Then her nose twitched.

Barely. A whisper of irritation.

She paused near a pillar and wrinkled her nose once. Twice.

Sniffed. Blinked.

What was that?

The tickle was faint, high in her sinuses—sharp and unfamiliar. Not the usual spring allergy tingle. This was dustier. Spicier.

She turned her head slowly, already starting to feel her breath catch. Was she going to actually sneeze? She never sneezed in public.

“Hhhnk’tchhh!”
A soft, barely-there stifle.

She blinked hard. Whoa.

But the tickle didn’t go away.

In fact, it spread.

Her breath hitched again.

“Hhh’nggkt—hhuhh’tkngchhh!!”
Still stifled. Still polite.

But her nostrils flared sharply, and her eyes were beginning to water.

She backed up against the pillar, setting her coffee on the floor with trembling fingers. The change in her altitude made something in her nose curl. Her brow furrowed. What the hell—

Then a breeze rolled through the atrium—and with it, the faintest shimmer of airborne powder caught the light.

And Chloe’s body seized.

She doubled forward.

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Nico was seated alone, picking at a basket of fries in the middle of the second floor of the mall. The skylight above bathed the court in warm sun, too bright for February, and the air smelled like cinnamon rolls and escalator grease.

He didn’t notice the sneezing at first.

Just a soft sound—”huh’NGKhh!”—sharp and oddly stifled. Then another. Louder.

“Huhh’KTSHHhh! Hhh-KTSCHHHhhuhh!”

He glanced up, curious.

Across the wide stretch of glossy tile, beside a kiosk selling novelty phone cases and massage guns, someone had frozen mid-step.

They wore a long green coat and stood with one hand hovering awkwardly in front of their face, breath fluttering visibly in the afternoon light.

“Hhhuh-huhhh-huhhhHHRSHHHhhuhhh!!”

That one wasn’t stifled. It was a blast—so strong it echoed through the vaulted ceiling. The person bent forward with the force of the sneeze.

Nico blinked. Watched. Felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

The sneezer—red hair, maybe mid-20s—stumbled forward slightly, head snapping down.

“Hhhuh-HHHRSHHHuhh!! HRSHHHuhhh! Hhh-HHRRRSHHHuhh!!”

Their sneezes came in clusters—unstoppable. People walking by swerved. The person—now clearly losing all control—tried to wave a hand dismissively like it was fine, but they were already buckling.

Nico stood.

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I perch on the edge of the couch, trying not to wrinkle my skirt or my face.

She has just asked where I want to begin. When I didn’t reply immediately, she shows that she’s comfortable with silence.

“I know this is probably the weirdest referral you’ve ever gotten,” I finally blurt.

She smiles, but not in a patronizing way. “You’d be surprised.”

I twist my fingers in my lap. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. But I just… I can’t sneeze. Not the normal way. I’ve stifled them forever, and now—my doctor says I’ve done something to my sinuses, maybe even my hearing, and it’s because I won’t let them out.”

Dr. Hale nods. “It’s not stupid. Sneezing is one of the strongest reflexes in the human body. Suppressing that force, repeatedly, over years? It’s like clamping a volcano. Eventually something gives.”

I nod back, because what else can I do? I’ve tried stopping. I’ve tried sneezing into my elbow like they teach in school. I’ve tried letting them out “just a little.”

But I can’t. I can’t do it. My body locks up. Something in me shrinks away from the sound, the mess, the exposure. When I was a kid, it was funny. When I was a teen, it was a useful skill. Now, in my twenties, I’m worried about my long term health. That’s why I reached out to Dr. Hale in the first place.

“Can we try something gentle today?” she asks, already reaching into a drawer. “You won’t be forced to sneeze. But I do want to invite the sensation. Just notice it. Be curious about it, not afraid.”

I nod. My throat’s too tight to say anything.

She hands me a small bottle. “Eucalyptus. Nothing extreme.”

I take it, holding it with both hands like it’s precious or dangerous or both.

“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay.”

The first sniff is sharp and cool. It clears the front of my nose instantly, leaving behind a crispness, like mint without the sweetness.

Nothing else happens.

I sniff again. Deeper.

That does it.

It begins in the bridge of my nose—a tickle, high up, almost unreachable. Like the ghost of a feather, teasing something primal.

My eyes flutter. My lips part slightly. My breath catches.

Oh.

There it is.

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I really should have stayed home. I knew it the moment I woke up with my throat feeling like it was made of sandpaper and a nose that wouldn’t even sniff. But sub pl…

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It was supposed to be a bonding experience.
It was supposed to be simple.

It was, in fact, neither.

“It’s just—hh-hang on—just fold in the parsley first,” Emily said. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, looking every bit like she had the situation under control.

She absolutely did not.

Her breath broke on the next inhale.
“Hhhh—wait—hold on—hhuh—just a sec—”

Diane turned from the skillet. “Oh dear, honey, are you all right?”

Emily waved her off, eyes fluttering as her nose trembled helplessly. “I’m—hhuHH—fine—just—steam—”

But it wasn’t steam.
It was the rosemary she’d finely chopped minutes earlier—she’d bent toward it at the wrong angle, stirred at the wrong moment, and the sharp aromatic oils had hit her nose with the force of a tiny botanical punch.

Diane lifted the bundle of still-unwashed rosemary sprigs from the sink. “Is this what’s bothering you? You should’ve said so—I get so sneezy with pepper…some of us are so sensitive to spice!”

Emily gave a tortured sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Everyone was sensitive to pepper, of course, but it was sweet of her future mother-in-law to try to make her feel better.

“I didn’t know—hhUHh—I’ve never reacted like—like—”

The rosemary’s scent seemed to bloom upward, curling around her. Her inhale hitched sharply.

“Hhh—hhhuhhh—oh no—”

Mark steadied the bowl as the first sneeze snapped forward:

“Hh’tsschh!—hhTSSCHH!—TSSCHHuhh!”

Three sharp, breathless bursts that bent her at the waist.

Mark rubbed her back, calm as ever. “You okay?”

Emily, mortified, shook her head. “I—hhuhh—can’t even talk—just—wait—”

She tried to breathe slowly through her nose, but the rosemary’s lingering bite pushed another buildup into her chest. She made a desperate attempt at continuing the instructions.

“Don’t stir yet—hhuhh—just fold in the—”

“Hh’NGKT!” A sharp stifle. Then immediately, “Hh’tsshh!—TSCHH!—hhTSCHHuhh!”

The spoon clattered to the floor.

“That’s it,” Mark said, retrieving the spoon. “You are officially benched.”

Emily covered her face with both hands. “This is mortifying.”

“It’s adorable,” he murmured.

She peeked at him between fingers. “That is not helping.”

Diane slid the rosemary sprigs as far away as possible, then cracked a window. “Sweetheart, we can finish the stuffing. You sit down before you fall down.”

Emily sniffed, cheeks flaming. “You’ll mess it up.”

“We absolutely will,” Mark said. “We will make it worse in every possible way.”

“See?!” Emily flung her arms dramatically.

