Shawn adjusted his rectangular, thin-rimmed glasses as he stepped into the elevator, the faint hum of the building's machinery echoing around him. He was a thin, average-height young man with a slightly hunched posture, his delicate frame marked by narrow shoulders and slender arms that gave him an overall wiry appearance. Dressed in a faded graphic t-shirt, a well-worn hoodie, and loose-fitting jeans, he embodied the quintessential nerdy, casual look. Today, he was heading up to the 12th floor to see Dr. Zaaijer, his psychologist. Life had been weighing on him lately-social isolation, a string of failed relationships (or rather, the complete absence of them), and a nagging sense of dissatisfaction despite his stable, well-paying job in IT. Therapy was supposed to help sort it out.

The doors slid shut with a soft ding, and the elevator began its ascent. Shawn leaned against the wall, scrolling idly on his phone, when a strange sensation prickled at the back of his neck. It started small-a warmth spreading through his limbs, like pins and needles but oddly invigorating. Then it intensified. His skin tingled, his muscles shifted, and he felt his body... changing. His posture straightened involuntarily, his shoulders broadening in a different way-no, softening. His height seemed to shrink, the world tilting upward as inches melted away. Panic surged through him as he glanced down and saw his jeans tightening, fabric morphing, his t-shirt dissolving into something lacy and constricting.

"What the-?" Shawn gasped, his voice cracking higher. He jabbed at the buttons frantically, slamming his palm against every floor indicator in a desperate bid to stop the elevator or escape. But it kept rising, unyielding, the numbers ticking up relentlessly. By the time the doors opened on the 12th floor with another cheerful ding, the transformation was complete.

Shawn-no, she-stumbled out, heart pounding. She was now a five-foot-one-inch plus-sized young woman, her curvy figure accentuated by the full coverage bra corset and girdle that hugged her new form, paired with navy nylon stockings that whispered against her skin. On her feet were heeled sandals that boosted her to 5'4", and she clutched a small purse, her ears adorned with dangling earrings, wrists jangling with bracelets, and a choker snug around her neck. Her hair had become a short, layered, angled bob with dramatic blonde highlights, framing a face that still bore glasses, though they felt somehow more stylish now. But horror struck her as she realized: this was all she wore. No dress, no pants, no shirt-just lingerie exposed for the world to see. She was improperly dressed, vulnerable in the sterile hallway of the medical building.

"Oh God, what happened?" she whispered, her voice now smooth and feminine. The changes went deeper than the physical. Where Shawn had been thin and wiry, she was now curvy and short. He'd been a man; she was undeniably a woman. Nerdy awkwardness had evaporated, replaced by a budding confidence that made her stand taller (or as tall as her new height allowed). Memories flickered-Shawn had no girlfriends, but she recalled a string of boyfriends, flirtations that came easily. His well-paying job? Gone, replaced by a history of short-lived gigs, bouncing from one to the next. These were just the surface ripples; who knew what other alterations lurked beneath?

Her mind raced. Should she bolt back into the elevator, ride down to the ground floor, and pray the transformation reversed? Or dash to Dr. Zaaijer's office to hide from prying eyes? And did she even want to go back? Shawn's life had been a rut of problems-that's why he was here for therapy in the first place. Maybe this was a fresh start, bizarre as it was.

Swallowing hard, she-Shawna now, the name settling into her thoughts like it had always been there-decided to press on. Clutching her purse like a shield, she hurried down the hall, heels clicking awkwardly on the tile. She burst into the doctor's waiting room, cheeks flushing as the receptionist glanced up with mild surprise.