Chapter 3- Whose life Am I living?

Lucia sat on the edge of the unfamiliar bed, the silence of the room pressing down on her chest. Her hands tightened around the little ID card she had found earlier— Ivor. That was the name written there. The boy in the mirror. The boy whose body she now… somehow inhabited.

She let out a shaky breath.

> “Ivor… who are you?”

Her voice cracked. It felt strange, even to her ears—lower, softer, undeniably masculine. She lifted her hand and touched her throat, unsettled by the way her words carried a different weight now.

Every small movement reminded her of what had changed. The absence of her breasts, the foreign heaviness between her legs, the sharp angles of her face that caught in the mirror’s reflection. It was like wearing someone else’s skin—except there was no way to peel it off.

She pressed her palms into her face. Calm down, Lucia… just calm down.

When she finally forced herself to look around the room, she noticed details she had ignored before: stacks of neatly folded clothes, books on a small desk, and a faint citrus-like scent clinging to the air. Oddly enough, the scent seemed… sharper than it should.

Her nose twitched. She could smell the detergent on the sheets. The faint wood polish on the furniture. Even the metallic tang of the key left carelessly on the table.

She froze. Wait. Since when could I smell things like this?

The realization made her dizzy. She staggered toward the desk, fumbling through the drawers, hoping to find anything that could tell her who Ivor really was. A diary, letters, maybe even receipts. But all she found were scraps—class notes, some doodles, and a half-written essay about "social dynamics."

“Social dynamics…” she muttered under her breath, tapping the paper. “What kind of boy are you, Ivor?”

Her stomach twisted. Every answer seemed to lead to more questions.

Just then—

Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

Lucia nearly jumped out of her skin as the phone on the nightstand lit up. The screen flashed a name she didn’t recognize: Letty.

Her pulse hammered. Should she answer? Should she pretend to be Ivor? What if they noticed something was wrong?

The phone buzzed again, and again. Lucia bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pick up.

The call ended. Relief washed over her—too soon.

Ding!

A message popped up on the screen:

"Hey, Ivor. Remember to come to tomorrow’s reunion party. If you forget, I’ll kill you."

Lucia stared at the words, her hands trembling. She whispered, almost to herself:

> “Reunion…? Party? What kind of people are you involved with, Ivor…?”

Her mind raced. Should she go? It was risky—she didn’t even know how Ivor behaved, what kind of friends he had, or what role he played in their lives. But deep inside, a part of her knew: if she wanted to understand this world, this body, and find a way back to herself, she couldn’t hide.

> “I don’t have a choice… I have to go.”

Still, anxiety clawed at her stomach. What if Ivor was a cruel person? What if his friends hated him? Or worse… what if they knew something she didn’t?

She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slightly. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out later. Right now…” She glanced at the wardrobe with a helpless look. “…my first problem is clothes. How do I even dress as a guy? And how the hell do I get used to this—” she groaned, burying her face in her hands, “—this thing?”

Her rambling was interrupted by another ding. The phone lit up again with a new message.

"Hey, Ivor. How are you? I’m really excited to meet you after so long. Oh! Sorry, I didn’t even say who I am. It’s me, Ian. Meet you at the party—see you!"

Lucia’s eyes widened.

> “Ian…?”

She whispered the name like it was forbidden. She didn’t know who Ian was, or why his message made her chest tighten strangely. But somehow, she had the sinking feeling… Ian was important.

Very important.

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