“And we’ll do it with great affection,” Diane added.

Emily laughed—then froze. Her nose twitched violently.

“Hhh—hHH—hhTSCHH!!”

She sagged against Mark’s shoulder. “I hate rosemary.”

“You love rosemary,” he said. “You just don’t love breathing it deeply into your soul.”

Another laugh escaped her—wet, shaky, but real.

She took a seat at the kitchen island while Mark and Diane gathered the ingredients around the bowl like they were preparing for surgery.

“Okay,” Mark said, hovering with theatrical solemnity. “Walk us through the steps.”

“First,” Emily said, pushing up her sleeves, “fold in the parsley. Carefully. No smashing.”

Mark nodded like he was taking orders from Gordon Ramsey. “Parsley. Gentle. No smashing.”

Diane added, “What about the rosemary? Are we using it at all?”

Emily grimaced. “Yes, but very lightly. And keep it far from me unless you want me to—” her breath hitched again. “Hhh—no—wait—don’t—don’t move—”

But someone had moved: Diane had picked up the cutting board with the chopped rosemary to slide it closer.

“Honey, should we—”

“Hhh—hhuhh—HHH—!”

“HhTSCHH!—TSCHHuhh!—hhTSCHH!”

Emily folded over her lap, groaning into her elbow. “I swear—this herb hates me.”

Mark angled himself between her and the cutting board, shielding her like someone covering a friend from incoming shrapnel. “Mom. Maybe… rosemary later.”

“Oh dear,” Diane said, backing away.

“I hate this,” Emily muttered. “I can’t even help with—hhuhhh—my own recipe—HhTSCHH!! This is ridiculous.”

But Mark kissed the top of her head. “You’re still running the kitchen. You’re just doing it from the seated captain’s chair.”

Emily glared at him, then let the expression melt into something softer. “Fine. Next step. After the parsley, add the cornbread crumbs.”

“Got it,” Mark said.

“And then—”

She paused, nose twitching again.

Mark lifted both hands. “Say no more. We’ll guess.”

Emily fought a laugh and lost.

“You two,” she said, leaning back on the stool, “are going to ruin my stuffing.”

Diane smiled kindly. “Maybe. But we’re going to have the best time ruining it.”

***

By the time the stuffing was safely in the oven, Emily’s sneezing had slowed to a simmer rather than a boil. She stood at the sink washing her hands, breathing cautiously through her mouth, while Mark leaned against the counter watching her with obvious affection.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly.

She met his eyes in the reflection of the window. “Yes. Just… embarrassed.”

“Why?” he asked honestly. “It was cute.”

“It wasn’t cute,” she said. “It was like… a hurricane of tiny humiliations.”

“Incredibly cute hurricane,” he corrected.

She threw a dish towel at him.

He caught it easily, stepped behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Emily relaxed against him, letting her embarrassment soften into something vulnerable but warm.

“You know,” he murmured into her shoulder, “you’re allowed to be sneezy and chaotic and still be lovable.”

She sighed. “You really don’t mind?”

“I like taking care of you,” he said simply.

Before she could answer, Diane called from across the room: “Emily, honey, if you’re up for it, do you want to help me with the cranberry glaze? There’s no rosemary in it.”

Emily looked back at Mark.

“Cranberries only?” she asked.

“Zero herbs,” Diane promised.

“That sounds safe,” Emily said. Then paused. “Wait. Are cranberries safe?”

Mark smirked. “We’ll find out.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Not funny.”

“Very funny,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Besides… whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

Her cheeks flushed warm—and stayed warm, even when she felt the faintest twitch in her nose again.

Mark noticed immediately. “Is that rosemary still in the air?”

“No, no,” Emily said, waving him off. “I think that’s just—just—” Her breath hitched gently— “Hhh… hh…” —but she managed to swallow the sneeze back down.

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “You stifled it?”

“It was tiny,” she said defensively.

“Extra adorable,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “Let’s finish the cranberry glaze before something else tries to kill me.”

“Lead the way, sneeze queen.”

“Never call me that again.”

“No promises.”

And as the three of them gathered around the island—Emily giving careful instructions, Mark following them with exaggerated seriousness, Diane humming as she stirred—the kitchen slowly filled with the warmth and chaos of a holiday that, despite everything, felt perfect in its own silly, sneeze-filled way.

***

The guest room was dim and warm when Emily and Mark slipped inside, the quiet settling around them like a blanket. Down the hall, the soft rumble of the dishwasher and Diane’s footsteps faded into silence. Emily shut the door behind them and leaned back against it with a groan.

“My entire face,” she muttered. “Still tingles.”

Mark laughed and flopped onto the bed. “You survived heroic odds. The rosemary uprising of 2025. Pretty heroic performance, though. Ten out of ten. Would watch again.”

She shot him a glare, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “Stop making it sound epic.”

“It was epic.”

Emily crossed the room, tugging her sweater over her head and tossing it onto the chair. “I was one sneeze away from spilling stuffing all over your mother’s shoes.”

“And she still would’ve loved you.”

Emily rolled her eyes, rummaging in her overnight bag for pajamas. “Still. I feel like every time we visit your family, I sneeze on something.”

“Okay, that’s not true,” he said.

“Mark, I sneezed during your cousin’s wedding vows last spring.”

He grinned. “And it was adorable then, too.”

She froze halfway into her pajama top, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you keep calling it adorable?”

His expression shifted—quick, soft, like a flicker of some secret he wasn’t quite ready to bring to light.

“I didn’t mean—”

But he cut himself off abruptly.

Emily straightened. “Mark…”

He stood up from the bed so fast the mattress bounced.

“Okay, don’t freak out,” he said, holding both hands behind his back like a kid caught with contraband.

“Why,” she said, very slowly, “are your hands behind your back?”

“No reason.”

“Mark.”

“It’s fine.”

“Show me.”

“It’s nothing!—”

She lunged.

He twisted away with a startled laugh, but she caught the edge of his shirt and used her momentum to spin him toward the bed. They toppled together with a thump and a messy tangle of limbs. Emily braced herself over him, breathless and determined.

“Hand,” she demanded.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head, lips twitching.

“What are you hiding?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

They wrestled for another few seconds—soft, warm, harmless—until Emily managed to pin his wrist. He gave a surprised huff as she pried his fingers open.

And there it was.

A sprig.

A small, innocuous, perfectly green sprig of rosemary.

Emily blinked.

“Mark.”

He shut his eyes like a man facing his fate. “I swear I can explain.”

“You brought rosemary into this room with you?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said.

“Really?” She lifted the sprig between two fingers. “Because it looks exactly like rosemary.”

He covered his face with his forearm, muffling a groan. “Please don’t make me say it.”

Emily’s eyebrows rose slowly. “Say what?”

He sat up, rubbed the back of his neck, and finally—finally—met her eyes.

“I… might… like it,” he said.

“Like… what?”

“The sneezing. Your sneezing. It’s… cute. And kind of… I don’t know. It does something to me.”

Emily’s eyebrow arched.

