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Above the bed where he had woken up hung a poster of some guy against the backdrop of a sunset. On the makeshift nightstand—a repurposed suitcase—sat a small jar of cream and a thin glossy magazine. On the floor by the wall lay two more suitcases, one of them half-open, spilling out a heap of women’s clothes. The shoes in the corner clearly didn’t belong to a man either: a pair of heeled sandals, light-pink sneakers… Andrew swallowed hard, feeling the wave of panic rising again.
— I told you to keep it down! — grumbled a raspy voice from the other side of the room.
Andrew whipped his head around. On the neighboring bed, just as narrow, with a dark maroon blanket covering it, lay a girl. Wrapped in a blanket, she had turned her head to the side, her tousled chestnut hair sticking out messily from beneath its edge. One eye cracked open, shooting a tired, irritated look at Andrew.
— Couldn’t you just sleep a little longer? — she mumbled sleepily. — Seriously, maybe try setting your alarm quieter…
Andrew tried to say something, but his voice stuck in his throat. The girl yawned and shut her eyes again, burrowing even deeper into the blanket.
"What the hell is going on here?" — the thought crossed Andrew’s mind as he looked down. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was still wearing a nightgown. The beige color, the thin fabric… It disgustingly reminded him of his wife’s pajamas. He ran his hands over the fabric, as if testing whether it was real. Suddenly, his chest reminded him of its presence again, pressing firmly against his forearms. Andrew jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over a pair of slippers by the bed.
Long hair tickled his neck and fell into his eyes, the nightgown’s lightness and unfamiliar texture making him feel even more out of place. Glancing around, his gaze landed on a small, round mirror in a white plastic frame sitting on the nightstand. He grabbed it, hesitating for a moment before looking, terrified but unable to stop himself.
— Oh my God… — he exhaled.
A woman’s face stared back at him. His features, but softer, more delicate. The same eye shape, but now framed by long lashes. The same nose, but slimmer. Damn it, it was like staring at a female version of himself. The eyebrows on the face in the mirror furrowed, mirroring his panic. Andrew raised a hand and touched his cheek. The face in the mirror mirrored the motion.
— What are you messing around with over there? — the voice from the bed came again. His roommate abruptly sat up, propping herself up on one elbow. Her half-open eyes narrowed at Andrew with irritation. — Seriously, “Miss Early Bird,” it’s way too early, and you’re making a racket. Chill out, will you? Or are you one of those nerds who shows up an hour early to class just to grab a seat?
Andrew didn’t reply. He froze, staring at her. The girl sighed and brushed her hair off her face irritably.
— What, cat got your tongue? — she smirked, rubbing her eyes. — Oh… Well, whatever. What was your name again? You told me yesterday… Amanda? Amelia? Remind me?
Andrew paled. "Name? What name?!" — his eyes darted around the room until they landed on a small plastic rectangle on the table. He grabbed it and saw what it was—a student ID. The photo… a female version of his face. The name: Andrea Brooks.
— An-An… Andrea? — he stammered, barely able to speak.
— Well, An-An-Andrea, — she mocked him with a smirk, mimicking his stutter, — you’re kind of weird, miss-s-s…
She paused, raising an eyebrow as if searching her mind for a snarky nickname. Andrew—or, as the student ID now declared, Andrea—stood frozen with the plastic card in his trembling hands. His eyes darted quickly over the text printed on it:
Andrea Brooks
Faculty: Museology and Heritage Management
Group: 1-A
Year: 2004
"Museology?!" — the thought struck him like lightning. This was the same program which finished his wife and he had always called "a haven for hopeless romantics" during arguments with his wife. And now… now he was enrolled in it?! He almost laughed, but the sound got stuck somewhere between his throat and his overwhelming confusion.
— Hello? Earth to An-An-Andrea! — his roommate finally snapped, clapping her hands loudly against her knees and laughing. — Congrats, you’ve officially woken me up. — She slid off her bed, pulling on an old hoodie and lazily shuffling toward her suitcase. — Are you always this noisy in the morning? Yesterday you seemed… normal.