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The road was almost deserted, only occasionally interrupted by cyclists or the rare car passing by, raising clouds of dust. The sunlight reflected off the ground, flooding everything around with a soft golden glow.
The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting a cold, almost sterile glow that made the room feel even more lifeless. Blinking a few times, the girl lying on the hospital bed adjusted a stray lock of her long red hair and took a deep breath.
— You probably feel weird, — the guy sitting next to her said cautiously. He looked like he was carefully choosing every word, afraid of saying something wrong.
She turned her gaze to him, her face showing either displeasure or doubt.
— Craig, you… you look like a fucking grown man, — the girl's voice trembled, and she startled herself with its high-pitched tone.
She ran her hand through her hair again, trying to find something familiar. But everything was the same—long hair, smooth and slightly messy after spending so much time in the hospital bed. Her palm slid down her shoulder, along her collarbone, down—until it suddenly pressed against a soft, yielding mound on her chest. She immediately pulled her hand away, her expression turning into a grimace of irritation.
Craig swallowed hard, watching her with concern.
— Amanda…
— Why are you keep calling me that? — She frowned. — My name is Kevin and you know it.
Craig bit his lip and exhaled slowly. His gaze held a mix of pity, anxiety, and something else—something Amanda, or rather, as she stubbornly called herself, Kevin—couldn’t quite grasp yet. He clearly wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.
— Ugh… Aman... Kev... — he hesitated, searching for the right words. — Look, this is complicated. You—
— What’s complicated? — she huffed in frustration. — Bro, I already figured it out—I don’t remember the last ten years and, apparently, they somehow invented body-swapping technology in the future and I somehow landed in, and for some fucking reason, I switched bodies with this chick. But that doesn’t mean you get to call me Amanda, okay?
Craig ran a hand down his face, lowering his gaze. He knew this wouldn't be easy, but now that the moment had come, he realized he had slightly overestimated his own strength.
— Alright, fine. Tell me the last thing you remember.
Amanda stared at him, trying to piece together the fragmented puzzle of her memories. She took a deep breath, feeling the fabric of the hospital gown against her noticeably heavier chest, which felt like someone had attached something to her that shouldn't be there. Her hand instinctively clenched at the air where her dick used to be, only to find nothing but empty space between her legs…
— Fuck! — She yanked her hand away like she had just touched something scalding. — Okay, okay… What am I remember? Hm… I remember we were hanging out in Mark’s basement, drinking that disgusting bootleg shit from a plastic bottle… Jesus. — She fell silent, staring in shock at her hands—thin fingers, long nails. — It was like… just now…
Craig nodded, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, as if he was debating whether he should even say anything at all.
— That was ten years ago. You hadn’t even married Tiffany yet.
Amanda blinked and jerked back, as if someone had just thrown ice water on her.
— What? — She leaned closer to Craig, staring into his eyes. — Tiffany? Is this some kind of joke? I couldn’t have married her—she’s fucking insane.
Craig winced slightly, as if unsure how to react—whether to soften the blow or just give her space to process it.