How About Shae

You square your shoulders, which feels different with your new center of gravity, and meet David's questioning gaze with unexpected confidence.

"Shae," you say, the name tumbling from your lips before you've even consciously decided on it. "My name is Shae." The Irish lilt in your new voice makes the name sound musical, natural—as though you've been called that your entire life.

David's eyebrows lift slightly. "Shae?" he repeats, testing the name. "Not... Matilda or something that would be a female version of Matt?"

You shake your head, copper waves bouncing around your face. "No. Shae feels right." And strangely, it does—the name settles over you like a comfortable sweater, fitting your new form in a way that surprises you.

David studies you for a long moment, his eyes traveling over your transformed appearance—the delicate features, the bright green eyes, the fiery hair. There's something unreadable in his expression as he absorbs the reality of what's happened.

"Alright then, Shae," he finally says, his voice softer than you're used to hearing from him. "Let's figure this out." He gestures toward the living room. "You should probably sit down before you fall over. You look like you're still getting used to... all of this."

He's not wrong. Your new body feels alien—smaller, lighter, with its weight distributed differently. Your center of gravity has shifted lower, making you slightly unsteady on your feet. The loose t-shirt hangs off your frame like a tent, slipping off one shoulder to reveal pale, freckled skin.

"David, I don't understand what happened," you say, your new voice still startling you with its melodic quality. "One minute I was me, and then—" The words catch in your throat again when you try to mention the app specifically.

"And then you weren't," David finishes, watching you carefully. "I saw it happen, Shae. Right here in our kitchen." He runs a hand through his hair, looking equal parts bewildered and fascinated. "I'm still trying to process what I just witnessed."

As he leads you toward the living room, you catch sight of your reflection in the hall mirror. The person staring back is a stranger—a petite redhead with wide green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Your hair falls in soft copper waves to your shoulders, framing a face that's undeniably pretty in a wholesome, girl-next-door way.

You freeze, transfixed by your own reflection. Your hand rises automatically to touch your face, and in the mirror, a delicate, feminine hand with slender fingers mimics the movement.

"Jesus," you breathe, the Irish lilt making even that simple word sound musical.

"Yeah," David agrees, watching your reaction with a strange intensity. "It's... quite something."