Josie woke up to the sound of birds—real birds, not the artificial chirping ringtone she had used for years. For a moment, she didn't move. Her eyes remained half-closed as she stretched her fingers and felt something soft beneath her, something unfamiliar. Her mattress was never this comfortable. Her sheets were never this smooth.
The faint scent of lavender hung in the air.
Lavender? I don't even like lavender.
Her eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above her was white. Clean. Minimalistic. Not the cracked old ceiling with the peeling paint she remembered falling asleep under the night before. She sat up abruptly, the duvet sliding down her arms.
"Where… am I?"
Her voice came out small. Wrong. Off.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and froze. They were thinner. Smoother. The scars she'd lived with for years — gone. Her breath hitched, and she grabbed her arms, tracing the unfamiliar skin.
Panic fluttered in her stomach.
"No. No, no, no—this isn't right."
She staggered toward the mirror across the room. A stranger stared back at her. Same eyes — brown and sharp — but the face was not hers. The jawline softer. The hair longer. The lips fuller.
She touched the mirror.
The reflection copied her movements, proving that this wasn't some dream.
She had transmigrated.
Someone knocked on the bedroom door.
"Josie? Are you awake? You're going to be late for work again!"
Josie's blood ran cold.
Again?
The door cracked open and a girl peeked in — maybe nineteen, maybe twenty, with curly hair tied in a messy bun.
"Josie, seriously. You overslept again? You promised you'd stop doing this!"
"I—um—sorry?" Josie managed.
The girl sighed dramatically. "Well, hurry up! The café opens in thirty minutes. If Mr. Roland yells at you again, I'm not covering for you."
And just like that, she left, letting the door swing shut.
Josie stared after her.
Café?
Work?
Who even is Mr. Roland?
She pressed a palm to her forehead, forcing herself to breathe. She had read novels like this before. She had laughed at protagonists who panicked.
Now she understood.
Transmigration wasn't dramatic. It was terrifying.
She sat on the bed for several minutes, trying to gather herself.
"If I'm stuck here… then I have to act like her," she whispered.
The room offered no answers.
She searched the dresser, hoping to find a clue — an ID card, a wallet, anything. She found a phone instead, with a lock screen photo of the girl who knocked earlier hugging the body she now inhabited.
Roommate. Sister? Friend?
The phone unlocked without a password. A list of messages popped up.
— Josie are you up
— Please don't be late
— Mr Roland said one more time and he'll cut your hours
Her shoulders dropped in resignation.
"All right… I guess I work at a café."
She dressed quickly: a soft beige sweater, simple jeans, white sneakers. The kind of outfit she only dreamed of affording. In her original life, she lived paycheck to paycheck. Everything she owned was second-hand.
Here, everything was neat. New. Clean.
The apartment was tiny but warm. She walked out to a small living area where the curly-haired girl sat eating cereal.
"You okay?" the girl asked, squinting. "You look… weird."
"I just didn't sleep well," Josie replied cautiously.
"Well, drink water. And maybe don't read sad novels at 3 a.m. again."
Right. The original owner read novels late into the night.
"Got it."
They left the apartment together. The girl chatted nonstop about a class project, a boy she disliked, an exam she feared. Josie listened carefully, absorbing every piece of information, storing it like precious gold.
When they reached the café, the morning rush had already begun. Customers lined up outside. A man in his forties glared at Josie the moment she walked in.
"You're late."
Josie bowed her head. "I'm sorry."
"Get to work. You're on register today."
She nodded, slipping behind the counter.
The buttons on the register were unfamiliar, and she fumbled at first. But muscle memory — not hers, but the original owner's — kicked in.
Orders came and went.
Customers complained.
The espresso machine hissed angrily.
Josie kept breathing.
When the rush slowed, she leaned against the counter, exhausted. Her eyes wandered to the corner of the room — and froze.
A man sat there, sketchbook open, coffee untouched.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Calm — so calm it irritated her chaotic heart.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, the world went quiet.
He didn't smile.
He didn't look away.
He simply studied her, as if he knew something she didn't.
Josie swallowed.
Her new life had officially begun.