Dad is 18 again... but now in a skirt

1

Andrew stood, leaning against a wall of golden tiles, trying not to betray the panic brewing inside him. In one hand, he clutched a worn college brochure; in the other, a backpack full of documents. A red T-shirt, slightly too short for him, and a floral skirt that hung loosely to his knees still felt like a Halloween costume. But to the eyes of passersby, it looked perfectly normal. More than that, even.

Guys passing by stole furtive glances at his slim figure. Girls—some with envy, others with approval—studied him as if he were a new competitor.

Just yesterday, he had been a 37-year-old man with a promising job at an advertising agency, two kids, and, to be honest, major marital issues and a laundry list of misunderstandings with his wife. But everything had changed after his idle wish, "I wish I could start over," coincided with his wife's exasperated muttering, "I wish you'd understand me for once." The curse—or as the mysterious old man at the antique shop had called it, the gift—had turned him into a freshman girl at his alma mater.

Andrew had woken up to the grating buzz of an old alarm clock—a relic from his childhood with a cheap polyphonic ringtone blaring on the nightstand. He reached for it, fumbling to silence it without opening his eyes. But something immediately felt off. The phone seemed smaller, almost shrunken, light as a toy. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw a blue screen with the date displayed on it: September 2004.

But that wasn’t the strangest thing. His hand… his fingers—long, slender, with neatly manicured nails slightly longer than he was used to. He stared at them, turning his palms over and inspecting each finger. Startled, he dropped the phone onto the bed.

— What the… — he murmured, freezing mid-sentence. His voice! High, soft, completely alien.

He sat up sharply and immediately felt an unfamiliar weight shift on his chest, moving awkwardly with his sudden motion. His eyes darted downward. Beneath the thin beige fabric of a nightgown, faint but unmistakable outlines of small, feminine breasts became visible. He touched them, desperate for the illusion to shatter, but the warmth of his palm made it undeniable. They were real.

— No, no, no… — Andrew whispered, panic swelling like a tidal wave. He tried to stand, but something silky and soft slipped down over his face, blocking his view. Hair. Long hair, brushing against his cheeks and shoulders. He swiped at it with his hand, but it stubbornly fell back into place, as if determined to remind him of its presence.

Andrew tried to focus, but everything around him was blurry, as though someone had smeared water over a painting. Even the outline of the bed in front of him looked distorted.

“What the hell is wrong with my eyes?” Andrew fought to suppress a scream bubbling in his throat. Everything around him blurred as if he were seeing the world through a fogged window. He rubbed his eyes with clenched fists, but it didn’t help. It took him a few seconds to realize that he could barely see now. A memory flashed in his mind—his wife, Samantha, endlessly complaining about her poor eyesight, angrily cleaning her glasses. Her words, “You don’t understand what it’s like,” echoed bitterly in his head, a retort to the jokes he’d made at her expense.

Andrew’s hand shot out, searching for glasses, but it bumped into something else. A small object fell from the nightstand with a dull thud.

— Dammit! — he hissed. His fingers finally found the frame of a small pair of glasses. He was just about to put them on when a raspy voice interrupted him from somewhere nearby.

— Mmm… Keep it down, will you? — The voice came from the side, hoarse and groggy. Andrew froze. Someone else was in the room.

— Who’s there? — he snapped, his voice trembling with tension as his mind scrambled to make sense of the situation. His fingers fumbled with the glasses perched on the edge of the bed, and he shakily slid them on. The world sharpened slightly, but it still wasn’t the clarity he once knew. The room looked painfully familiar yet completely different. Small and cramped, with faded pink wallpaper that had probably been hung twenty years ago, the place resembled the dormitory from his youth. But now it looked… too girly.

2

Above the bed where he had woken up hung a poster of some guy against the backdrop of a sunset. On the makeshift nightstand—a repurposed suitcase—sat a small jar of cream and a thin glossy magazine. On the floor by the wall lay two more suitcases, one of them half-open, spilling out a heap of women’s clothes. The shoes in the corner clearly didn’t belong to a man either: a pair of heeled sandals, light-pink sneakers… Andrew swallowed hard, feeling the wave of panic rising again.

