Awakening
Before her eyes even opened, a strange, sharp smell pricked at her nose. The air felt too clean, too cold. Somewhere nearby, a machine beeped in a steady rhythm, calm and cold. Anya's eyelids fluttered, heavy and dry, and the ceiling above her was white, painfully bright, and completely unfamiliar..
She tried to lift her hand.
It moved, but so slowly, like it wasn't hers anymore.
Her throat was dry and burning. She parted her lips, hoping to call out, but all that came out was a rough, thin sound. Not a word.
It didn't sound like her voice at all.
"...Water…" she tried again, but the moment the sound escaped, she froze.
That wasn't her voice.
That was a baby's cry. Thin. Weak. Like air being squeezed from something too small.
Someone moved nearby. A woman in pale blue scrubs turned toward her quickly, startled. She spoke in a language that made no sense to Anya. Sharp sounds, too fast to catch.
Anya's breath caught. She blinked hard, trying to clear the fog in her head. Her lips parted again. "Where…?" she tried, barely audible.
A man appeared, wearing a white coat, flipping through a chart. Another nurse was with him. They were calm, efficient. There was no panic in their eyes, only quiet relief that she was awake.
The doctor said something soothing, his voice calm, as if explaining something important.
But the words meant nothing.
"I.... I don't understand," Anya whispered.
Her hands moved... clumsy, tiny, barely responsive.
She couldn't lift her head, let alone sit up. Everything felt wrong. Her limbs were too short. Her muscles, too weak. Panic fluttered inside her like a trapped bird.
A nurse leaned over and smiled gently, unaware of the storm brewing behind the baby's eyes. The woman said something soft, sing-song, and turned the infant slightly, just enough for Anya to catch a glimpse of herself in a metal panel beside the warmer.
A distorted reflection looked back at her.
Not a woman. Not a girl.
A baby.
Red, wrinkled skin, Puffy cheeks, Eyes too large for such a small face. Damp black hair plastered to a round scalp. And just beneath her left eye... a small mole.
It wasn't her.
It couldn't be.
Her chest tightened. Her heartbeat felt louder than the machines. The reflection blurred as tears filled her eyes.
That wasn't just a new body.
It was a new life.
But behind that face… she was still Anya.
"No…" Her voice cracked. "Who is this?"
Her pulse raced. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a warning.
A shadow leaned over her. The, framed by harsh fluorescent light. His face was calm, unreadable. He didn't speak to her questions... couldn't have heard them in the way she meant. Instead, he glanced at the chart in his hand, then at her.
And softly, almost like naming something that didn't belong to itself, he said,"Li Anqi."
Just once.
No explanation. No comfort.
Then he turned away.
Li Anqi?
"No. I'm Anya," she whispered. "I'm… I was in Country B. I...."
She stopped.
The last thing she remembered... what was it?
Rain..A road..A car skidding...
Then silence....
A broken fragment of her old life.
Now replaced by this unfamiliar shell in a place that didn't speak her language.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Not yet.
Not here.
She didn't know what had happened or why she was here, but something told her:
She had taken someone else's place.A girl named Li Anqi.
And there was no going back.