mike. Just like you. Standing exactly like this. Trembling, freaking out, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

— This is bullshit, — I jerked my head up. — Complete bullshit.

— Of course, — she smirked. — But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.

I felt my breath hitch. I was hot and cold at the same time.

— How… How is this even possible? Why now?

She shrugged.

— No idea. Just like you, I was simply living my life today, drinking wine with the girls, talking about what kind of manicure we wanted… And then — bam! — I found myself in your house, in this hallway I haven't seen in forever.

She made a theatrical gesture with her hand, pointing at the empty space around us.

— And I immediately knew my time had come. That now, I had to do the same thing she once did to me.

— Who?

She smiled.

— Me.

— W-what?!

She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, giggling like she was tired of explaining the obvious.

— Mike, just accept it. It'll be easier that way... I don’t know why this happens. I don’t know who came up with it. But the fact is, I’m here now, and you… — she leaned in toward me, her lips twitching into a teasing half-smile, — you're going home.

— I was home until you showed up!

She shook her head, still smiling, her hoop earrings swaying along with her movement, glinting in the darkness. There was a strange tenderness in her gaze, but also a shadow of inevitability.

— No, not that home. The other one. The one where you grew up, silly. — She chuckled slightly, tilting her head, her dark hair slipping off her shoulder, and her smile softened, turning almost pensive. — You’re going to live your life all over again. From nine years old. Only this time… you’ll be a girl.

— What the fuck!?!? — The words burst out of me, my voice cracking like I'd just been thrown into open space without a damn suit.

— Shh, Mikey, — she (or was it me?!) closed her eyes and smirked, like I had just said something ridiculous. — I’m telling you, I went through this too. And I probably said the exact same thing.

— You’re talking complete nonsense! — I took a step back, but felt the emptiness around me tighten, as if the space itself was reacting to my movements. — What the hell?! Why should I go back?! Why as a girl?! This makes no sense!

— And why do you think everything in this world has to make sense? — Her voice grew softer, but there was still a mocking edge to it. — You know damn well that wishes have power. Even the ones you bury deep. Even from yourself. Especially from yourself.

— I… — My breath caught, and a cold realization crept through my chest. Because she, goddamn it, was right. — No… This is just a fantasy, nothing more, I don’t want to be… I don’t want to be a fucking girl!

She crossed her arms and huffed in mock offense, her lips curving into a playfully pouty expression.

— Oh, Mikey, now that’s just rude, — she said, puffing out her cheeks before sighing and shaking her head. — But you know what? I get it. I used to think the same way. I even thought I wouldn’t let it happen again… God, what a stupid little girl I was.

— Look, just send me back to my apartment, and let’s forget this ever happened, okay? — As I spoke, I noticed something strange—my voice was changing. Not immediately, but gradually. The tone was… softer? No, that had to be my nerves. But then another detail hit me like a punch to the gut—she was getting taller. Or… was I getting shorter?

I blinked. My chest tightened with fear. No. Not this.

— Oh, here we go, — she drawled, watching me with a smirk. — Don’t worry, I know exactly what you’re feeling right now.

— W-what did you do?! — My voice wavered. I swallowed, and panic shot through me as I realized—my Adam’s apple… was gone? I ran a hand over my throat, over my skin, but there was nothing there.

She tilted her head, studying me like I was some kind of fascinating experiment.

— It’s not me doing this, Mikey, — her voice was sickeningly sweet, almost caring. — It’s you. I just set things in motion. Just like they did for me.

— What the hell are you talking about?! — I grabbed my head, feeling hair sprouting on my once-bald scalp, tickling my skin. My pulse pounded wildly, as if my brain was trying to process information that simply couldn’t be real. I could feel everything shifting inside me. My hands… they were smaller? My fingers thinner? This… this was just stress. Yeah. Adrenaline.

She just watched, amused, like I was some sort of entertaining experiment.

— Remember when you were nine? — she asked, her voice suddenly laced with nostalgia. — When you and your brother were messing around, and one day, you got bored, and you decided to put on a dress?

I froze.

How the hell did she know that?

Part 5

— You were playing. You were just a kid. It was fun. Nothing special, just a child trying on something unfamiliar. It was part of the game. You didn’t think about it—you just laughed when you saw yourself in the mirror.

