"He. Loves. You. And. So. Do. I. It. Will. Pass."
Sarah sighed, a soft hiss he felt more than heard. She pointed to the tea, then mimed drinking, then placed a hand on his forehead. Her touch was cool and wonderful. He leaned into it, desperate for a connection that didn't require translation. ears stuffy from cold
The rest of the world was a distant radio station playing on the wrong frequency. pathetic squeak. Nothing.
The first sign was the silence. Not a true silence, but a muffled one, like the world had been packed in cotton wool. Alex woke up feeling like his head was a over-inflated balloon, tethered to the pillow by a thick, throbbing cord. The cold had arrived overnight, a sneaky invader that left a trail of scratchy throat and exhausted limbs. He stood under the shower
He sat up, and the simple act of his head moving upright felt like a submarine changing depth. A soft, crinkly pop echoed deep inside his left ear, followed by the sensation of being underwater. His own breath, loud and ragged in his head, was the only clear sound. When he swallowed, his ears answered with a tiny, protesting squeak.
His wife, Sarah, came in with a cup of tea. He saw her lips move, forming familiar shapes—"Good morning," "How are you feeling?"—but the sound arrived as if from the end of a long, tiled hallway. Words were mashed together, consonants lost, vowels warped. The gentle clink of the mug on the bedside table sounded like a dropped hammer.
Desperate, Alex retreated to the bathroom. He stood under the shower, letting the scalding water beat down on his head. The roar of the water was a dull, percussive thud, but it did nothing to clear the clogged feeling. He tried the old trick: pinching his nose and gently blowing. A tiny, pathetic squeak. Nothing.