He rushed on, hands flailing. “Not in a creepy way! Not like I’m hiding in bushes waiting for you to inhale herbs. I just—when you sneeze, you’re vulnerable, and your face does this little scrunch thing, and your voice—God, your voice—gets all breathy, and it’s just—it’s just so fucking hot. ”

Emily stared at him, watching all of the dots that had been connecting themselves, not just that night, but over more than a year.

“You weren’t embarrassed at all downstairs,” she said quietly.

“No,” he said, equally quiet.

“You’re never embarrassed when I sneeze. You’re always telling me to let them out.”

“Yes,” Mark said.

“And you… like it?”

His shoulders sank in surrender. “A lot.”

Emily looked down at the rosemary in her fingers, then up at him again.

“So,” she said slowly, “you brought this in here because…?”

His silence was answer enough.

Her cheeks warmed. “You wanted me to sneeze.”

“Only if you wanted to,” he said immediately, eyes wide. “This is not a pressure thing. I was going to ask. I was going to use words, I swear. I just—okay, honestly, I panicked. And then you started interrogating me. And then we were wrestling. And then—”

She laughed, “Mark.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t want to weird you out.”

She touched his wrist gently. “You’re not weirding me out.”

He blinked, hopeful. “No?”

“No.” She moved a little closer on the bed. “I mean… I’m surprised. But not weirded out.”

He exhaled like he’d been underwater for a full minute.

Emily twirled the sprig once. “So you really… like this?”

“Very much,” he murmured. “But again, only if you do.”

She considered him—gentle, earnest, blushing, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen before.

Then she smiled.

“Come here,” she whispered.

He did.

She brought the rosemary up between them, close enough that she could smell its sharp, woodsy edge—but not close enough to trigger anything yet. Mark’s eyes tracked every movement, his breath catching lightly.

“I can try,” she said.

“Em,” he whispered, hand warm on her thigh, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she said, surprising even herself.

She lifted the sprig toward her nose.

Not touching—just close.

Just enough for the first tiny prickle.

Mark swallowed hard.

Emily breathed in—carefully, experimentally.

And the reaction was immediate.

Her breath hitched—“Hhh—.” Her nose twitched violently. “Hhhuh—hh—”

Mark’s fingers curled in the blanket.

Emily’s eyelids fluttered as the buildup took her whole chest with it. “Hhhh… hhhUHh…”

But she held his gaze through the rising tremor, cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and nervous excitement.

“Oh,” she gasped, her voice breaking on the inhale, “I’m—gonna—huuhhh—gonna—snee–snee–huuhhh–sneeze! HHRRRRRRShhhuhh!! She snapped forward into her hands, breath scattering into a small laugh afterward. “Woah.”

“You okay?” he asked gently.

She nodded, sniffling. “Yeah. That… was… an aggressive sneeze.”

“You’re amazing.”

She wiped her nose, still blushing. “Do you want me to… try again?”

“Only if you want to,” he said, voice low, steady, tender.

Emily met his eyes, held them, and—despite the warmth in her cheeks, despite the flutter in her stomach—felt more curious than embarrassed now. More open. More connected.

“Maybe,” she said softly. “But come hold me first.”

To be continued…..

The bar at Rita’s Roadside Grill was packed—truckers, locals, and a couple of road-tripping college kids all nursing burgers and beers while country music hummed quietly through the speakers.

Clint was a regular.

A fixture, really.

Six-foot-four, shoulders like a fridge, and a beard so thick and wild it looked like it had its own zip code. A long-haul trucker, he would park his red semi along the back fence, take his usual stool at the bar, and order the same meal every time:

“House salad with grilled chicken. Extra pepper.”

No one questioned it. You didn’t question a man who wore sleeveless denim in February in the mountains.

So when Gavin, the newest server, approached nervously with the pepper grinder, he was already sweating and glancing back at the manager. The manager grinned with a mix of “good luck” and “it’s a rite of passage, kiddo.”

“You want pepper, Sir? Extra?”

Clint nodded once. “Cover it.”

Gavin shook the grinder vigorously, but the top was loose. Too loose. One final twist—

CLUNK.

The entire top of the grinder popped off, and a torrent of black pepper rained down.

Not just onto the salad.

Not just onto the plate.

But squarely into Clint’s beard.

A soft whumpf sound echoed as the mound of pepper hit hair. Like seasoning a shag rug.

There was a pause.

Clint blinked.

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The sun glared off the surface of the community pool, bright enough to burn through sunglasses. It was late afternoon and packed—kids cannonballed into the shallow end, someone’s Bluetooth speaker pulsed out summer pop, and a few older teens had taken over the deep end with increasingly rowdy games of chicken.

Noah was right in the middle of it. Athletic, sun-warmed skin slick from laps and laughter, he was grinning as he chased after his cousin, who’d just launched a splash attack with both arms.

“Come on, really?” Noah sputtered, lunging to retaliate.

He dove under, quick and clean—but as he surfaced, his body jerked with surprise. A surge of water had rushed straight up his nose. Sharp. Stinging. He blinked hard, trying to exhale it out through his nose, but—

“HhhHHHRSSCHHHHHUUHH!!”

The sneeze came out like a bark, loud and sudden enough that people turned.

“HhhRRRRSHHUUHHH!!” Another tore through him, bending him double even waist-deep in the water. He stumbled, sneezing wetly into his elbow.

“Damn… huhhh-HHRRSSHHHHuhhh!!”

The burn wasn’t going away. Worse—it moved. The water hadn’t drained. It sat there, lodged somewhere between his sinuses and throat, shifting with every breath, every sniff, taunting him. He could feel it—its slick pressure traveling deeper every time he sneezed, only to crawl maddeningly back into place.

“EhhHHHH’TCHHRRRFF!!”
“HRRRKTSCHHHHhhuh!! God—”

He barely made it to the steps before another volley hit him. Powerful, violent sneezes that wracked his whole body. Each one felt like it might dislodge the water—but never quite did.

“Hhhuhhh… HHRRSHHHHHuhh!! EhhRRSCHHuhh! TSCHHh-HHRRSHHH!!”

He dragged himself out of the pool, gasping, dripping, nose twitching mercilessly. The chlorine clung to his skin, and the sharp tickle tunneled behind his eyes.

“Snfff—hhuhhh-HHRRRSCHHHHUUHH!!” He shook with it. “Ughhh—fuhhhck—”

The sneezes were relentless now, spaced out just enough to tease. He could feel the water shift again—pooling lower, then rising, like it was laughing at him. The lifeguard half-glanced over but didn’t move from her post.

Noah curled onto the concrete bench, barely managing to fumble for his towel. His nostrils flared, twitching, utterly overwhelmed.

“HuhhhhhhHHHRRRRRSSSCHHHHHhhuhh!! Tschhh-TSCHHHH!! Guhh—HHHHRRSHHH’uhhh!!”

Each sneeze seemed harsher than the last, spraying into the fabric of the towel as his shoulders hunched and his body bucked forward.

A kid watching from the snack bar whispered to her friend, “Is he… allergic to swimming?”

