Melissa woke to the soft glow of early morning light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she felt disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings catching her off guard. The faint scent of cologne and fabric softener drifted from the pillow beneath her head, grounding her in the memory of the night before. Josh lay beside her, his dark lashes fanning over his cheeks, his expression soft and unguarded in sleep. He looked younger like this, peaceful, even vulnerable. She watched him for a moment, the rise and fall of his chest steady and hypnotic.
As she stretched, her arm brushing his, a sudden wave of clarity slammed into her, hitting her all at once. Memories, vivid and undeniable, rushed back into her mind. The FLASH. It wasn’t a trick of her imagination. She had felt something shift. This wasn’t the world she remembered.
Her breath hitched as she pieced it together. In her old life, she never would have ended up here, tangled in sheets with Josh, a guy who once chased her endlessly while she dodged his advances. That life had been... different. She’d been in control, unbothered by clingy guys like him. Her ambitions and independence had always taken precedence.
But here she was, lying beside him, the weight of the night still clinging to her skin. Her heart swirled with emotions she couldn’t untangle, emotions that felt alien and wrong, yet undeniably real. Her head spun as fragments of her old life intertwined with the new, the lines between them blurring in ways that made her feel sick. The FLASH hadn’t just rewritten the world. It had rewritten her. But how?
She sat up slowly, careful not to disturb him. Her eyes roamed the room, absorbing every detail: the neatly organized bookshelves with small decorative plants, the scented candles arranged in a symmetrical pattern on the nightstand, the throw blanket draped perfectly over an armchair in the corner. It was a space that radiated warmth and care, a level of thoughtfulness she would have never once imagined Josh having.
Melissa’s gaze drifted back to him. His features were soft in the morning light, his lips slightly parted as he breathed evenly. The man she once avoided, who had been little more than a fleeting annoyance, was now someone who had stirred something deeply confusing in her. She hated the idea that these feelings might not be hers, that they might be the product of whatever had changed the world. Were they real? Or were they just another cruel joke of this rewritten reality?
She rubbed her temples, the pressure doing little to ease the storm in her mind. She needed to talk to him. Maybe he remembered. Maybe he’d felt the shift too. But as she looked at him, so peaceful and oblivious, doubt crept in. What if he doesn’t remember? What if it’s just me?
The thought hit with a sharp wave of loneliness, so intense it felt like it might crush her. She slid out of bed quietly, her body moving on autopilot. Her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, sending a small shiver through her body. As she stood, a glimmer of movement caught her eye, and she turned toward the full-length mirror across the room.
The person staring back at her wasn’t entirely unfamiliar but wasn’t entirely her, either. Her reflection showed a figure more muscular than she remembered, with broader shoulders and arms that looked as though they belonged to someone who worked out religiously. Her hair was cropped short, barely brushing the tops of her ears, a stark contrast to the longer, more feminine style she’d once had. Her eyes traveled downward, catching the faint trail of body hair that ran down her abdomen.
Her stomach turned, and a wave of nausea rolled through her. It wasn’t just her surroundings or her choices that had changed. Her body had been rewritten. She looked down at the discarded clothes on the floor, the remnants of last night’s reckless passion. Her fingers brushed over the soft fabric of the boxers. Boxers. She never wore boxers. They felt foreign in her hands, like artifacts from someone else’s life.
She slipped them on anyway, her movements stiff and reluctant, as though dressing herself in a stranger’s skin. She needed air. She needed space.
Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, Melissa froze as the door let out a faint creak. Her breath caught, and she glanced back at the bed. Josh stirred slightly but didn’t wake. She exhaled in relief and slipped into the living room.
The morning light streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the minimalist decor. Melissa paced, her thoughts a chaotic storm that refused to settle. Her hand drifted to her short hair, running through it as if the motion could somehow untangle the knot in her chest. She stared out the window at the city below, the buildings and streets bathed in the soft hues of dawn. On the surface, everything looked the same. But Melissa knew better. Nothing was the same.
Her mind raced with questions. Was this real? Was she the only one who remembered the way things had been? The thought clawed at her insides, a cold, unsettling fear taking root.
Behind her, the soft creak of the bedroom door broke the silence. She turned to see Josh stepping out, stretching and yawning as he made his way into the living room. He was dressed in a loose, oversized shirt and lace panties, his long, wavy hair flowing past his shoulders. The image was so dissonant with the Josh she remembered that her breath caught in her throat.
“Morning.” he said softly, his voice warm but still groggy from sleep. He padded toward her barefoot, his movements light and unassuming.
Melissa blinked, struggling to respond. “Morning.” she managed, her voice quieter than usual.
Josh smiled at her, then made his way to the kitchen. He hummed softly as he poured himself a glass of water, his demeanor calm and entirely at ease.
“Sleep okay?” he asked, leaning casually against the counter as he sipped.
Melissa nodded absently, her gaze fixed on him as she tried to reconcile this version of Josh with the one she knew. Where was the brash confidence, the cocky swagger? The overconfident, gym-obsessed guy who couldn’t stop talking about himself? Instead, this Josh seemed… softer. Gentle, even.
She hesitated, then decided to test the waters. “Hey, um… do you feel like something’s weird? Like… something’s off?”
Josh tilted his head, his expression curious but not alarmed. “Weird? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” Melissa said carefully, folding her arms. “Like… maybe something changed. Something about the world?”
Josh gave a puzzled expression, then chuckled. “Melissa, you’re always overthinking stuff.” he said lightly, setting down his glass. He stepped closer, resting a hand on her arm in a comforting gesture. “Everything’s fine. You probably just had a weird dream or something.”
She stared at him, her heart sinking. “You don’t feel… different?”
Josh laughed again, shaking his head. “Nope. Same old me. What’s this about?”
Melissa opened her mouth, ready to press further, but stopped herself. The way he was looking at her with genuine concern and attentiveness was so unlike the old Josh. He wasn’t brushing her off or deflecting with humor. He seemed… present.
“Josh,” she said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper, “do you remember being different? Acting different?”
He looked puzzled, his brows deepening. “Melissa, what are you talking about? People change, sure, but I’ve always been me.”
Her stomach twisted. He doesn’t remember.
Josh stepped closer, his expression softening. “You okay? You seem a little off this morning.”
“I’m fine.” Melissa lied, forcing a small smile. “Just… tired.”
Josh’s lips curved into a warm smile. “Well, you’re welcome to stay for breakfast. I was thinking pancakes.”
Melissa blinked, caught off guard. Pancakes? The old Josh barely knew how to microwave leftovers.
“Uh… I think I should get going.” she said hesitantly, her eyes darting toward the door.
Josh nodded, though a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Okay. I’ll see you at work?”
“Yeah.” Melissa said quickly, grabbing her phone and slipping on her unfamiliar dress shoes. As she stepped out the door, she glanced back once more, watching as Josh hummed a cheerful tune while rummaging through the cupboards.
This wasn’t the Josh she knew. But as she stood in the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her, she couldn’t decide which version of him felt more real, or which one she wanted to see again.