Not Me!

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling above me was white, spotless, and unfamiliar. Sunlight spilled through a curtain I didn’t recognize, casting soft golden stripes across a bed that wasn’t mine. My chest tightened. This wasn’t my room.

Pushing the blanket aside, I sat up slowly, my gaze darting around. Everything was strange—the pale walls, the framed photographs of people I didn’t know, the faint scent of lavender mixed with something warm and sweet, like freshly baked bread.

I stumbled toward a tall mirror in the corner. My breath caught in my throat.

A woman stared back at me.

She had long, silky black hair that tumbled past her shoulders, light brown eyes framed with thick lashes, and a curvy figure dressed in loose pajamas. She was beautiful—too beautiful—but she wasn’t me.

“This… this isn’t me,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Before I could make sense of it, a strange sound broke the silence. A sharp chime. Then another. My eyes darted to the bed, where something was glowing.

“What… is that?” I muttered.

I picked it up—a smooth, bright, rectangular object, its light so harsh it made my eyes water. On its surface was an image. A man’s face. Smiling. Looking right at me.

“How is this possible?” My voice was barely audible.

I turned the object over in my hands, searching for some clue. My fingers brushed over part of it, and suddenly it came alive.

“Lina. Good morning, my love,” a warm male voice said.

I froze, my grip tightening.

“Lina? Who’s Lina? Who are you? And… and how the hell is this rectangle talking?”

There was a pause, then the voice returned with a sigh.

“Lina, it’s me—Max. Your fiancé. Did you forget to take your pills again? That ‘rectangle’ you’re talking about… it’s your phone.” His tone shifted, more concerned now. “I’m calling Aunt Jessie.”

Before I could respond, the glowing rectangle went silent.

The door burst open, making me flinch. A woman stood there, framed in the doorway, her eyes wide and searching my face.

“Lina… come and eat breakfast,” she said softly.

“Who… who are you?” I asked, my voice shaking.

Her eyes widened further, and for a moment, she didn’t speak. Then, in a trembling voice, she said, “Lina. I’m your mom. Jessie. Now take your meds… here.”

She stepped forward and pressed a small paper cup into my hands. Inside were two capsules—dark green, almost like crushed herbs sealed in a shell. I hesitated, but something in her gaze—fear? desperation?—made me tip my head back and swallow them.

The moment they slid down my throat, something happened.

Images—blurry, disjointed—flashed before my eyes. A birthday cake with pink candles. A man’s laugh. A beach at sunset. A wedding dress in a shop window. None of them were mine.

I clutched the edge of the dresser, gasping. “What year is this?”

Jessie blinked at me. “It’s 2025, dear. Are you feeling better now? Wash your face and come down for breakfast.” She gave me one last searching look before closing the door.

I stood in the silence, the weight of her words pressing into me.

200 years ahead of where I should be.

“These aren’t my memories,” I whispered. “This isn’t my life.”

My fingers tightened against the wood of the dresser, the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror staring back.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

“Did I… get reincarnated?”

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