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The departure board flickered again. Still red. Still delayed.

Paige crossed one leg over the other, pressing her lips to her paper cup. The tea was long since cold, but she wasn’t drinking it for warmth anymore—just something to hold. Around her, the gate buzzed with subtle chaos: children whining, shoes squeaking, conversations rising and falling like tides.

Three seats down, the man in the dark wool coat was coming apart at the seams.

He didn’t look like someone who allowed things to fall apart. Immaculate haircut. Laptop balanced precisely on his knees. Phone in one hand, thumb scrolling so fast it blurred. But something in the way his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his shoulder kept twitching—he was a storm inside a suit.

And then…he sneezed.

“Hhuhhh—HHHRRRSSHHuhh!!”

It startled Paige. Violent. Ragged. A full-body expulsion that left him momentarily frozen, nostrils still flaring, breath shaking.

He blinked twice, sniffed sharply, and rubbed at his nose with a handkerchief appearing from a pocket. No acknowledgment. No apology. Just resumed typing with even more aggression than before.

Seconds passed. His breath hitched again. Paige could see him trying to control it. His jaw tightened. Eyelids fluttered. He pinched his nostrils shut with the handkerchief.

“Hhh’NNKtt!” A stifled, throaty sound. Then again. “HnnGXTchhh! Huhhh… hh’NNKTchh!”

Paige shifted in her seat. Anytime she ever tried to stifle a sneeze it always seemed to make things ten times worse. Was it possible this guy didn’t know that? Had never stifled a sneeze before?

“HuhhhRRRRSSHHHHuhhh!!” He growled under his breath, swore quietly, and reached for a crumpled tissue from his coat pocket. The tissue didn’t stand a chance—damp and useless against what followed.

“Hhh’RRSHHHuhhh! HRRSHHHhhuhh! Fff—god dammit— hhuh-HRRSCHHHhhuhh!!”

He slammed the laptop shut.

Paige looked away, pretending to check the board again. Her eyes flicked back when she heard him mutter something like “Unbelievable.” Not at anyone. Just… to the air.

He sat rigidly, tissue pressed to his face, blinking slowly like he was trying to will the next sneeze out of existence.

Didn’t work.

“Huhh… hhuhhh-HHHRRSSCHHHhhuhhh!!”

That one bent him. And something about the way he sat there afterward—still, nose twitching, a war visibly being fought and lost in his sinuses—made Paige’s stomach twist with… was it sympathy? Fascination?

He sniffed harshly, once. Twice. Then slammed back against the seat like the chair itself had wronged him.

“Delayed again,” he muttered, glaring at his phone. “Of course.”

The sneezes weren’t done with him.

“Huhhh—HUHHRRSSHHHHuhh!! HHRRSCHHHUHH!! Shit.” He looked like he was going to throw the phone. Or sneeze on it.

Paige turned her face toward the window, hiding a flicker of something she couldn’t name. She wasn’t going to speak—not yet. But part of her was watching him now, in the reflection. Watching the way he battled the very air around him. Watching the way anger only seemed to make his sneezing worse.

She’d never seen anyone unravel so noisily.

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“This is going to be amazing,” he’d said as they pushed the canoe into the lake, his voice filled with too much confidence for someone who of a man who had never held a paddle before. Rachel had simply raised an eyebrow, stepped in behind him, and waited.

Ten minutes later, they were zig-zagging across the water like a confused dragonfly. Rachel laughed so hard she nearly dropped her paddle. Matt tried to keep a straight face, but the grin kept tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, squinting at the horizon. “You paddle left, I’ll paddle right.”

“That’s what we’ve been doing,” she called from behind him.

“Yes, but this time like you mean it!” he grinned.

Later, they both blamed the strong will of the canoe for what happened next.

The lake wasn’t deep—Rachel’s feet found the sandy bottom quickly—but the moment they surfaced, sputtering and laughing, Matt stood up and blinked rapidly.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “Oh no no no—”

“What?” Rachel wiped water from her eyes.

He held up one hand and turned his face away. “Huhhh... hhhuh’TSCHHHHuhh!! Huhh’RRSHHHuhhh!! Huhhhh’RGGShhhhhhoo!!” Sneezes ripped out of him, his head ducking as he tried to avoid spraying Rachel with the force of the explosion.

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Adrienne laughed, nearly snorting into her wine. “You are someone’s dad, Mark. It’s only a matter of time before the universe makes it official.”

“I’m thirty-two,” he protested. “I’m not ready for the dad-tax of being called boss or big guy in public.”

“You already nod at other men in parking lots. It’s happening.”

He leaned back dramatically and grabbed a slice of bread like it was a coping mechanism. She watched him smear it with fig jam and burrata, amused, until her gaze caught on something over his shoulder.

Just past the booths, up at the bar, sat a woman—alone, statuesque. She had the air of someone who didn’t mind being alone, who might even prefer it. Her posture was relaxed but self-contained, like she carried a secret she had no intention of sharing. A pale sage blouse flowed over her frame, tucked into tailored trousers. Her drink—a tall cocktail glass—glinted with ice and something green, botanical, swaying faintly as she set it down.

Adrienne might have looked away… if not for the woman’s breath catching.

A sharp inhale, subtle but visible. A hand moved lightly to her nose, not covering but hovering—testing.

Then another inhale, quicker now.

Adrienne tilted her head slightly, pretending to study the cocktail menu in front of her. But she was watching. The woman’s lashes fluttered. Her nostrils flared delicately. A small, desperate hitch. Then nothing.

She exhaled, rubbed her knuckle lightly beneath one nostril, and reached for her drink.

“You good over there?” Mark’s voice was amused, teasing.

Adrienne blinked, caught. “What?”

“You’re watching that woman like she stole your appetizer.”

“I’m not!” She grinned, flushed slightly. “Okay, I—she looked like she was about to sneeze, and then she didn’t. It was like this whole… moment.”

“A sneeze moment?” Mark chuckled. “That’s what pulled you away from me—a sneeze that didn’t even happen?”

Adrienne took a sip of wine. “It was a very compelling almost-sneeze.”

Mark turned, tried to glance subtly. “The one with the drink that looks like a terrarium?”

“Yeah. She’s been rubbing at her nose like it’s driving her nuts.”

Right on cue, the woman’s breath hitched again—this time sharper, more urgent. She turned slightly on the barstool, shoulders pulling back, and then—

“HHhuhh’RRRSHHHHuhh!!”

The sneeze ripped through her, sudden and massive. Half the bar turned. She barely moved except to dip her head into the crook of her arm, like it was just a fact of life. Another breath, trembling.

“HEHH’tsschhhhuhh!! …hhuhh’RRSSCHHH!!”

“Whoa,” Mark said, eyebrows raised.

Adrienne didn’t answer right away. She was still watching.

There was something oddly captivating about the contrast—the woman’s cool elegance and the way her body betrayed her with these thunderous, almost feral sneezes. She wasn’t embarrassed, but she wasn’t flaunting it either. She just… let it happen.

Mark nudged her foot under the table. “You want me to switch places so you can get a better view?”

