Andrea arrives

You felt a flutter of nerves the moment you were seated, so you slipped your compact from your purse and touched up your lipstick, smoothing the color, then checking the fall of your curls with a practiced little tilt of your head. It gave you something to do with your hands, something to ground you. You were still finishing when you heard a voice cut through the murmur of the restaurant.

“Steve? I mean—Yulia? Is that you?”

The words jolted through you. Your compact snapped shut almost too quickly as you looked up—and there she was. Andrea. Standing just a step away from your table, eyes wide, shock painted clear across her face.

A thrill surged through you so sharp it made your knees weak. You shot up from your seat, the gray fabric of your dress tightening across your body as you squealed, “Andrea!”

You threw your arms around her before she could second-guess herself. She stiffened at first, hesitating as if unsure whether to push you away, then slowly her arms came up to return the hug, tentative but real. You felt her shake her head against your hair, as if she was trying to dismiss the absurdity of what she was seeing.

When you pulled back, Andrea was still staring, her mouth parted like she wanted to speak but didn’t know which question to start with.

Andrea slid into the chair opposite you, the wood scraping faintly against the floor. She still looked stunned, her eyes darting across your face like she was trying to find Steve inside the woman smiling back at her.

For a moment neither of you spoke. The weight of her silence pressed down, and you felt your heart thudding in your chest. You smoothed your skirt nervously, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear the way you’d practiced from Yulia’s videos.

Finally, Andrea let out a breath and leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. “I can’t believe it. You… you really look like her.” She shook her head, almost laughing, but there was no humor in her voice. “Like Yulia from the photos Victor showed me. Not even a trace of…” She trailed off, the word Steve hanging unspoken between you.

You gave a little shrug, forcing a half-smile. “Da… is… is strange, yes? For me too.” Your voice carried the soft lilt of Yulia’s accent, the consonants rolling differently, the vowels rounded.

Andrea’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying you. “But that’s your voice. It’s you. I can hear it.” She leaned back, folding her arms. “How the hell am I supposed to wrap my head around this? I mean… what happened to you?”

You swallowed, searching for words. “I… not know how explain. One morning I wake up—this. Body is Yulia. But… inside?” You tapped your chest softly. “Still me. Still Steve.”

Andrea flinched faintly at the name, her brow furrowing.

For a long moment, she just looked at you, measuring sincerity in your painted eyes, your delicate gestures, your accented words. Then, to your immense relief, her expression softened. She reached across the table and laid her hand over yours. Her touch was tentative, cautious, but it steadied you.

“I don’t understand any of this,” she said quietly, “but if it’s really you… then you have to prove it. Tell me something only Steve would know.”

Her challenge hung there, sharp and intimate, forcing you to dredge up a piece of your old life and hold it against this impossible new reality.

You stared at Andrea, her hand still resting over yours, the warmth of her palm oddly grounding. Your lips parted, but for a moment no words came. What memory could pierce through this impossible shell and make her believe?

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “Andrea… remember… freshman year? We… go Six Flags, summer. You—how you say—you scream whole time on roller coaster. Hold my arm so tight, I think you break it.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching.

You gave a little laugh, the sound soft, carrying Yulia’s musical lilt but edged with Steve’s old warmth. “After ride, you say never again. But next ride—who in line first? You. You always want pretend you brave.”

Andrea’s lips parted slowly, her eyes glistening with sudden recognition. “Oh my god…” She pressed her free hand to her mouth, shaking her head. “That… that really is you.”

You smiled nervously, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Da… is me. I know… I look like—like stranger. But inside… Steve.”

Andrea stared at you a long moment, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. Then, almost whispering: “Steve… what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

Her voice trembled between fear and something else—something you couldn’t quite name but felt in the tight grip of her hand.

ou swallowed hard, throat dry, eyes darting nervously around the restaurant. The chatter and clinking of glasses around you felt distant, muffled, like you and Andrea were suddenly in your own private world. You leaned closer, lowering your voice, your accent coloring every word.

“I… I not know how explain,” you said, your brow furrowing. “One day… is me, Steve. Next day… I wake up, I see this.” You lifted your hands a little, gesturing down at the curves, the gray dress clinging over your chest and hips. “I try scream, but… is still my voice. Only not. Is Yulia’s.”

Andrea’s stare was unblinking, her lips parted in disbelief. “This is… insane. You—you expect me to believe—what? That you somehow turned into her?”

You pressed forward desperately, the words tumbling out in broken rhythm. “Andrea, who else know about Six Flags? Who else know about us sneaking in your dad’s liquor cabinet, mixing whiskey with Coke, almost puking all over his carpet?”

Her face went red instantly. “Shut up!” she hissed, swatting your arm, her voice half-panicked. “Nobody knows about that.”

You gave a shaky smile. “Da. Only us. Because is real. Is me.”

Andrea leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples with both hands, staring at you like you’d split the world open in front of her. “Jesus Christ… Steve, I don’t—” She stopped, caught herself, looked at you again. “You really are in there.”

You nodded quickly, eyes wide, needing her to see it. “Da. Is me. Please, Andrea… you believe me, yes?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she studied your face—your big dark eyes framed with long lashes, the glossy lips still trembling, the little nervous way you smoothed your skirt over your thighs. Then she exhaled sharply.

“This is completely insane,” she muttered, her voice low and tight. “But I believe you. God help me—I actually believe you.”

Her words sent a shiver through you, a mix of relief and raw emotion. For the first time since this nightmare began, someone truly saw you.

You leaned forward, your hand brushing hers again, almost pleading. “Spasibo… thank you. I… I not alone now.”

Andrea squeezed your hand tighter, shaking her head in disbelief but not letting go. “No. You’re not alone. But Steve…” Her eyes flicked over you once more, lingering, conflicted. “What the hell are we gonna do?”