Victor blinked several times, trying to clear the grogginess from his mind. The strange dreams from the night before still lingered, and the unfamiliar chill in the room made him shiver. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, wobbling slightly as he found his balance. His head was pounding, a dull ache that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. He needed to splash some water on his face, maybe down a glass of water or two to shake off this hangover.

He made his way to the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath his feet sending a fresh shiver through him. The harsh light of the bathroom flickered on as he stepped inside, casting long shadows that only added to his sense of unease. Victor’s eyes were half-closed as he reached down to pull down his underwear, ready to relieve himself.

But when his hand met his body, everything stopped.

He didn’t feel what he expected to feel.

His heart began to race, and suddenly, he was wide awake. His hand frantically searched for his familiar anatomy, but there was nothing there. His breathing quickened, and his mind scrambled for an explanation. Was this a prank? A nightmare? He couldn’t believe what was—or wasn’t—happening.

Victor looked down, hoping his eyes would reveal what his hand could not. Instead, he was met with the flat, smooth curve of a lower abdomen that wasn’t his. It was as if his entire body had betrayed him overnight, transforming in ways he couldn’t comprehend. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over the edge of the toilet in his haste, and spun around to face the large mirror above the sink.

The woman staring back at him was a stranger and yet hauntingly familiar. She had the same dark hair, though it was longer, falling in soft waves around her face. Her eyes, wide with shock, were a mirror image of his own, a deep brown that he recognized instantly. The nose, the high cheekbones—there was something of Victor in her, but it was distorted, feminized.

Victor’s hands trembled as he touched his—her—face. The reflection mimicked his every move, confirming that this was no hallucination. He felt the soft skin, the fuller lips, the way his—her—hair brushed against his fingers. Everything was different, and yet somehow, it all made a twisted kind of sense.

He pulled at the oversized shirt he had slept in, feeling the unfamiliar weight on his chest. It was almost surreal, the way his—her—body moved, the curves that shouldn’t be there, the way his hips now swayed with the smallest movement. He lifted the shirt and stared in disbelief at the full breasts that were now part of his anatomy, feeling the soft, heavy weight of them under his hands.

“This isn’t happening,” Victor whispered, his voice soft and shaky. But even his voice was different, higher, smoother—utterly feminine. He felt a rush of panic rising in his chest. How could this be real? He had to be dreaming. Or maybe he’d lost his mind.

Various wild theories flashed through his mind. Had he switched bodies with someone? But who? His sister? No, he didn’t even have a sister. Was this some kind of punishment, a result of some drunken mishap? But none of it made any sense.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone, piercing the silence of the room. Victor jumped, startled by the sound, before realizing what it was. He hurried back into the bedroom, nearly tripping over his own feet as he grabbed the phone off the nightstand. The screen flashed with a familiar name: Dad.

Victor hesitated for a moment, then pressed the answer button. He brought the phone to his ear, swallowing hard as he tried to compose himself.

“Hello?” he said, wincing at the unfamiliar sound of his own voice.

“Victor?” his father’s voice crackled on the other end, sounding confused. “Is that you?”

Victor cleared his throat, trying to steady his nerves. “Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”

There was a pause, then his father’s voice returned, this time more concerned. “Are you alright, son? You sound... different. Is something wrong?”

Victor squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the phone tightly as he fought to keep his voice steady. “I’m fine, Dad. Just... I think I caught a cold or something. My throat’s been a little off.”

Another pause, longer this time. Victor could almost hear his father’s suspicion growing. “A cold, huh? You sure you’re okay? You sound really different, Victor. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

Victor’s heart pounded in his chest as he forced a laugh, though it came out weak and strained. “I’m fine, Dad, really. Just need to rest. I’ll be better in a day or two.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

His father didn’t sound convinced. “If you say so. I just called to remind you about the mortgage payment coming up. Don’t forget, alright?”

“Yeah, I got it. Thanks for the reminder,” Victor replied, eager to end the conversation before his father could press further.

“Alright, son. Take care of yourself. And if you need anything, just call.”

“Will do, Dad. Talk to you later.”

Victor ended the call and let the phone slip from his fingers, dropping onto the bed. He stared down at it, his mind racing. His father had noticed the change in his voice immediately, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before others would too.