Adrienne smirked. “Maybe.”

“You’re into this?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… interesting.”

Read more

Mia nodded like she already knew that. “Then don’t.”

“I mean—I have to say something—”

“…

Read more

But the moment I stepped into the conference room, I knew I was in trouble.

It smelled… old. Polished wood, aging upholstery, and something sharp—maybe dust or mold lingering in the vents, or someone’s cologne hanging too heavy in the air. I felt it hit my nostrils instantly, triggering an urgent flutter in the back of my sinuses.

No. No, not now.

The partners were seated already, leafing through reports in stiff silence. I nodded, smiling tightly, and took my place—end of the table, near the window. Dust particles floated in the air, mocking me, basking in the sunlight. I kept my breathing shallow, but it was rising.

I felt a sneeze coming. A prickle that spiraled inward. I turned my head away from the group toward the window and tried to pinch my nose, stop it mid-rise, without anyone noticing. My breath hitched once—twice—and then stalled. I held it. Swallowed. The burn behind my eyes pulsed.

It came fast, aggressive, and I barely managed to turn my head toward my shoulder, muffling it hard into the crook of my blazer.

“Hh’gkchhh!!”

The sound was clipped, desperate. My eyes watered. My upper lip burned. I blinked rapidly and forced myself upright, clearing my throat like nothing had happened.

No one looked. Good.

I reached for my notebook with trembling fingers, trying to focus, trying to will the pressure down. But my nose was running now, just slightly—but enough. I didn’t want to sniff, but I knew if I didn’t I’d have a stream of clear snot running out of my nose in no time. I put my knuckles up to my nose and tried the “rub-n-sniff,” a move that I should know never actually works.

The maddening shimmer deep in my sinuses flared, flooding forward so fast I couldn’t stop the inhale—

“Hhhuhhh’ktschhh! Hh’KTSCHHhh!!”

Not one but two sneezes snapped through me, sharp and wet, barely contained by the sleeve I had no choice but to raise.

Heads turned.

I coughed lightly, offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Allergies,” I whispered.

Not totally a lie. But not the full truth either.

Read more

Ben, two cubicles down across from her, hadn’t moved all afternoon.

She hadn’t meant to notice him more than usual; he was a good looking guy. But today especially he was hard to ignore. The sniffling, the soft muttered cursing, the constant paper rustle of tissues—he was clearly suffering with something.

“Come on… come on, not now…” she heard him whisper. “Just hold it together, just a few more—hhuhhh… hhh-hhuhhuhhh… hhnnggghhoo—” a stifled-muffled-noise carried over the cublicles.

She glanced over the edge of her monitor just in time to see him buckle slightly at his desk, body jerking forward.

“Hhuhhh’RSHHHHhhuhh!! Huh’uhhTSCHHHuhh!—hhhuh-HHRSHHHHuhhh!!”

Each sneeze seemed to wrench right out of him. He tried to stifle the last one into the crook of his arm, but it still echoed miserably in the quiet office. His face was a shade too pale, except for the inflamed ring around his nose. He looked like death. And he was still typing, a pre-sneeze expression hanging on his face like it had become a permanent fixture.

Claire winced. It was so clear he should’ve gone home hours ago.

“God,” she murmured.

Right then, heavy footsteps clipped down the aisle—Mr. Wexler.

Claire subtly sat up straighter, and Ben… poor Ben, he tried. He straightened, rubbed his nose fast, even tried to clear his throat, almost like he was letting his nose know it needed to behave—or at least try.

But it was no use.

“HuhhTCHHhhhuhh!! HhuhhTSHHuhh!!”

“Jesus Christ,” Wexler muttered, exasperated. He stopped just behind Ben and crossed his arms. “You done?”

Ben held a tissue to his face, eyes watering, still sniffling hard. “S-sorry—hhuhhh… TSCHHH! I’m—hhuhhh—working on it. Just… almost done…”

Wexler sighed, long and loud, like the sneezing had personally inconvenienced him. “I asked for this by three. Not five. Not whenever you finally finish sneezing your face off. You’re still not done?”

Ben tried to talk through another tissue. “Almost, sir.”

“Almost doesn’t cut it,” Wexler snapped. “You think I’m gonna tell the board we’re late because Ben had a case of the sniffles? Get it done. Tonight.”

And with that, he turned and walked off, muttering something about professionalism and the weak constitution of this millennial generation.

Claire stared at her phone, where three sage green throw rugs had been holding her attention. She hesitated only a second. Then stood up.

“Ben?”

He looked over with bleary eyes.

“Do you want help?”

His whole face softened—exhausted, disbelieving.

“I… yeah. I’d really appreciate that.”

Claire nodded and walked over to his side of the cubes. She pulled up a chair. “Let’s get you out of here before Wexler blames you for a global recession.”

Ben laughed and rolled his eyes, the laugh triggering a cough that he muffled into the wet tissue as he turned away from her.

Claire opened her laptop, angling the screen so they could both see. He tried to sit a little straighter, but his shoulders drooped, and his head hung slightly forward like it was just too heavy.

“Tell me where you left off,” she said gently.

Ben sniffled hard, the sound wet and a little desperate. “I—I got through the first chart, but the tables kept… hhuhh—kept freezing. I just need the—hhuhhuhhh… hhhuhHHHRRSHHHuhh!! Snrrff—summary fields entered…”

Claire nodded calmly, already navigating to the shared file. “Got it. I’ll do the tables. You want to read me the data lines?”

“Y-yeah. Thag you,” he mumbled, blowing his nose into a crumpled tissue that clearly wasn’t up to the task. “Sorry. It’s just, um… bad allergies.”

Claire glanced sideways at him. He was pale and glassy-eyed, pink-nosed and absolutely miserable-looking. There was a tissue tucked into his sleeve. His garbage was overflowing with soggy, balled up tisshes. He sneezed again before she could even raise an eyebrow.

“Hhuhh-GNGXX’tchhhuhh!! Huhh’gnntSCHHHhh!”

He tried to stifle them into his wrist, which only made them sound more painful. His whole body jolted with each one.

She paused her typing, gently. “Ben… this isn’t allergies.”

Read more

Read more

I wasn’t planning to stay long.

The casino was pulsing with sensory detail—bright lights, dinging machines timed to suggest everyone is winning, perfume, and cigarette smoke from the smoking lounge. I walked past a bachelorette party, a group of people gathered around someone hitting it big, and wove my way to the Fire Link rows. I’d just lost twenty bucks on some slot with chickens and needed to make it up on a machine that never did me dirty.

I spotted an open machine on the end and moved toward it, but then I saw him. Third machine from the left.

He looked like he hadn’t slept. Tousled brown hair, five o’clock shadow creeping in, and a hoodie. The hood was halfway up, like he was trying to retreat inside it. His jeans were rumpled, sneakers scuffed. And it wasn’t just his clothes that had seen better days—his whole body sagged, like it had surrendered hours ago and he didn’t have the energy to move ever again.

But that was all beside the point. Most importantly? He was clearly, undeniably sick.

