The hallway smelled of lavender and old wood. My bare feet touched the cool floor as I walked—no, as she walked—down the corridor. My steps were light, graceful, nothing like the hurried way I usually moved. Paintings lined the walls: portraits of stern men in uniforms and women in elaborate gowns. This place… it was like a museum. But to them, it was just home.
In the dining room, a long wooden table was set with silverware and delicate porcelain. An older man sat at the head of the table, reading a newspaper. Greek letters danced across the page, but I could somehow understand them. My mind was Elif's, but the knowledge… it was Alina's.
"Good morning, Baba," I heard myself say in a soft, melodic voice. The words flowed naturally. My heart raced.
The man looked up and smiled. "Good morning, my little dove. Did you sleep well?"
I nodded. I didn't trust my voice. I was afraid if I spoke too much, the truth would spill out—that I wasn't really his daughter, that I didn't belong here, in this world, in this century.
Breakfast was quiet. A woman I assumed was Alina's mother offered me bread, cheese, and olives. I ate slowly, trying to process everything. They spoke about the war, about growing unrest, about Turkish villages nearby. Every word sank heavy into my chest. I was trapped in the body of the enemy's daughter… during a time of deep conflict.
After the meal, I was taken to a room filled with books. A tutor was waiting—an elegant, middle-aged man with spectacles and an expression that mixed kindness with discipline.
"We'll continue with your French today, Alina," he said.
I wanted to scream, I'm not Alina! But I nodded. I sat down, and again, her body moved with ease, flipping open a grammar book and reciting words I didn't even know I knew.
As the lesson continued, I tried to reach inside myself, to understand how this happened. Was it a dream? A coma? Or had I truly traveled through time, not just in space, but in identity? I thought of my real family—my mother's voice calling me for dinner, my phone buzzing with friends' messages, the smell of coffee from the campus café.
Now… there were no phones. No internet. No freedom. I was a girl in 1915, under the strict rules of a military family, living in a time where being yourself could be dangerous.
But one thing became clear: I couldn't just be a passenger in this life.
If I was stuck in Alina's world, then I needed to understand it. To survive, I had to become her—at least for now.
Still, deep inside, Elif hadn't vanished.
She was watching, waiting.
And she wasn't going to let this life go to waste.