The first thing that I felt that morning was. softness.
Not the softness of my blankets, not the lazy warmth of sunlight leaking through my curtains
but a strange, unfamiliar softness brushing against my cheek as I turned in bed.
My hair.
It slid across my face like silk, far longer and lighter than it had ever been.
Still half asleep, I wondered for a second whether I had slept on a wig.
I reached up lazily to push it away
and froze.
My fingers met nothing of the usual slightly rough, messy strands I was accustomed to.
They touched something smooth, flowing, delicate.
What the hell?"
My eyes shot open.
I sat up too quickly, and the goldbrown hair cascaded forward, glittering in the morning light like liquid amber. It swept over my shoulders, down my chest to my waist.
For a long second, I stared at it, my heart pounding so loudly that I could hear it in my ears.
This wasn't my hair.
I didn't have hair like this.
I never had hair this soft in my whole life.
I scrambled out of the covers, tripping on my own legs
except they weren't my legs.
I stared down at myself at the unfamiliar curves beneath my thin sleepwear, at the tiny waist, the narrow shoulders, the delicate wrists.
This wasn't my body.
This wasn't me.
But it was.
Because when I staggered toward the mirror on my bedroom wall
A stranger looked back.
A beautiful girl, rose pink eyed as a doe, with soft flushed cheeks.
Her lips parted a little in shock, trembling.
Her shining gold brown hair framed a face far too lovely to belong to any normal person, let alone me.
"No… no, no… this is a dream," I whispered, clutching the edges of the mirror frame.
I touched my cheek.
The girl in the mirror touched hers.
I pressed a hand to my chest.
The girl flinched, her face twisting in some confusion and fear.
I opened my mouth.
She opened hers.
"…This isn't funny."
My voice came out soft, airy, almost musical.
Not mine.
Absolutely not mine.
I stepped back from the mirror, my heartbeat racing so fast that I felt faint. My knees buckled, and I sat on the bed, burying my face in my hands.
I was Ari Yukimura. Nineteen years old. First-year college student. Completely normal.
I was a guy.
I had always been a guy.
There was no universe where I woke up looking like some delicate anime princess.
I forced myself to breathe.
One breath. Another. Another.
Finally, I pushed myself up. I needed answers. Maybe I hit my head. Maybe this was a prank. Maybe
"Ariaaa! Breakfast!"
That voice.
My mother's voice.
But she didn't call me Ari.
She called me-
"Aria…?"
No. No, she never called me that.
I swallowed hard and ran out of my room to the staircase.
"Mom!" I yelled. "What did you just"
But the moment my mother looked up from the dinner table, smiled warmly…
My words died in my throat.
"There you are, Aria. You look half asleep still."
She chuckled softly. "First day of summer break and you're already sleeping in?
Aria.
She repeated the sentence.
My mother my real mother was acting like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn't raised a son for nineteen years. Like she had always had a daughter.
"Mom." I whispered, my voice trembling. "Why. why are you calling me that?
She blinked, as if puzzled by me.
"That's your name, sweetheart.
"No, it's not!"
My voice cracked high and panicked.
"My name's Ari. Ari Yukimura! I I'm a boy!"
Slowly, my mother's smiling face faded and was replaced with one of gentle concern.
Oh no.
This is the look she gave me when I caught a fever at twelve years old.
This was the look she gave when she thought that something was wrong.
"Aria… you've always been a girl."
My blood ran cold.
"No," I whispered. "No, I haven't. You and Dad you raised me as a son. I wore boy clothes. I played soccer in middle school. I
It was then that my father entered, adjusting his glasses.
"What's wrong with Aria?" he asked nonchalantly.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Then he sighed.
"She's probably still half asleep. She was studying late last night, remember?"
He ruffled my hair, my long, silky hair, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
I stepped back.
"No.this isn't real. This cannot be happening to me."
My mother exchanged a look with my father then came towards me gingerly.
"Aria," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You've always been our daughter. Since the day you were born.
Born?
No.
No, I remembered being attired in my first school uniform, which was for boys.
I remembered my dad teaching me how to tie a tie for junior high.
I remembered
My head suddenly pounded.
A splitting, searing pain flooded behind my eyes. I winced, clutching my temples.
"Aria? Aria!" my mother exclaimed in alarm.
Images flashed in my mind.
A childhood bedroom
but in soft pastel colors.
A small girl, smiling shyly at an entrance ceremony of a school
but that wasn't me.
Was it?
The pain had disappeared just as suddenly as it came.
I gasped, stumbling back.
"Mom… I…"
My voice quivered.
"I don't understand."
She embraced me with a warm hug.
My mom smelled like she always had lavender and laundry soap.
But everything else felt wrong.
So terribly wrong.
"It's okay," she whispered. "Maybe you're just tired."
I wasn't tired.
I was waking up in the wrong world.
I didn't eat breakfast.
I couldn't.
I sat at the table, staring into my bowl of untouched miso soup, while my parents spoke about normal things: Dad's work, Mom's plants, neighborhood gossip.
Every time they said "Aria," something inside me twisted.
It wasn't my name.
It didn't feel like my name.
But every time I tried to correct them, I saw the same gentle, worried looks.
Like I was the weird one.
As if I'd done anything wrong.
When I finally went out to clear my head, the world greeted me with warm sunlight and a soft breeze that lifted my goldbrown hair around my shoulders.
I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in a shop window.
A lovely girl stared back, her expression troubled, her lips parted.
People passing looked at me, boys especially.
Some smiled.
Some stared too long.
One even winked.
I turned bright red.
I didn't want this kind of attention.
Not from boys.
Not when I wasn't supposed to be
"Hey!"
A warm, bright voice called out from behind him.
I turned.
A girl of about my age ran toward me with her long black hair bouncing behind her. Her face lit up like sunrise.
"There you are, Aria! I've been texting you all morning!"
I blinked. Who was she?
She stopped before me, slightly out of breath, the smile so beautiful it constricted my chest.
"It's me," she said, and laughed softly. "Aoi. Aoi Minase.
Your best friend." Best friend? I didn't know any Aoi.
But as she leaned in and brushed a loose curl behind my ear with gentle fingers, something inside me ached a weird, warm ache. "Are you okay?" she asked softly. "You look… lost." Lost?
I was more than lost. I'd woken up as someone else. Someone beautiful. Someone sensitive.Of someone everybody thought I had always been.
Aoi's eyes softened, full of worry and something else something warm. She reached for my hand. "Come on, Aria. Walk with me.
You can tell me everything. And somehow, without thinking, without resisting… I let her take my hand.
It fitted perfectly in hers. Too perfectly. And as we walked the wind lifting my hair and her fingers wrapped around mine one terrifying thought whispered in my mind What if I really have always been Aria? What if Ari was the dream… …and Aria is the truth?