He needed to figure out what was happening—how this had happened—and, more importantly, how to fix it. But first, he needed to get out of this hotel and find someone who could help him make sense of this nightmare.

Victor hurried back to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would clear his head. The woman in the mirror stared back at him, a look of determination now replacing the earlier shock. He needed to stay calm, to think this through. Panicking wouldn’t solve anything.

He returned to the bedroom and began dressing, only to find that his clothes were now comically oversized. The shirt hung loosely on his much smaller frame, the sleeves swallowing his hands, and the pants pooled around his ankles, far too large to stay up on their own. He cinched the belt as tight as it would go, but even then, the pants threatened to slip down with every step.

Victor caught sight of himself in the mirror again and almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. He looked like a kid playing dress-up in an adult’s clothes—except the body beneath those clothes was most definitely not a child’s.

He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, his fingers clumsy as they struggled to fasten them. Every movement felt awkward, foreign, as if he were learning how to use his body for the first time. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to get dressed and grabbed his belongings.

His mind raced as he tried to think of his next move. Who could he trust with this? Who would believe him? The answer came to him almost immediately: Clara. Clara was one of the few people in his life who was both smart and practical, someone who wouldn’t dismiss his story out of hand. If anyone could help him figure this out, it was her.

Victor left the hotel room, trying to move quickly despite the ill-fitting clothes. The hallway seemed longer than he remembered, the lights overhead casting eerie shadows as he made his way to the elevator. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with the other hotel guests, his heart pounding in his chest.

The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped inside, grateful to find it empty. As the doors closed and the elevator began its descent, Victor took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He needed to stay focused, to keep it together until he could get to Clara.

When the elevator reached the lobby, Victor walked out with as much confidence as he could muster, despite the growing anxiety in his chest. The hotel staff barely glanced at him as he passed, their attention focused on other guests. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was staring at him, that they somehow knew something was wrong.

Once outside, the bright sunlight hit him like a wall, the warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled in his bones. Victor scanned the street, looking for a cab. He spotted one idling at the curb and rushed over, opening the door and sliding into the back seat.

“Where to?” the driver asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

Victor hesitated for a moment before giving Clara’s workplace address. She worked at one of the local news stations, a job that often kept her busy, but he hoped she’d have a moment to talk to him. He needed her to listen, to believe him.

The drive felt longer than usual, every minute stretching out as Victor’s mind raced with a hundred different thoughts. He tried to keep calm, to focus on what he would say to Clara, but the more he thought about it, the more absurd it all seemed. How could he possibly explain what had happened? Would she even recognize him? He barely recognized himself.

Finally, the cab pulled up in front of the news station, and Victor handed the driver some cash, not bothering to count it. He stepped out of the cab and looked up at the tall building, taking a deep breath.

This was it. There was no turning back now. He needed answers, and Clara was his best shot at finding them.

Victor walked through the glass doors of the news station, trying to appear as composed as possible. A wave of cold air from the air conditioning washing over him. The receptionist barely glanced up from her desk as he approached, which was a small relief. He wasn’t ready to have a conversation with anyone just yet—not until he’d talked to Clara.

He found a quiet corner near the entrance and pulled out his phone, his hands still trembling slightly. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Clara’s number and hit the call button, holding his breath as the phone rang. Each ring felt like an eternity, and for a brief, panicked moment, he feared she wouldn’t answer.

Finally, the ringing stopped, and Clara’s familiar voice came through the line. “Hey, Victor. What’s up?"

Victor hesitated, unsure of how to start. His new voice made everything feel more surreal, and he had to remind himself that Clara had no idea what he looked like now. “Clara, it’s... I’m in front of your building. Can you come outside? I really need to talk to you.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Victor could almost hear the wheels turning in Clara’s mind. “You’re here? Is everything okay? You sound different, Vic.”

“I know. I’ll explain everything, but please, just come outside. I need to talk to you in person.”

“Alright, give me a minute. I’ll be right down.”

Victor ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, his heart racing. He tried to steady his breathing, his mind running through all the possible ways this could go wrong. How would Clara react? Would she even believe him? He didn’t have answers to any of these questions, but he knew he had no choice but to try.

A few minutes later, the elevator doors slid open, and Clara stepped outside. She was dressed in a smart, professional outfit, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, and her expression was a mix of curiosity and concern. She looked around, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.