The Love We Still Share

It had been two months since the Great Shift turned the world upside down. Two months since I had woken up in a stranger’s body—broad shoulders, square jaw, and muscles I didn’t know how to control. Across from me, in another unfamiliar body, was the man I’d spent fifteen years loving: my husband, David.

Only now, David wore the body of the man from 3B—tall, dark-haired, and athletic. I, on the other hand, had been dropped into the body of his roommate, a lean, slightly anxious-looking man with soft brown hair and wide, nervous eyes. We were still in the same apartment, still in the same bed, but everything had changed.

At first, we tried to act like it hadn’t.

Every night I reached for David, wanting to be close again—wanting him, no matter what body he wore. But he’d pull away.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper. “I just… I look at you and see a man.”

I didn’t push. I knew how disorienting it all was. I knew it wasn’t about me—not really. But it still hurt. I missed the way he used to hold me without hesitation. I missed us.

Then, one night, as we lay in silence under the covers, I turned to him. “David, do you still love me?”

He didn’t answer at first. He stared at the ceiling, then finally said, “Of course I do. You’re still you. But when I look at you, my brain doesn’t… react the same way.”

“But your heart does?”

He turned, eyes full of hesitation and longing. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It does.”

I leaned in slowly. “Then let’s try.”

That night, he let his guard down. He kissed me, trembling at first, but then with growing certainty. His hands, though new to him, still knew how to hold me. I saw his eyes flicker—not with confusion, but with realization.

“This is still you,” he whispered against my lips.

And in that moment, the bodies didn’t matter. The world had changed, but our love hadn’t.