I wake up to a pounding head and a wave of dizziness. The first thing I see is a white ceiling. Cold air kisses my forehead, and when I reach up with my left hand, my fingers brush against rough gauze. A bandage. Did I fall? Was I in an accident?
A sting tugs at my right hand. I glance down—an IV line, taped neatly over my skin. The sterile scent, the white curtains, white walls... this has to be a hospital ward.
But why am I here? My mind is blank. The last thing I remember, I was lying in bed, scrolling through a web novel after a petty fight with my sister.
The door swings open, and I jolt.
"You're awake." A calm, deep voice cuts through the stillness. "How do you feel? Any pain?"
A man steps in, casually dressed in a button-down shirt and black jeans. He's tall, slim, and breathtakingly handsome—sharp nose, pale skin, almost ethereal. The kind of face you'd expect to see on a magazine cover or an idol stage.
Do I know him? No... I couldn't possibly forget someone like this.
He looks at me, worried etched across his perfect face.
"Who… are you? Do… I know you?" I ask slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. I avoid his eyes, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
"I… I…" he stammers. His face suddenly loses color. Without another word, he bolts out of the room.
Seconds later, a rush of footsteps echoes down the corridor. A group of nurses and doctors flood into the room like a white-coated storm. They swarm around me, checking monitors, scribbling notes, lifting my eyelids, pressing on my limbs.
The questions start flying.
"Do you remember your name?"
"How old are you?"
"Where do you live?"
""Do you feel hurt anywhere else?"
A young man—probably my attending doctor—leans in, his voice rapid and urgent. I can barely breathe under the pressure.
"I… I… I don't remember…" I manage, clutching the sheets. "I… I…"
But that's not true. I do remember. I'm Mia Izabelle. Thirty years old. Single. Unemployed. From a small city you've probably never heard of. So why… why does my hand look so small? So pale? My skin—flawless. Youthful.
Something's wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
Did I transmigrate?
"I… I…" I blurt, on the verge of a breakdown. Then, out of pure panic:
"I NEED TO PEE! I'M GOING TO THE TOILET!"
The room goes dead silent.
The handsome doctor stares at me, clearly stunned. The words seem to short-circuit his brain. Before he can recover and help me out of bed, I spring up and dash toward the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it.
Silence. Then muffled chaos from the hallway.
Outside, I hear voices fumbling in confusion—his, and the young man who was in the room earlier. Both equally flustered.