Morning light barely reaches your eyes when you wake up—because you can’t move.

Something heavy is pressing you into the mattress. Your first instinct is to push it away, but your arms barely respond. They feel thin, powerless, shaking uselessly as you struggle. Panic flickers through you as you realize how weak you are. Your body doesn’t obey you anymore.

Then you open your eyes properly.

Your girlfriend Aren is on top of you, straddling your waist, her weight solid and overwhelming. Her tight white T-shirt clings to a chest and arms that didn’t exist yesterday, muscles clearly defined, real, heavy. Dark blue briefs, broad thick thighs, strength everywhere you look. Her black hair is tied into a bun, and her bright blue eyes sparkle with excitement as she looks down at you.

You try to lift her off—nothing happens. Your muscles are gone. Completely gone.

She shifts slightly, and the bed creaks under her. She notices your struggle and smiles wider, clearly enjoying it.

“Morning,” she says softly, amused.

That’s when it hits you fully. The strength you lost—the weight, the power, every muscle—you see it all on her now.

You’re weak. She’s strong. And she knows it.