You blink, and the world feels slightly unfamiliar.

Warm light spills across your skin as you look down at yourself. You are a girl now. A white strapless top hugs your torso, smooth against your chest, leaving your shoulders bare to the air. Beneath it, black shorts trace the curve of your hips, and sheer tights cling softly to your legs, catching the light with a faint sheen. High heels lift you just enough to change your balance, your posture straighter, your steps more deliberate.

You raise your hands slowly, studying them as if they belong to someone else. Slender fingers. Painted nails. The subtle tension in your wrists as you flex them. Your gaze drifts downward again — the rise and fall of your breathing, the shape of your body beneath the fabric. The gentle weight at your chest, the way the top presses securely in place.

A curtain of long brown hair falls forward when you tilt your head. It brushes your collarbone, soft and real. You sweep it back over your shoulder, feeling its length against your back.

You turn toward the mirror. A girl stares back at you — long brown hair, white strapless top, black shorts, tights, heels. Your heart beats faster.

You swallow softly and whisper, testing the words aloud. “I’m… a girl.”

Before you can process it fully, there’s a sudden knock on the bathroom door. “Hey… is everything okay, hun?” Someone calls gently from the other side. This is clearly not a home, maybe this girl's home whose body are you in?