— I told you to keep it down! — grumbled a raspy voice from the other side of the room.

Andrew whipped his head around. On the neighboring bed, just as narrow, with a dark maroon blanket covering it, lay a girl. Wrapped in a blanket, she had turned her head to the side, her tousled chestnut hair sticking out messily from beneath its edge. One eye cracked open, shooting a tired, irritated look at Andrew.

— Couldn’t you just sleep a little longer? — she mumbled sleepily. — Seriously, maybe try setting your alarm quieter…

Andrew tried to say something, but his voice stuck in his throat. The girl yawned and shut her eyes again, burrowing even deeper into the blanket.

"What the hell is going on here?" — the thought crossed Andrew’s mind as he looked down. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was still wearing a nightgown. The beige color, the thin fabric… It disgustingly reminded him of his wife’s pajamas. He ran his hands over the fabric, as if testing whether it was real. Suddenly, his chest reminded him of its presence again, pressing firmly against his forearms. Andrew jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over a pair of slippers by the bed.

Long hair tickled his neck and fell into his eyes, the nightgown’s lightness and unfamiliar texture making him feel even more out of place. Glancing around, his gaze landed on a small, round mirror in a white plastic frame sitting on the nightstand. He grabbed it, hesitating for a moment before looking, terrified but unable to stop himself.

— Oh my God… — he exhaled.

A woman’s face stared back at him. His features, but softer, more delicate. The same eye shape, but now framed by long lashes. The same nose, but slimmer. Damn it, it was like staring at a female version of himself. The eyebrows on the face in the mirror furrowed, mirroring his panic. Andrew raised a hand and touched his cheek. The face in the mirror mirrored the motion.

— What are you messing around with over there? — the voice from the bed came again. His roommate abruptly sat up, propping herself up on one elbow. Her half-open eyes narrowed at Andrew with irritation. — Seriously, “Miss Early Bird,” it’s way too early, and you’re making a racket. Chill out, will you? Or are you one of those nerds who shows up an hour early to class just to grab a seat?

Andrew didn’t reply. He froze, staring at her. The girl sighed and brushed her hair off her face irritably.

— What, cat got your tongue? — she smirked, rubbing her eyes. — Oh… Well, whatever. What was your name again? You told me yesterday… Amanda? Amelia? Remind me?

Andrew paled. "Name? What name?!" — his eyes darted around the room until they landed on a small plastic rectangle on the table. He grabbed it and saw what it was—a student ID. The photo… a female version of his face. The name: Andrea Brooks.

— An-An… Andrea? — he stammered, barely able to speak.

— Well, An-An-Andrea, — she mocked him with a smirk, mimicking his stutter, — you’re kind of weird, miss-s-s…

She paused, raising an eyebrow as if searching her mind for a snarky nickname. Andrew—or, as the student ID now declared, Andrea—stood frozen with the plastic card in his trembling hands. His eyes darted quickly over the text printed on it:

Andrea Brooks

Faculty: Museology and Heritage Management

Group: 1-A

Year: 2004

"Museology?!" — the thought struck him like lightning. This was the same program which finished his wife and he had always called "a haven for hopeless romantics" during arguments with his wife. And now… now he was enrolled in it?! He almost laughed, but the sound got stuck somewhere between his throat and his overwhelming confusion.

— Hello? Earth to An-An-Andrea! — his roommate finally snapped, clapping her hands loudly against her knees and laughing. — Congrats, you’ve officially woken me up. — She slid off her bed, pulling on an old hoodie and lazily shuffling toward her suitcase. — Are you always this noisy in the morning? Yesterday you seemed… normal.

