Terry blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the lace curtains. The room around him felt foreign yet eerily familiar, adorned with floral motifs and soft pastels—a woman’s bedroom. His brow knitted in confusion as he took in the delicate decor that hinted at a personality far different from his own.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, squinting at the pretty pink slippers resting on the floor, each adorned with a bow. As he stood up, he was immediately struck by a peculiar sensation—his body felt… different. He looked down, half-expecting to see his own familiar limbs, but instead, he saw slim arms and delicate hands. Terry’s heart raced, the reality of his situation beginning to set in.

"Wait, what the hell is happening?" He muttered, his voice sounding higher and softer than he remembered.

He walked toward the door, his movements feeling awkward and uncoordinated. It was as if the body he was inhabiting didn’t quite know how to respond to his commands. Somehow, he managed to make it across the room and to the door, each step feeling like he was learning to walk all over again.

On the door, he found a small note pinned to the frame. "If you ever want to get your body back, you won’t let anyone know you are not Miriam," it read. The words seemed almost menacing in their simplicity, and he read it again, then a third time, feeling a mounting sense of dread.

This wasn’t happening. He was not in Miriam’s body—she was his fiancée, Stephanie’s best friend. Miriam was vibrant, confident, and always the life of the party. He had hung out with her a few times, but he had never expected to wake up as her.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process the surreal nature of his predicament, a sudden vibration shattered his thoughts. He fumbled to dig through the purse resting on the bedside table, retrieving a phone that bore an image of Stephanie smiling wide on its lock screen.

"Answer," he muttered, tapping the screen awkwardly with a newly manicured finger.

"Miriam, it’s me!" Stephanie’s voice burst through the speaker, cheerful and lively. "Oh, wait—Miriam! I hope you’re getting ready. We have to be at the boutique in an hour to look at dresses! I picked out a few options that I think you’re going to love."

Terry felt his heart race. Sweet, supportive Stephanie had no idea that he was actually her fiancé, trapped in the body of her best friend. "Uh, right," he replied, attempting to match Miriam’s more feminine cadence and enthusiasm. "I’m, uh, getting ready now!"

"Good! Just be sure not to keep me waiting. It’s so important that you’re there on time! I want you to help me choose the dress that’s going to make me look perfect on my wedding day!"

"Of course, I wouldn’t want to miss it," Terry said, forcing his mouth into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Yet it felt so surreal as if he were just playing a role in a bizarre theater production.

"Alright, see you soon! Oh, and don’t forget to grab that red purse from my closet! You know it goes perfectly with that outfit!"

Before he could respond, she hung up, leaving him staring at the phone in disbelief. "Grab the red purse? Outfit?" he muttered, realizing he was still wearing a pastel nightgown that was decidedly not his style. He took a deep breath, acknowledging that he had little choice; he needed to blend in as Miriam long enough to figure out how to reverse this strange phenomenon.

He hurriedly opened the closet, eyes widening at the array of dresses and accessories neatly hung and organized. He felt a flutter of anxiety as he rifled through the options, trying to find something suitable that would not raise suspicion. Each fabric felt foreign in his hands, the textures unfamiliar like a language he hadn’t mastered yet.

He finally settled on a floral sundress that seemed simple yet elegant. Slipping into it, he found that, surprisingly, it was comfortable and flattering; perhaps it wasn't as alien as he’d thought. He paired it with a light jacket that popped in color and looked for the red purse Stephanie had mentioned.

Quickly, he applied just a dab of lipstick and brushed through Miriam's carefully arranged makeup, hoping to mask the panic that buzzed in his chest. As he surveyed himself in the mirror—feeling like a stranger wearing someone else’s life—he couldn't help but let another wave of disbelief wash over him.