I looked around in panic, but when I turned back to her, she seemed even bigger, even taller!

— You’re lying, — I hissed, but my voice… God, what’s wrong with my voice? It was already higher. Unnaturally young, maybe even girlish. I jerked back, but my legs… were they shorter? I looked down and saw that my jeans were too big now, swallowing me up.

— And then, when puberty came, — she continued, slowly stepping closer, — you didn’t understand why, but it started to excite you. The first time you decided to do it again. The feel of the fabric on your skin, the sense of secrecy… adrenaline. The fear of being caught. The forbidden nature of it. You didn’t know why, but it thrilled you.

I tried to breathe, but my chest was tightening. My body was getting lighter. Damn it, I barely reached her stomach now!

— And at fifteen, you stopped, — her voice dropped slightly, almost a gentle whisper. — Because one day, you looked at yourself in the mirror… and realized you didn’t like how it looked. It was ridiculous, wrong. You felt disgusted with yourself. With your face, your features. You realized you wouldn’t be a beautiful woman. It was disappointing. So you quit.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus, to stop this… whatever this was from taking me.

— But the desire never really went away, did it? — she went on, gently touching my cheek, and I shuddered as her fingers brushed against skin that was becoming smoother. — It just hid. Deeper and deeper. You started to hate it, to be ashamed of it. To lock it away. But it was always there with you.

— No, — I whispered, feeling strands of long hair sliding over my cheeks, brushing against my neck, softly clinging to my shoulders. They were weightless, like spider silk—silky, too light… not mine. Damn it, this wasn’t a hallucination. This was real.

I jerked my head, but the hair didn’t disappear—on the contrary, there was more of it. It tickled my back, cascaded heavily onto my shoulders. And then…

Everything disappeared.

The emptiness was gone, the strange black floor was gone, she was gone—I, standing across from myself, smirking as if she knew something I didn’t. It all collapsed into absolute darkness, into a cold void. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t.

And then…

I felt it first—warmth. It came from the wooden floor beneath my feet. No, not just a floor—parquet. Familiar. Too familiar. Warm sunlight streamed through the window, falling over me, and suddenly I felt the fabric of my clothes clinging to my skin. I blinked.

This wasn’t my apartment. I was… home. My parents’ house.

I recognized the floor instantly—the old creaking boards, the scent of dust mixed with something sweet, a smell I remembered from childhood. Slowly, I lifted my head. The room was bright, but the space felt… huge. Immense. I suddenly felt like the walls I had known all my life had stretched, grown taller, more massive.

No. They hadn’t gotten bigger. I had gotten smaller.

I dropped my gaze sharply.

The first thing I saw—a dress. Soft pink, with lace sleeves and a bow on the chest. Not mine. It wasn’t supposed to be on me. It was short, light, too loose around the shoulders but snug at the waist. I clenched my fingers into fists, feeling a strange lightness in my arms, in my body. I clenched my thin fingers tighter and lifted the hem—underneath, I found tights. Thin, white, hugging skinny, girlish legs. And my feet—damn, they were tiny!

There should be a mirror in the corner.

I spun around suddenly, my heart hammering like it was about to tear out of my chest. No, no, no… This is a dream. A glitch. I’m just… I’m just about to wake up. Everything will be fine. I just need… I need to look in the mirror.

I rushed toward it, nearly tripping over my own short, childlike legs as if I really had become… Ugh, no, that’s impossible! My legs trembled, but I kept moving forward until my palms slammed against the smooth surface of the old vanity mirror.

I froze.

A boy stared back at me from the mirror.

But not quite a boy.

His face was mine—the way I remembered it from childhood. The same eyes, the shape of the nose, the lips, even that faint expression of worry I had so often seen in my own reflection in old photos. But something was… off.

First, the hair.

It was long. Soft, gentle curls that fell around the face, draping over the shoulders. Second, the dress. Stupid, pink, girly, with that ridiculous bow. It clung tightly to the thin frame, emphasizing feminine curves that weren’t there yet—but were, thanks to this dress. And then… the tights.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

No. No. No.