…

3

The morning’s events were still spinning in Andrew’s head as he stood against the wall of golden tiles. Or… Andrea’s. The name might have technically been his, but with that feminine twist, it still sounded strange. Just a few hours ago, he’d been struggling to wriggle out of a nightgown, agonizing over what to wear, while his roommate, already boiling water for coffee, merely smirked, watching his frantic indecision.

The skirt and T-shirt had seemed modest enough, but even so, he still felt far too feminine. Now, standing here, he felt awkward and exposed. The skirt fluttered lightly in the breeze, while the red T-shirt clung to his slender frame, constantly reminding him how fragile his new body was. He felt like everyone was watching him. The girls were appraising him; the guys… their stares were something else entirely. It was unnervingly unfamiliar.

But what really distracted him was the boy standing a short distance away. Tall, with dark, slightly messy hair sticking out in different directions, he looked like he didn’t quite belong here. His eyes darted around nervously, matching Andrew’s own unease, while his hands fidgeted with the strap of his backpack. There was something about him that felt… familiar.

Andrew frowned, staring harder. The nose? The shape of the eyes? Or maybe it was the awkward, almost apologetic posture? Something about this boy made his heart skip a beat. “Why does he seem so familiar?” — the thought flashed through his mind.

The boy suddenly turned his head, and their eyes met. Andrew’s breath caught in his throat. There was a flicker of surprise in the boy’s expression—almost shock—as though he, too, was trying to figure out where he knew this girl from.

— Aha, caught you, — a voice suddenly broke the silence next to him. It was his roommate, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. — Who’re you staring at, huh? — She giggled, her eyes sliding toward the boy. — Oh wow, not a bad choice, — she added with a smirk, throwing an arm casually around Andrew.

— What? No, I wasn’t… — Andrew tried to object, but the words caught in his throat. He looked helplessly at his roommate, who kept grinning like she knew exactly what was going through his mind.

— Oh my God, look at you blushing! You’re such a little cutie! — she teased, nudging Andrea lightly with her elbow. — Relax, I’ll help you out.

Before Andrea could react, she turned toward the boy, who had clearly noticed their attention and now stood frozen, looking as though he was considering making a run for it.

— Hey, you! — she called out loudly, waving her hand with exaggerated enthusiasm. — Yeah, you! Don’t be shy, come here!

Andrea froze in place. He wanted to object, to stop her, but his voice refused to cooperate. The boy, visibly flustered, glanced around as if to check whether she was addressing someone else, then reluctantly began walking toward them, his steps hesitant, as though he expected this to be some kind of trap.

— Hi! I’m Lexi, roommate to this adorable little shy one, — she said brightly, gesturing toward Andrea. — Her name’s Andrea, by the way, — Lexi added, her sly smile practically pushing Andrea toward the boy with sheer enthusiasm. — And what about you? Or should I just make up a nickname for you, Mr. Bashful?

The boy, initially disoriented, suddenly gave a nervous smile. He extended a hand, clearly trying to appear confident, though the movement was a bit stiff, as if he wasn’t used to such gestures.

4

— I… Sama… — he began, stumbling slightly before quickly correcting himself. — I mean, Samuel. Well… just Sam.

The word Sam echoed in Andrew’s mind like a thunderclap. He felt his hands go cold for a moment, and something inside him seemed to break. But the face… Sam’s face. It couldn’t be. And yet… those features, that look.

— Andrea, — Lexi nudged her in the side with her elbow. — Did you go deaf? Say hi already!

— Oh, yeah… Andrea, — mumbled Andrew, lightly brushing Sam’s outstretched hand with his own. Inside, conflicting emotions tore him apart. On one hand, he felt a burning humiliation, realizing that here he was, in a girl’s body, shaking hands with a guy who was looking at him as if he were a woman—it was absurd and degrading. On the other hand, this awkwardness was strangely mixed with something… else. Something sharp, unfamiliar, and terrifying. Excitement? Sam looked at him differently than any man had ever looked at Andrew before. His gaze was slightly soft, a little shy, but penetrating, as if he recognized her. As if they had known each other their whole lives but couldn’t quite remember where from.

