Clara stepped into the lobby, The morning air was filled with the sound of hurried footsteps, ringing phones, and snippets of conversations as people moved about with a sense of purpose. Clara paused, taking in the scene around her. The lobby, usually a backdrop to her daily routine, seemed unusually chaotic today. Reporters and producers brushed past one another, coffee cups in hand, their faces etched with the focus of impending deadlines. A couple of interns huddled near the reception desk, nervously discussing the latest breaking news, while a security guard kept a watchful eye on the comings and goings of the staff and visitors alike.

Clara stood still, momentarily letting the cacophony wash over her as she scanned the room. Despite the chaos, her mind was sharp, her gaze methodical as she searched for Victor. It was strange, she thought, that he would show up at her workplace so suddenly and without warning. Victor was spontaneous, yes, but this was different. He knew her routine, her need for focus during the workday. So why would he be here now?

As Clara’s eyes swept the room, they finally landed on a figure seated near the entrance. The woman’s appearance was the first thing that struck Clara as being out of place. She wore a business suit, but it hung loosely on her frame, as if it had been tailored for someone else. The color was a muted gray, blending in with the neutral tones of the lobby, but it was the way she sat—rigid, uncomfortable, and out of sync with the bustling environment—that made her stand out.

Clara’s eyes narrowed as she continued to observe the woman. There was something unsettlingly familiar about her, a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she couldn’t quite place. The woman’s eyes met Clara’s, and there was a flash of recognition, a silent plea for acknowledgment that sent a jolt of unease through Clara.

With measured steps, Clara approached the woman, her professional demeanor firmly in place even as suspicion gnawed at her. “Excuse me,” she began, her tone polite but edged with caution. “Are you waiting for someone?”

The woman looked up at Clara, her eyes wide with an emotion Clara couldn’t quite name. “Clara, it’s me. It’s Victor.”

Clara blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by the sheer absurdity of the statement. “I’m sorry, what? Victor?” She let out a small, incredulous laugh, trying to mask her growing unease. “Is this some kind of joke? Victor wouldn’t send someone else in his place, especially not here.”

The woman stood up, her movements awkward as if she was trying to fit into a role she hadn’t prepared for. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s me, Victor. Something happened last night, and I woke up like this.”

Clara’s skepticism only deepened as she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “You expect me to believe that?”

The woman’s desperation was palpable as she took a step closer, lowering her voice. “Please, Clara, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know what else to say. I need your help.”

Clara frowned, scrutinizing the woman’s face. There was a resemblance to Victor, now that she looked more closely—a certain set to her jaw, the way her eyes held a familiar intensity. But the situation was too bizarre to accept at face value. “Alright, let’s say, for argument’s sake, that you are Victor. Prove it. Tell me something only he would know.”

The woman—Victor—hesitated, her eyes briefly closing as if to summon a distant memory. “Remember that time we got caught skipping school? We thought we were so clever, but your mom knew exactly where to find us. Instead of yelling, she sat us down and made us promise never to do it again. Then she made us pinky swear, like we were kids. You laughed about it afterward, but you never broke that promise.”

Clara froze. The memory hit her like a cold gust of wind. That was something only Victor could know. Her mother had passed away years ago, and the story was one of those private, bittersweet moments they had shared. The woman in front of her wasn’t just mimicking Victor; she was speaking with his voice, his memories.

Clara took a step back, her mind reeling. “This... this can’t be real.” She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of disbelief. “How is this even possible?”

“I don’t know,” Victor replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “All I know is that I woke up like this, and I don’t know how to fix it.’

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Clara looked around the lobby, suddenly feeling exposed, as if everyone was watching their conversation. “We can’t talk about this here,” she said, her voice firm. “There’s a café down the street. Let’s go there.”

Victor nodded, relief flooding his features as he followed Clara out of the building. The streets outside were as busy as ever, the noise of the city a constant backdrop as they walked in silence. Clara led them to a small, quiet café a few blocks away, its warm interior a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside. They found a secluded table near the back, away from prying eyes and ears.

