"Let me tell you how I ended up cursing an author and waking up in another era."
It was a sunny day. The sun was blazing with its full force, though since it was late September, it wasn't unbearably hot. I had just finished all my household chores and finally sat down, planning to read one of those web novels.
Let me confess something: I never actually finish them. Somewhere along the way, they always lose their charm and become painfully boring. And honestly? I'm not exactly the most consistent person on earth either.
Still, for some reason, I decided to try a new one today. And of course—like it's the law now—it was about transmigration.
Why is everyone obsessed with this genre? First of all, I'm Muslim, and secondly, I'm desi. So let's be clear: there is absolutely no way I *actually* believe in this stuff. And yet… curiosity won, like it always does, and I started reading.
The story was about a girl—strong, independent, perfect protagonist material. But destiny decided to test her by sending her back in time.
"Oh, what the hell… is this really the plot?" I muttered.
Now, if you really ask me what the problem was, I'd say there was only one: I'm not a strong and independent woman. I'm just… a coward, an antisocial mess of a person. So I can't relate to these supposedly "empowering" characters. In fact, they only make me feel worse about myself.It's not like somebody is forcing me to stay home but... I just don't feel comfortable to go out and be independent. It's just always made me terrify even the simple idea of going out.
I slammed the novel shut and cursed the author for their unoriginal ideas before moving on to find something better. Hours passed. Nothing was worth my time. Eventually, I gave up and decided to take a nap.
About an hour later, I felt someone gently shaking me awake. The touch was careful, almost respectful—not at all like my mom, who would throw a sandal at me if I dared to sleep at the wrong time.Guys chill she is not my step mother and..... That's how the desi mother reacts and you can't call police because you are living under her roof.
My eyes flew open—and my heart skipped a beat.
This wasn't my room.
Actually, I don't even *have* my own room. But even so, this definitely wasn't where I fell asleep.
Next to the bed stood a girl in unfamiliar, old-fashioned clothes. She tensed up when she noticed my shocked expression.
"I-I'm sorry, madam," she said hesitantly. "But Master Yang requests your presence for breakfast."
My brain went blank.
What language was she speaking?
Why could I understand it?
"Oh, hell no," I whispered.
Don't tell me… I've transmigrated into one of the cliche novels I hated.