Brand new me - 2

Marie stood in front of her mirror again, only this time, she looked longer. The panic was gone, mostly. In its place: quiet, cautious awe.

She turned side to side, watching how her skirt moved with her hips, how her top clung around her chest. The girl in the mirror was effortlessly pretty. Not Instagram-flashy. Just… soft, natural, magnetic.

It was a body that invited attention, and got it.

That fact both unsettled and intrigued her.

She brushed a hand down her side, tracing her new silhouette. Her skin felt different. Not just softer, more reactive. When her fingers skimmed her collarbone, goosebumps bloomed instantly.

“Still me,” she whispered. “Still Marc.”

But even the sound of Marc in her mouth felt foreign now.

On campus, Marie quickly learned the rules had changed.

Men didn’t just look at her, they assessed her. A glance became a lingering gaze. A passing conversation would dip into flirtation with no provocation.

Professors interrupted less. Classmates interrupted more.

When she spoke, people nodded like her ideas were precious, but when a guy repeated the same point, he got the praise.

And women? They watched her, too. Judging, measuring. Some smiled, others narrowed their eyes. A group of girls complimented her boots one day, then mocked her walk the next.

Being seen was constant, exhausting, and addictive.

She caught herself planning outfits the night before. Learning how to apply mascara. Reading body language.

Her posture changed. She crossed her legs differently. Smiled more. Tilted her head when listening.

Not to manipulate. Not to mimic.

Because it worked.

One morning, Marie woke up feeling… weird.

Not sick. Not tired.

Just on. Warm. Restless.

She tugged off her sleep shirt and padded over to the mirror. Her nipples were sensitive, even under the light fabric. Her skin flushed too easily. She touched her cheek, then her chest. Everything buzzed, like she was dialed into some new frequency.

When she brushed her fingertips lightly down her stomach, a soft gasp escaped her lips.

She froze.

“Oh God.”

She wasn’t trying to get turned on. It just happened. Like her body had a mind of its own. Her knees weakened. Her thighs clenched instinctively. Every sensation was new, intimate, electric, terrifyingly female.

Marie sat back on the bed, breathing hard. Shaken.

Later, she Googled:

“Hormonal cycle day 14?”

“First female arousal experience?”

She learned more than she ever wanted to. Then read even more.

And at the bottom of it all was a truth she couldn’t unlearn:

She wasn’t a man in a girl’s body anymore.

She was a girl. A woman.

Hormones, responses, desires and all.

-----

Eli wasn’t like other guys.

Tall, lean, blue-gray eyes that always looked amused. He didn’t treat her like a glass doll, but he didn’t ignore her either.

He called her Mar. Shared his fries. Walked her home, no big deal.

One night, after they left a bookstore together, it started raining. They sprinted under an awning, both out of breath.

“Jesus,” she laughed. “We’re soaked.”

He shook his hair like a dog, water droplets hitting her face. “Still cute, though.”

The words hit her like a soft punch to the stomach.

Still cute.

He meant it. And he didn’t make it weird.

Marie was blushing. Smiling. She didn’t know what to say.

Then his jacket came off, and he wrapped it around her shoulders.

It was warm. Heavy. It smelled like him.

She wore it the rest of the night.

When Marie got back to her dorm, she peeled off the wet clothes and dried her hair, but her mind was already shifting.

Back to the screen. Back to the numbers.

She logged into her brokerage accounts. Opened three tabs. Checked timestamps and projected earnings. The stock she bought last week, an AI-driven biotech platform, was up 47%. Crypto futures were climbing again.

Marc’s instincts hadn’t dulled.

But now they came from a girl in pajamas with conditioner in her hair.

She smiled.

With discipline and clever timing, she grew her balance from $12K to $26K, then $43K within a month. She used burner wallets, dummy addresses, and ghost accounts, Marc’s old tricks.

Nobody suspected cute, quiet Marie Leroux was an investment prodigy.

And she liked it that way.

It happened during a late-night study session with Eli. His head was resting on her lap. He’d fallen asleep mid-chapter, textbook still open on his chest.

She should’ve pushed him off, or at least moved.

But she didn’t.

She just sat there, fingers resting lightly on his hair, heart racing like a hummingbird. The scent of his cologne lingered on his hoodie. The rhythm of his breath was slow and peaceful.

Something twisted inside her chest. A soft ache.

She stayed there for almost an hour, not daring to move.

The next day, she found herself replaying his laugh. His smile.

And later, when he texted “you wanna hang?” she said yes faster than she meant to.

One night, she dreamt of Marc again.

He was older, heavier, in the old hoodie, sitting in that crumbling leather chair, staring at the inbox with dead eyes.

He looked up at her and said, “You left me.”

She woke with a start, clutching her chest.

Tears welled in her eyes before she understood why.

She hadn’t just started over.

She’d left herself behind.

But lying there, in a girl’s body, in a pink room with plushies on the shelf and lip balm on the nightstand…

She didn’t want to go back.

Eli picked her up for coffee two days later. On the walk, he bumped her shoulder playfully.

“You’ve changed,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You used to be all ‘ugh, mornings’ and now you smile before your second coffee.”

Marie laughed. “Maybe I’m just better off now.”

He paused. “I like you better now.”

That made her stop walking.

He kept going, casually tossing the words over his shoulder.

And Marie felt something stir in her chest. Something uninvited. Dangerous.

Because part of her whispered:

I think I like you, too.

But she didn’t say it.

Not yet.