He applied the menthol rub first—not just under his nose, but in a thick, reckless smear across his entire upper lip, his cheekbones, and accidentally, a little on his eyebrow. His eyes watered. He felt like a bear that had just stuck its face into a glacier. The left nostril gave a half-hearted flutter, then closed again.
He lifted the bowl, inhaled the steam, and felt a faint, tantalizing twinge in his right nostril. Then nothing.
Leo looked at his reflection. His eyes were red. His upper lip was shiny with menthol. There was a single noodle from the soup clinging to his shirt. He had never felt more defeated. open blocked nose
He lay on his back, mouth-breathing like a beached whale, staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looked vaguely like a disapproving face. The disapproving face seemed to mock him. You should have bought that humidifier, it seemed to say. You should have changed the air filter. You should not have eaten that entire cheese platter at midnight.
Leo groaned—a pathetic, nasal-less groan that came out as a strangled honk. He applied the menthol rub first—not just under
He had tried everything. The steam shower had turned the bathroom into a sauna and done nothing. The saline spray had felt like someone throwing a teaspoon of water into the Sahara. The pillow-propping had only given him a neck cramp. And now, his last resort: a spicy chicken soup from the 24-hour diner, delivered lukewarm and congealing on his nightstand.
He shuffled back to bed, lay on his side, and closed his eyes. The water-stain face on the ceiling seemed less disapproving now. Almost proud. The left nostril gave a half-hearted flutter, then
Leo smiled, took one more perfect breath, and fell asleep three minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He didn’t care. For now, in the silent, sacred hour before dawn, his nose was open, and the world was full of air.