Once seated, Clara ordered two coffees, her hands still trembling slightly as she passed one to Victor. She sat down opposite her, her eyes searching Victor’s face for any sign of the friend she knew.

“Alright, Victor,” Clara began, her voice steady but laced with a mixture of disbelief and concern. “Tell me everything. What happened last night?”

Victor took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I was at the hotel for the advertising conference. Everything was going fine—networking, drinks with the boys. Then I met this woman at the bar. We hit it off, and we went back to my room. We were... about to, you know... when I felt this weird, cold breeze. And then nothing worked. I thought it was just the alcohol, but when I woke up this morning, I was... like this.”

Clara listened, her mind racing as she tried to piece together the bizarre puzzle. “Did you notice anything unusual about the woman? Anything that stood out?”

Victor shook his head, frustration etched on his face. “Not really. She was intense, but nothing unusual about her.”

Clara took a sip of her coffee, her thoughts spinning. “This is insane, Victor. But the more I hear, the more I’m starting to believe you. There’s no way anyone else could know what you just told me.”

Victor nodded, his relief palpable. “So, what do we do now? I can’t exactly go back to my life looking like this.”

Before Clara could respond, Victor’s phone buzzed on the table. The name “Jacob” flashed on the screen—Victor’s friend and the owner of the agency where they both worked. Victor’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the name.

“It’s Jacob,” he said, his voice tinged with panic. “What do I do?”

Clara leaned forward, her mind already racing ahead. “Don’t answer it, Let it go to voicemail first. We’ll figure out what to do after we hear what he says.”

Victor nodded, letting the phone ring until it finally went to voicemail. Moments later, a notification popped up. With trembling fingers, he pressed play, and Jacob’s voice filled the quiet space between them.

“Hey, Victor, just a reminder about the meeting with Samuel this afternoon. It’s a big one, so don’t be late. We need to make a good impression—this could be huge for the agency. Call me when you get this.”

The voicemail ended, leaving Victor and Clara in stunned silence. Victor stared at the phone, his mind reeling. “I can’t go to that meeting like this.”

Clara’s mind raced as she tried to come up with a solution. “Alright, first things first, we need to get you some clothes that actually fit. There’s a boutique around the corner—we’ll head there and get you something more appropriate.”

Victor looked at Clara, his expression one of both gratitude and helplessness. “Clara, I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off.”

Clara reached across the table, squeezing Victor’s hand. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. For now, let’s get you sorted out with some clothes. After that, we’ll tackle the meeting.”

Together, they left the café, heading toward the small boutique Clara had mentioned. The store was cozy, with racks of stylish clothing and a friendly saleswoman who greeted them as they walked in. Clara took charge, quickly selecting a few outfits that would both fit and flatter Victor’s new form.

In the dressing room, Victor stared at himself in the mirror, the reality of his situation hitting him hard. The clothes Clara had chosen fit perfectly, accentuating the curves he wasn’t used to seeing. It was a far cry from the baggy suit he had been wearing earlier.

Clara knocked on the dressing room door. “How’s it going in there?”

Victor opened the door slightly, revealing his new look. “This is... different,” he said, his voice tinged with both discomfort and resignation.

Clara smiled reassuringly. “You look great. Now, let’s get back to the agency and figure out how we’re going to handle this meeting.”

Victor nodded, a mixture of determination and fear in her eyes. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

As they walked out of the boutique, the weight of the situation hung heavy in the air. Victor’s life had been turned upside down in a matter of hours. The cool breeze of the late morning brushed against his face, a stark reminder of how different everything felt now. Each step felt foreign, every movement unfamiliar, as if he were relearning how to navigate the world. The clothes fit well, but that only served to make the situation feel more surreal. The reflection he caught in the shop windows as they passed by was undeniably that of a woman—a stranger who shared his memories, his fears, but not his body.