“Hhh’TSCHHuhhh!!” He twisted and sneezed sharply into his shoulder. The sneeze was tight, contained—but it still bent him sideways like a sudden gust of wind.

A crumpled tissue peeked from one fist. A disposable mask hung loose below his chin. His eyes were glassy and ringed with that telltale pink exhaustion.

He hovered over the spin button, but his breath was already catching.

“Huhhh… hhuhh—NGTCHuhh!!”

Then he hit spin.

The Fire Link machine lit up in red and gold, coins clinking on the screen, fake flames bursting across the top. But he didn’t react. He just leaned forward, head low, sniffling into a fresh tissue while his body prepared for another round.

“Huhh-huhhh’RRSSHHHHuhh!! Hhh’TSCHHuhhh!!” The uhhh at the end sounded like someone had just punched him in the stomach.

I sat down two machines away.

I meant to glance out of the corner of my eye; I assumed I’d be lucky enough to catch maybe one or two more, but his sneezes were relentless. Strong, breathy, soaked with congestion; he was in the middle of a meltdown fit. He did his best to cover them but they kept escaping, one after another, challenging him to catch them in a new part of his sweatshirt not already soaked with spray.

He hadn’t noticed me. His focus was split between losing credits and barely holding himself together. The Fire Link reels spun again. He hit the bonus round. Still didn’t react.

He groaned softly. Not from the game—from his own body.

“HHUHHH’RRSHHHH!! Hhh’RSHHHuhh! Hhhuhhh-HUH’RRRRSHHHHH!!”

The woman sitting between us cashed out and, giving him a look, left without a word. Some people had no appreciation for nature in action.

He paused, sniffling, then blew his nose into a balled-up tissue like he’d forgotten where he was. His eyes fluttered shut. He leaned back against the slot chair, momentarily defeated, breath rising in another shaky build-up.

“Huhhh-huhhh-Huhhh’KTSHHHuhh!!”

He groaned again, more softly this time, and pinched the bridge of his nose with what was left of the tissue.

That’s when he noticed me.

I was slow-spinning, nursing another $20, watching as directly as I dared. It wasn’t much, but he must have noticed me anyway. He gave a sheepish half-shrug. “Sorry,” he said, muffled and hoarse. “I’m, uh… getting over something.”

Sure. And I’m just here for the free drinks.

“I can tell,” I said, smiling. I nodded toward his machine. “Fire Link’s taking it personally.”

He laughed—a raspy, gurgling little sound—then coughed, then sneezed again.

“Hhuhhh’TSCHHHuhhh!”

His tissue disintegrated. He grimaced. Dug in his hoodie pocket. Nothing.

I held a small pack of tissues out across the gap between machines.

He blinked. Looked at me like I’d just saved his life. “You are…” he began, then paused to blow his nose with exhausted gratitude, “...a saint.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “But really, I’m the one winning here.”

He tilted his head.

“You’re not the only one watching Fire Link light up.”

He seemed to ponder my joke for half a beat, then pressed “Spin” again. Nothing. The reels clacked back into place with a flat, mocking thunk. He glanced at his dwindling credit meter—$1.17.

He sighed and pressed “Spin” one last time. The reels moved and, again, rejected him. Game over.

The screen flashed PLEASE INSERT MORE CREDITS. He slumped, rubbed the heel of his hand under his mask, and pushed back from the machine. “Guess that’s my cue,” he rasped, voice threaded with congestion and defeat. “Good luck,” he nodded at me and walked to the carpeted aisle leading toward the exit.

”You too!” I called after him. “Hope you feel better!”

Did I cash out? You bet.
Did I follow him? Absofuckinlutely

***
He shuffled along toward the cashier, shoulders hunched, hoodie half-zipped like armor he no longer trusted. I lagged behind, pretending to check my phone while tracking the subtle wobble in his gait.

Halfway down the carpeted aisle, the lights from a row of buffalo slots strobed across his face. His breath hitched. He reached for the mask, yanked it below his chin, and snapped forward with a vicious, half-stifled double:

“Hh’NGKTch!—Hh’Gkktchh!!”

The effort made him sway. He slapped a palm against a polished column for balance, head dropping between his shoulders. A security guard glanced over but kept walking. The poor guy straightened, muttering a choked “’Scuse me,” that probably no one but me heard.

He took three more steps before the next wave crested. This one built slowly—an audible climb of ragged inhales:

“Huhh… huh-huhhh… huhHHH—”

He tried pressing two knuckles under his twitching nostrils, but the dam broke anyway:

“HHUHH-RRRSHHHHUUH!!”

The blast doubled him at the waist, one hand braced on his knee, the other flailing for a new tissue. I caught the faint mist of sanitizer in the air as he fumbled back upright, blinking hard, eyes glinting under the casino lights.

***

He reached the cashier cage just as a line formed. Determined not to contaminate anyone, he veered off and leaned against a faux-marble planter. His chest heaved; the sneeze reflex was still winding him up like a faulty spring. He pinched his nose, eyes squeezed shut.

“Hh—hhnngk—Hh’TSCHff!”

That one barely escaped, a strangled little yelp slipping through the pinch. He kept his head down, shoulders trembling with aftershocks. I held my breath—stifles with a cold are almost never a good idea. Usually they seemed to make the tickle even stronger rather than help sooth it.

Apparently this poor guy hadn’t gotten that memo.

“Hh—Hhhuh… hhuhHH—HHRR-RRSHHHH!!” He nearly cracked in half. The planter rattled.

A couple in sequined cocktail attire scooted away. He muttered an apology into thin air, shoved the chips he was going to cash out into his pocket, and trudged on toward the exit.

He was twenty feet away when the fit’s finale seized him. I watched it happen from behind and in slow motion. As if I hadn’t already been enough of a winner, this was the jackpot.

His breath hitched, a sharp gasp that tripped up over his stuffed nose. He stopped. Turned toward the wall. I stopped, no longer trying to hide my captivation behind my phone. His breath hitched again and his shoulders snapped up to his ears.

“HhhUH—HUHH—HUHHHH—RRRSHHHUUUH!!
HHRRSHHH!! … Hh’RRRSHHHHuhhh!!”

His knees buckled as he jackknifed forward, both palms slamming the wall. His mask dangled uselessly from one ear, droplets freckling the floor despite his elbow’s best efforts. He stayed bent over, chest heaving, until the storm passed. I held my breath. I had never seen anyone sneeze so much in my life. I couldn’t imagine how he was going to drive anywhere; he couldn’t go ten seconds without sneezing ten times.

I watched the ragged rise and fall of his back as he swiped his sleeve across shining nostrils. I caught sight of the plastic of the tissue pack I had given him—empty already.

Finally, with a soft, wrecked sigh, he pushed the mask up, palmed the door bar, and stepped into the neon-washed night.

It was then she noticed the woman—two tables over, settled in a worn armchair near the bookshelf wall. She was striking but ordinary: wavy, cinnamon hair pulled back into a low bun, oversized sweater sleeves covering her hands, a thick novel resting on her knee. But what caught Lucy’s attention wasn’t her face or her book.