— Nice to meet you, — said Sam, squinting slightly, as if trying to discern something in her face. — You look… hmm, familiar.

Andrea swallowed nervously and raised her eyes to his face again.

— You… do too, — she said cautiously, barely able to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Lexi, oblivious to the tension hanging between them, crossed her arms and watched the scene unfold with obvious amusement.

— Ooo, familiar faces? Must be fate! — she said smugly, her tone so self-satisfied that Andrea wanted to throttle her.

— What’s your major? — she asked sharply, trying to redirect the conversation.

— Me? — Sam averted his eyes, scratching the back of his neck as if the question made him even more nervous. — I’m… uh… engineering physics.

Andrea exhaled, but the breath turned into a short, nervous laugh. Engineering physics. That was her faculty. It was where she had studied back when she was still Andrew.

— Engineering physics? — Andrew repeated, his voice tight, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

— Yeah. Well… something like that. — Sam looked at the surprised girl with a slight smile, though confusion still lingered in his eyes. — What about you?

— Museology, — she said, her voice nearly breaking into laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

Sam blinked and then unexpectedly broke into a wide grin.

— Museology, — he repeated with sudden enthusiasm, as if the word had sparked a memory. — What’s your focus? Collection management? Conservation? Or maybe the cultural contexts of artifacts?

Andrew froze. The question was too precise, as if Sam knew the faculty inside out. She blinked a few times, feeling her suspicions deepen.

— Um… they said it’s… sort of a little bit of everything, — Andrew’s voice wavered slightly. He tried desperately to look confident but internally scrambled to remember anything about museology from what his wife had once passionately described.

— A little bit of everything? Sounds like an intro course. They’re probably talking about the connections between collection storage and — He abruptly cut himself off, as if realizing he was getting carried away. — Anyway, doesn’t matter, — he added quickly, but his gaze lingered on Andrea just a moment too long.

5

Andrew’s suspicions were no longer just suspicions. He was about to voice his thoughts when Lexi suddenly interrupted, diving into the conversation with such enthusiasm that both he and Sam turned to her involuntarily.

— Hey, Mr. Physicist, did you wander onto the wrong faculty by any chance? — her voice was half-mocking, half-playful. — How do you know so much about museology? Or is your secret hobby quoting textbooks on first dates?

She giggled, adding a dash of sarcasm to her words, clearly enjoying the situation. Sam looked a little flustered, his smile turning strained.

— No, no, I just… I’ve heard a lot, that’s all, — he replied quickly, glancing away.

Andrea froze, as if time had stopped. Sam’s words—the tone, the inflection, even his expression when he spoke about museology—all of it came together in a single, impossible realization. It was Samantha.

Her chest tightened painfully, making it hard to breathe. Everything inside her screamed, “This can’t be real! But he talks like her! And that face—it’s definitely her!”

Lexi was still standing next to her, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She was clearly savoring the moment. Leaning toward Andrea, she whispered in her ear:

— He’s totally into you; it’s obvious! Go on, ask him out for coffee. Trust me, guys love it when girls take the lead.

Andrea blushed so fiercely it felt like her entire face was on fire.

— What? No, it’s not like that, he’s just… — she started, but Lexi only chuckled.

— Just look at the way he’s staring at you, — Lexi whispered with a mischievous smile. Then, giving Andrea a playful slap on the shoulder, she said loudly: — Well, good luck, lovebirds! I’m off to find myself some coffee while the sparks are flying here.

Before Andrea could protest, Lexi turned and walked away, waving cheerfully as she left.

Now they were alone. The awkward tension between them hung in the air like a storm cloud. Sam shifted nervously from foot to foot, his gaze flicking between Andrea’s face and the ground. Andrea, feeling like she was about to explode, made up her mind and looked directly at him.

— Sam, — her voice was softer than she had expected, but there was a newfound confidence in it. — You really remind me of someone. A lot.

