We were together for three years. You thought it ended badly—cold texts, unanswered calls, a breakup with no closure. But now, waking up in your old apartment, everything’s different. Your jeans, your hoodies, your shoes—they’re gone. In their place, a full wardrobe of women’s clothing: blouses, skirts, dresses in your size, colors you’d never pick. On the dresser, a makeup kit, neatly arranged, and a note in her handwriting: 'Wear it. Become her. Call me when you’re ready.' Below it, a phone number. No name. No explanation. You check the bathroom—your razor’s gone, replaced with a woman’s trimmer. The mirror reflects someone unfamiliar. You touch your face. You think about calling. But what happens if she answers? What if she says, 'I knew you’d wear it'? Your hand hovers over your phone, trembling

'Do I even want to say no?'