It was the sneeze.

“Hhuhhh’RRRRSSHHHHuhhh!!”

The sound cut through the gentle murmur of the café like a crack of thunder. Heads turned, briefly, but the woman didn’t look up from her book. Her chest rose again, shoulders tensing.

“Hhuhhh-HUHhh-TSHHHHHuhh!! … Hhhuhhh-RRRSSHHhh!”

Lucy blinked, startled. The fit was loud, unapologetic, and wholly unselfconscious. The woman kept sneezing—five, six, seven times—each one forceful and raw, the kind that made Lucy’s own nose tickle in sympathy just hearing it.

But what struck her most wasn’t the sneezing—it was the woman’s stillness in the aftermath. She dabbed at her nose with a crumpled napkin, flipped the page of her book, and carried on reading as if nothing had happened.

No blushing. No nervous glances. No apology murmured to the room.

Lucy found herself oddly riveted. She wasn’t used to seeing that kind of unfiltered expression in public. Most people—herself included—would shrink, fluster, maybe even leave the room after sneezing like that. But this woman? She wore it like her oversized sweater. Like it was just a thing that happened, not a thing to control.

“HHHRRRSSHHHUUhh!!”

Another one. Still aggressive. Still unashamed.

Lucy let out a small breath, almost a laugh. She realized her teacup was still poised near her lips, untouched. She set it down. The woman was wiping her nose again now, slow and thoughtful, as if lost in the story she was reading. Her eyes scanned the page like the sneezes had been a momentary breeze—not a storm that shook the room.

A strange warmth settled in Lucy’s chest. It wasn’t just admiration. It was something softer, more curious. Something about witnessing someone being so comfortable in their body—so real—made her feel oddly... hopeful.

She returned to her own book, eyes tracking the words this time.

And when the woman sneezed again—loud and clear—Lucy didn’t flinch; she smiled.

“Hhhuhhh-RRRSSHHHUHH!!”

The woman’s sneeze, loud, full-bodied, utterly relentless, caught more attention. Lucy was still pretending to read, though her eyes hadn’t landed on a single sentence in at least ten minutes. She told herself she wasn’t watching the woman. Just… aware. Attuned.

“Huhhh-HHRRSHHHuhhh! … TSSCHH’uhh!”

The napkin she was using looked pitiful now, a flimsy square no match for the sheer power of her sneezing. Still, she calmly folded it again and tucked it between pages like a bookmark. Then, without looking around or offering any kind of explanation, she stood, sniffled softly, and walked toward the restrooms.

“Hhuhhh… hhuh-HHRRSHHUUhh!!”

She sneezed once more as she crossed the café, doubling slightly at the waist with the force of it, her pace unhurried, her sleeve catching the sneeze as automatically as a step. Lucy’s gaze followed her until she disappeared behind the restroom door.

And then came a different kind of quiet.

Lucy sat back, exhaling. Her chest felt oddly hollow. She hadn’t realized how much the woman’s sneezing had become part of the space—like a fireplace crackling or a favorite song humming in the background. It had given the place texture. Life. Now, without it, the silence felt... clinical.

A minute passed. Then two.

Another customer placed an order. Someone dropped a spoon.

Lucy’s eyes darted to the restroom hallway. She’s probably blowing her nose, she reasoned. Getting it out of her system.

And then what?

She’d return, smooth and quiet, no longer this chaotic, mysterious rhythm of breath and release.

Something about that thought made Lucy’s stomach dip with disappointment.

Just as she was about to look away, the door swung open. The woman emerged, napkin freshly replaced with a few paper towels, eyes glassy and pink-rimmed. She made it halfway back to her table before she stopped in her tracks, her sweater sleeved-hand floating inches from her nose.

“HHRRRSSHHHHhhuhh!!”

The fit picked up exactly where it had left off—violent, unchecked, like no time had passed. Lucy watched, transfixed, as the woman paused, braced herself on the back of a chair—

“Huhhh-HUHHHH’RRSSCHHuhh!! … HHhuhhh-huhhh… hhuh-HRRRSSHHHuuuhh!!”

A deep, desperate gasp. Then another.

“Gnx’TCHHhh!!”

When she finally reached her seat, she sat down heavily, flipping her book back open with a sigh, and pressed a fresh wad of paper towel under her nose. She didn’t even glance around. She wasn’t hiding. She wasn’t embarrassed.

Lucy felt her cheeks warm.

There was something magnetic about this woman’s lack of self-editing. She sneezed as if it was as normal as turning a page—something her body did, and she let it. No apologies. No shrinking. And for some reason Lucy couldn’t quite name, she found it… beautiful.

The woman gave a small, congested sniffle, nestled deeper into her chair, and read on.

Lucy took a sip of her now-lukewarm tea, not even minding the temperature. The sneezes continued in unpredictable intervals, and Lucy found herself smiling again.

“Hhuhhh-RRRSSHHHuhhh!!”

The next sneeze echoed off the high ceiling, somehow louder than before. A few café patrons glanced up, but no one seemed truly disturbed. If anything, the barista behind the counter gave a sympathetic shake of the head and muttered something that looked like, “Bless you,” though it was lost beneath the hiss of the espresso machine.

Lucy didn’t bless her.

Not because she didn’t mean to—but because she didn’t want to interrupt. The woman was immersed, even in the middle of her storm. Like she existed in some separate current, riding each sneeze like a wave, then returning to the anchor of her book as if nothing had happened.

“Huhhh-HHHHHRRRSSHHHHuchhhooo!! … Hhuhh… hhuhhh-TSSHhhuhh!”

Lucy watched the page of the book lift slightly in the breeze of the fit. The woman didn’t notice. Her nose was pink now, almost raw-looking, but she seemed undeterred—half-tucked under a blanket scarf, her socked feet pulled up into the chair like she lived there.

A strange feeling rose in Lucy. Not quite jealousy, not quite awe. Something more primal. She couldn’t name it, but it buzzed low in her belly.

She had always been controlled. Polite. She sneezed into tissues she kept hidden in coat pockets, always stifled, always muffled—like any natural urge was a disruption. Growing up, her mother had said it wasn’t “ladylike” to sneeze loudly. That it made people uncomfortable.

But this woman didn’t care if anyone was uncomfortable. She was sneezing like it was her birthright.

“Hhhuhhh… HHRRSSHHHchh!! … HHuhhh-RRRSCHHHuhh! Hhhuhhh-HUHHH’TSSCHHH-uhhh!!”

Lucy shifted in her seat, heart pounding, breath shallow, and realized with a jolt—she wasn’t just fascinated.

She was captivated.

She reached for her tea again and accidentally tipped it slightly, sloshing a bit over the rim. The hot splash pulled her back to herself. She grabbed a napkin, wiped the table quickly, cheeks flushed.

Across the room, the woman paused to blow her nose into the paper towel—loud and honking—and then, casually, reached for her latte with the other hand. Her body still jolted every minute or two with a sneeze, but she barely acknowledged them now. They just came. She let them. She stayed present.