Sam looked up, his eyes locking onto Andrea’s face. Something like shock flickered in them.

— You do too, — he said quietly. — It’s… strange, isn’t it?

Andrea stepped closer, her hands trembling slightly. She took a deep breath, trying to summon all her courage—now purely metaphorical.

— Sam, — she began, then swallowed hard. — This is probably going to sound crazy, but… you wouldn’t happen to be… Samantha, would you?

He froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Then an expression of denial and confusion flashed across his face.

— A-Andrew? — Sam repeated, his voice trembling as his face flushed red, either with anger or shock. He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge an unbearable thought, and took a step back. — Is this some kind of… joke? Or am I losing my mind?

Andrea was just as stunned. She couldn’t tell what she felt more: relief at finally recognizing Samantha in Sam, or sheer terror at how utterly ridiculous the situation was.

— No, you’re not losing your mind. — Andrea raised her hands, as if trying to calm a wild animal. — I know it sounds insane, but it’s really me. Andrew. And you… you’re Samantha?

6

Sam nervously ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around as if searching for something to confirm or disprove what he’d just heard. Then he looked back at Andrea, his face a mixture of confusion and conflict.

— Do you understand how this looks? How it sounds? — his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. — This… this is impossible. I woke up like this, and now you… You even look like… like that, — he gestured toward her outfit, his voice breaking into a nervous laugh. — This… You…? Why the hell are you dressed like that?

— Samantha, please don’t start freaking out, — Andrea snapped, a strange confidence bubbling up now that she knew she wasn’t alone in this madness. She knew where this could lead if she didn’t stop it now. — It’s me! Andrew! I don’t know how, but it happened, and don’t you dare laugh at me! I woke up in this body, in this situation, and I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is going on!

— Do you understand anything, Andrew? — Samantha shot back sharply, her brow furrowing. — You never tried to understand anything. You only ever cared about your job, your wants, your thoughts! Everything happening to me or the kids—it was always background noise to you! And now you… — she let out a humorless laugh, one devoid of joy. — Now you’re demanding that I don’t laugh?

— I didn’t… — Andrea felt a lump rise in her throat and bit her tongue, clenching her teeth. — I just wanted you to stop acting like a bitch, but apparently, that’s impossible. So yeah, I wanted a fresh start! I wanted to fix everything! And now it seems that this stupid wish for a fresh start…

Samantha’s head snapped up, her expression showing how deeply the word “bitch” had struck her, even though she tried not to let it show. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt, but she said nothing. The silence felt odd, as if she was remembering something important that suddenly silenced her.

Andrew, convinced he’d “won” the argument, furrowed his brow and pressed on, completely oblivious to her reaction.

— I get why we’re back in the past, okay? I can even accept that this is some kind of metaphor or, hell, magic. But why am I a girl? Why am I on this faculty? Why do I have your shitty eyesight and these stupid glasses?!

His voice was rising, frustration building, until he noticed Samantha close her eyes and clench her jaw as if fighting some internal battle. Suddenly, he stopped mid-sentence, struck by a thought that froze his heart.

— Wait… — he began slowly, narrowing his eyes as he took a small step back. — You… You know something, don’t you? — There was a note of confused suspicion in his voice.

Samantha opened her eyes, her gaze a mix of conflicting emotions—disgust at the situation, uncertainty, and inner turmoil. She remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking in a near whisper:

— It’s because I… I made a wish too.

Andrea froze, uncomprehending.

— What did you wish for?

— I wished for you to understand me, — Samantha exhaled, avoiding his gaze. — To see the world the way I see it. To finally understand what I go through every day. But this…

Her words hit Andrea like a hammer to the head. Everything in his mind flipped upside down. He took a step back, struggling to process what he’d just heard.