Part 6

I slowly raised my hand and touched my face, my fingers trembling. The reflection in the mirror mimicked my movement—a delicate, girlish palm gently ran over my cheek. A shiver ran down my spine.

It was me.

But it wasn’t me.

It felt like a shock coursed through my body. All of this… wasn’t a dream. It was real. I was actually standing in my childhood home, in a child’s body—but not the child I used to be.

— No… no… — I mumbled, feeling how my voice had changed too. High. Childish. Thin.

And then, behind me, a voice spoke.

— Monica? What’s wrong?

I froze. Was that… for me? That voice. It was Mom’s voice, and… I didn’t want to look, but I could see in the reflection a woman’s figure standing behind me, smiling gently at me in the mirror.

— Ma… Mom? — I mumbled, turning around, unable to believe how my voice now sounded so young and high. I had to tilt my head back to look up at her.

But it wasn’t the mom I had known in recent years—not a tired woman with wrinkles and graying hair. It was my mom—young, just as I remembered her from my childhood. Her hair was dark, untouched by silver strands, her face fresh, youthful, with soft features, and her smile—so warm and full of life that my chest tightened.

I stared at her with wide eyes, unable to believe it. She was alive. Young. Just like back when I was a child.

— You already changed? Good girl, — her voice was gentle, and she smoothed my hair the way she always did when I was scared. — But why are you so red? You’re not getting sick, are you?

She crouched down so our eyes were level, her hands resting on my shoulders. She studied me closely, then smiled softly as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

— You must’ve gotten carried away playing dress-up, huh? — she chuckled. — Oh, what a dress you picked, sweetheart! Spun around too much in front of the mirror, and now your head is dizzy?

— I… I… — I wanted to say: "No, I wasn’t spinning around in front of the mirror, and I’m not tired! And I’m not your sweetheart! I’m your son!" But the words got stuck in my throat.

— Oh, my little one, it’s okay, Mommy’s here, — suddenly, she pulled me into a gentle hug.

My body instinctively tensed, but my hands… my hands… as if by habit, pressed against her back. She was warm. Real.

For some reason, a conversation with my parents flashed through my mind—when they once told me that if they had a girl, they would name her Monica, and if a boy—Mike. Monica. Damn, so this is real?

— Are you okay, sweetheart? — Mom pulled back a little, looking into my eyes. She was smiling, but there was something attentive, studying in her gaze. — You’re not sick for sure? You’re looking at me kind of funny…

I swallowed. Should I tell her the truth? That I’m her son? That this is some messed-up joke of the universe, and I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be… like this? No. Even if I tried, she wouldn’t understand. Because to her, I was her daughter. A little girl named Monica.

I took a shaky breath and forced myself to smile.

— N-no, I’m fine, Mom. Just… just a little dizzy.

— Oh, sweetheart, you must be tired. Come, sit down.

She took my hand—my small, thin, girlish hand—and led me to the bed. I let her, because I was too overwhelmed, too cornered. I could feel how this foreign body responded in ways it shouldn’t. How soft hair tickled my neck, how the dress was loose at the shoulders but strangely snug at the waist.

Damn…

I sat down, and Mom sat beside me, taking my hand. Her warmth was familiar, but at the same time… different.

— Maybe you’re hungry? — she asked kindly. — Want something sweet?

Sweet? God, I was going to be sick.

But I nodded.

— Yeah, — my voice was quiet. Girlish.

Mom smiled gently, stroking my hair before standing up.

— I’ll go to the kitchen then. You rest for now, okay?

I nodded, trying my hardest not to panic. When she left, I slowly looked down at my hands, then at my legs, then at the reflection in the mirror.

A girl. Small and fragile. God, I can’t believe that’s me. But it was me, and the nausea hit again. Everything felt too real, too big, too… I tugged at the collar of my dress, feeling how the thin fabric brushed against my collarbones, tickled my skin. Underneath it—my new body.

Not just small. Female.

Jesus, I’m nine.

I wasn’t Mike anymore, I wasn’t a grown man. I had become… Monica?

Is this my new life? And in a few years, will I have to do what that girl just did to me?

No… no, no, no…

If that’s how it’s supposed to be, then I... I won’t let it happen. I won’t send myself... that Mike... here.