The sound of the woman's voice from outside the bedroom heightened Ethan's nerves, her words rattling in his mind: "Olivia! You're going to be late!" He couldn't shake the unease creeping over him. Who is Olivia?

Desperate for answers, Ethan crept to the door and pressed his ear against it. Faint sounds from a kitchen reached him—pots clinking, footsteps shuffling. His stomach churned. The thought of stepping out and facing this person felt overwhelming.

He pivoted back toward the phone on the nightstand and unlocked it again, hoping for a clue. The date on the screen read January 6, 2023. A pit formed in his stomach. Wasn't it early October when I... blacked out? Had he really been unconscious for nearly three months? His mind reeled with fear and confusion as the thought sent a chill down his spine.

A knock startled him, followed by the woman's voice again. "Seriously, Olivia, you need to hurry. Your breakfast is getting cold."

Ethan froze, his thoughts racing. She's talking to me. She thinks I'm Olivia. He panicked, barely managing to stammer out a reply. "Uh— I'll be out in a minute."

Even his voice wasn't the same—higher, softer, almost unrecognizable. The words caught in his throat as he stared at the door, the reality of his situation closing in.

He turned his attention to the room, frantically searching for clothes. A dresser by the far wall caught his eye. He rushed to it, yanking open the drawers.

The first drawer was full of leggings—he quickly shut it. No way. The second had a pair of sweatpants. Perfect. He grabbed it and moved on to the next couple drawers, pulling out socks, and then a navy shirt. It wasn't ideal—it looked a bit small—but it would have to do.

His stomach churned as he reached for the smallest drawer. Underwear. He snatched the first pair he saw, trying not to think about it.

Stripping off the rose-patterned pajamas, Ethan did his best not to look at his unfamiliar naked body. The shirt fit more snugly than he expected, and it ended above his waist. He did his best to tug it down, but it did little to cover his midriff. There was no time to fix it; whoever was waiting for him seemed impatient.



Ethan glanced at the door, hesitated, and then opened it. Who's Olivia? Am I going to look like her? Stepping out, it felt like more than just leaving a bedroom—it felt like stepping into another world entirely.

Following the smell of bacon, he found the kitchen. A woman in her early forties was sipping coffee at the table. She looked up and smiled. "Finally! You'll need to eat quickly, or you'll be late."

Ethan said nothing and sat at the table, staring at the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him. He hated scrambled eggs without ketchup, but the thought of asking for it made his throat tighten. What if she realizes I'm not Olivia? What if Olivia hates ketchup?

He forced down a forkful, the taste making him wince. Finally, he worked up the courage to ask.

"Do we have ketchup?" he asked, his voice timid.

"Of course, Livi. It's in the fridge, like always. Just grab it and eat quickly—you can't be late for your first day at this new school."

Ethan's mind raced as he got up, retrieved the ketchup, and returned to the table. Livi? New school? He drowned his eggs in ketchup and scarfed down the rest of his food, avoiding eye contact.

"Good," the woman said as he finished. "Now go run a brush through your hair and grab your bag. We've got to go."

He nodded mutely, retreating upstairs to the bathroom he'd seen earlier. He froze at the sight of the girl in the mirror—the same unfamiliar-yet-familiar face, framed by long blonde hair. He picked up a brush from the counter and ran it through his hair as quickly as he could.

Back in the bedroom, he spotted a backpack by the desk and grabbed it along with the phone.

The woman met him at the foot of the stairs, handing him a brown paper bag.

"Here's your lunch. Now, let's go."

Ethan took the bag, still too stunned to speak. By the door, he spotted a black puffer jacket and some white sneakers that looked like they were probably Olivia's. He put them on, and followed the woman outside.

As he stepped into the crisp morning air, she glanced at him.

"Oh, Livi, I'm not sure I'd wear sweatpants for my first day of school, but there's no time to change." She let out a frustrated sign, "It's your first impression, not mine."

Ethan said nothing, climbing into the passenger seat of the SUV parked in the driveway. His thoughts spiraled as the vehicle pulled out onto the street. Who is Olivia? And why can't she tell I'm not her?