— You… wished for this? — his voice trembled. — Are you telling me that you’re the reason I… I became…

— No! — Samantha cut him off sharply, her voice tense, almost hysterical. — I didn’t know this would happen! I just… I was so angry at you, Andrew. You never listened, you never even tried to understand! And that old man… he said my words would help us. That they’d help you see things the way I do.

7

Andrew stared at her, unable to believe what he was hearing. His breathing quickened, and his hands trembled as they gripped the strap of his backpack.

— So this is all because of you? — he hissed through clenched teeth, feeling a hot wave of anger surge through him.

— Hey, hey, what’s with the drama here? — Lexi’s voice chimed in as she approached, holding two ice cream cones. — You just met, and it’s already so intense. What’s going on?

Andrea spun around, her face blazing with a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion. Sam nervously looked away, clenching his jaw. Lexi raised her eyebrows, giving Sam a once-over like he was the sole culprit.

— Nothing, — Andrea snapped, trying to pull herself together. She knew Lexi couldn’t find out the truth—it would only make everything more complicated.

— Oh, sure, nothing, — Lexi said theatrically, rolling her eyes before jabbing one of the ice cream cones in Sam’s direction. — It’s you, isn’t it? What did you say to her? Apologize right now, or I swear I’ll smash this in your face!

— What? — Sam blinked, glancing around in confusion. — I… I didn’t say anything…

— Listen here, “didn’t say anything,” — Lexi cut him off, pulling a face like she’d just heard the lamest excuse ever. She shoved one of the cones into Andrea’s hand. — Here, take this. And as for you, Mr. Physicist, if you’re going to make my new friend cry, trust me, I’ll show you how it’s done properly. Got it?

— Everything’s fine! — Andrea blurted out, her voice coming out louder than she’d intended. She raised her hand as if trying to physically stop Lexi. — And I’m not crying!

But Lexi shot her a look that clearly said, “Sure, keep telling yourself that.” Then she turned to Andrea and slung an arm around her shoulders, deliberately turning her away from Sam.

— Forget it. Let’s go. We’ll be late for class. You’re too nice to tell him he upset you, but I’ve got no problem doing it for you. — Lexi grinned, steering her forward.

— But… — Andrea began, her voice trembling.

— No buts! — Lexi cut her off with a laugh. — Honestly, at first, I thought he was cute, but now… — she huffed. — What a loser. Kind of weird, right? I thought he was normal, but turns out I was wrong. He might look good, but deep down… total wimp. Ew, I hate guys like that.

Sam remained standing where he was, watching as Andrea walked away with Lexi. His expression was a storm of mixed emotions—confusion, hurt, and… a strange sense of familiarity. Andrea turned back for a second, catching his gaze. Something twisted inside her. But Lexi was pulling her forward, and she kept moving, clutching the ice cream cone in her hand like some absurd symbol of this bizarre new reality. She felt small, helpless, as if someone was protecting her—but not in the way she was used to. Now she was the “weak girl” being shielded by another girl from a guy.

— Don’t worry about it, — Lexi continued, oblivious to Andrea’s turmoil. — There are plenty of good guys out there. You just need to wait a bit. Or, you know, take the initiative. You’re cute, you must realize that!

Andrea barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “Cute.” The word felt like an insult, yet it still made her cheeks flush.

— Thanks, Lexi, — she muttered, trying to mask her sarcasm.

— Oh! And you’re even cuter with ice cream, — Lexi teased, laughing. — It suits you, you know? Add a couple of braids, and bam! You’re the star of a rom-com!

Andrea closed her eyes for a moment, feeling like she was about to explode. She took a deep breath, swallowing the urge to chuck the damn ice cream onto the ground. Instead, she followed Lexi silently, her thoughts in turmoil.

A long day lay ahead—full of new discoveries, humiliations, and strange conversations. And now Andrea couldn’t decide what bothered her more: her new life and how to escape it, the fact that Sam turned out to be Samantha, or the unsettling realization that deep down, she felt a small, twisted satisfaction seeing Samantha just as confused and lost as she was.