It happened without warning in the open stretch of the park, sunlight flashing through leaves as the world hiccupped and settled wrong. One blink and I was standing in her place, the air warmer against borrowed curves, the weight and sway unfamiliar but impossible to ignore. A laugh caught in my throat as I realized what had changed—how people’s glances slid, lingered, recalibrated—while I steadied myself, palms smoothing down fabric that wasn’t mine. I tested a step, then another, confidence blooming with each breath, the accident turning into a quiet thrill as I carried her presence like a secret, owning the moment until the breeze cooled my skin and the park kept pretending nothing extraordinary had happened.