Lucy had the sudden urge to go say something—what, she didn’t know. You have a really powerful sneeze. You seem really comfortable with yourself. You make me want to live differently.

She cringed. All terrible options.

Instead, she stood and grabbed her napkin, the only trash on her table The only excuse she had to walk directly past the woman’s table. Her walk was rewarded; as the stepped close, the woman let out a trio of sneezes—quick and sharp.

“Hhuhh-RRSSCHHuhh! … Huhhh-HHRRSCHHHuhhh! … Huhhh’TSSCHhh!!”

Their eyes met.

The woman offered the faintest smile—soft, a little weary, but kind.

Lucy smiled back, nerves dancing in her fingertips.

“Bless you,” she said finally, voice barely more than a breath.

“Thanks,” the woman said, voice rough, eyes glinting with amusement. “It’s been one of those days.”

Lucy nodded, “Sounds like.”

Lucy hesitated near the trash bin, napkin clenched in her hand. “Sounds like?” Could she sound more idiotic? She rolled her eyes and vowed to do better—to say something coherent, at least a complete sentence.

Twenty minutes passed. Lucy’s tea was cold, her book unread, and yet—she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

So too, the woman was still there. Still sniffling. Still reading.

Still beautiful in that untamed, unbothered way.

The sneezes had stopped, for now. The silence felt unfamiliar, almost eerie, like the quiet after a storm where you half expect thunder to rumble again just to remind you it could. The woman dabbed her nose with what remained of her paper towel, eyes soft on the page, lips parted in concentration.

Lucy shifted in her seat, unsure what she was waiting for. Part of her felt foolish. Another part was quietly hoping.

And then—

“Hhhuhhh… hhuhhh-HHRRRSSHHHHuhhh!!”

The release came sudden and sharp, like a return of a tide Lucy hadn’t realized she’d started counting on. She felt her whole body exhale.

The woman jolted slightly, pressed her shoulder to her nose, and sneezed again.

“Huhhh-TSSCHHHuhh!! … HHuhhh-rrrsshhhuhhh!”

She sniffled wetly, eyes blinking, dazed—but not defeated. Lucy watched her glance at her soggy paper towel, sigh, and pull herself up with a sort of patient resignation.

Back to the bathroom.

Lucy’s eyes followed her again, like a string tied between them. She was careful not to stare, but she didn’t look away. Even from behind, there was something elegant about her—an honesty in the way her shoulders moved, the way she pushed open the restroom door mid-sniffle, as if her body was still sneezing on the inside.

A moment passed. Then another. Then—

“Hhhuhhh-HHRRRSSHHUHHH!!”

From inside the restroom.

Lucy felt her heart jump in spite of herself. It was absurd. She knew it. And yet… it filled something in her, like an exhale she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The woman returned a few minutes later, face freshly washed, a new paper towel in hand, though it was already pressed under her nose. She looked tired—but content. Like someone who had surrendered to a condition rather than fought it.

She made it three steps from the restroom before Lucy saw the fit hit her again.

“Hhhuhhh-HHRRRSSCHHHUHH!! … Huhhh-huhhh-TSCHHHuhh!! … Gnx’TCHHHff!!”

This time, she didn’t stop walking. She just sneezed into her sleeve as she moved, barely flinching, like it was part of the rhythm of her steps. She passed by Lucy’s table once more, red-eyed and sniffling, and for a moment their eyes met again.

Something flickered there. Recognition? Curiosity?

Maybe something quieter.

The woman sank back into her chair, pulled the blanket scarf tighter, and reached for her book again. Her body heaved—

“Huhhh-HHRRSSCHHuhh!!”

—and again, and again.

“Hhhuhhh-TSCHHH! Huhhh-HHRRSSHHUHH!”

Lucy no longer tried to hide her watching. Her tea sat forgotten, her book untouched. She wasn’t waiting for the sneezing to stop anymore.

The café had begun to fill. Afternoon sunlight slanted lower across the hardwood floor, catching in dust motes and empty mugs. Lucy remained tucked in her corner, her cold tea now just a prop for her presence.

The woman, still nestled in her chair, had been caught in an unpredictable rhythm—fits that surged and receded, false calms followed by chaotic bursts. Lucy had watched her ride each one like waves she didn’t try to fight. Her sneezes had become almost a music—violent, bracing, but oddly grounding.

Until he sat down.

A man, probably mid-thirties, carrying a laptop and an air of silent authority, chose the table closest to the woman—closer than anyone had dared all day. He didn’t look at her, just unrolled his charger and adjusted his earbuds, his eyes narrowing slightly at the first wet—

“Huhhh-HHHRRSSHHhhuhh!!”

He flinched and shifted in his seat.

The woman blinked, surprised. It was the first time anyone had visibly reacted. She brought a hand quickly to her nose, cupping it, then folded inward.

“Hh’ngkt!—nggt’chhh! Hhh-ngk’tshff!”

They were stifled now. Tight, messy, half-suppressed. The kind of sneezes that made her shoulders jerk violently, her neck stiffen, strands of hair falling loose from her bun. Her book remained open, but her eyes weren’t on it anymore.

Lucy watched the shift in her body: the slight hunch in her shoulders, the way she turned slightly away from the man. One hand stayed on her lap while the other braced herself against the arm of the chair—both subtle, but telling. She was no longer comfortable.

“Hhhuhh-nggktchh! Gnx’tchff! … N’tschh!”

The stifles were coming rapid-fire now, ragged, pulling through her frame like coughs barely disguised. Her whole posture was tense, throat bobbing, nostrils flaring as her body fought to hold back the natural force it had so freely released before.

She sniffled hard, wiped at her nose with the back of her wrist—quickly, almost guiltily.

The man shot her a glance, lips pressing tight. She pretended not to notice, but her next breath came short and unsteady. Her scarf had fallen away slightly, revealing the flushed skin of her neck, the fine tendrils of hair clinging to her temple. She looked as if she were unraveling.

And Lucy felt it like a betrayal.

Not by the woman—but by the room. By the way even one person’s discomfort could shrink someone who had held so much space just moments ago.

“Hhhuhhh—” The woman’s breath caught. Her eyes fluttered closed. “Huhhh-HHHRRSSSHHH-uhhh!!”

The full sneeze ripped through her again, and this time she couldn’t stop it. Her body jolted forward with the force, her bun finally falling halfway out, loose waves tumbling around her face. Her chest rose again—

“Huhhh-HHRRSSHHuhh! Huhhh-TSSCHHHuhh!! Gngkt’tsschh!!”

The man huffed, clearly annoyed now, and began gathering his things.

Lucy’s heart thudded with some mix of outrage and tenderness. The woman—hair a mess, scarf bunched at her waist, paper towel balled tightly in one hand—rubbed at her eyes and looked down, almost like she was bracing for judgment.

But as the man walked off in search of a quieter table, the woman let out a long, slow breath. Then—

“Huhhh-huhhh… Hhhuh-HHRRRSSSHHHuhh!!”

Unstifled. Strong. Like a single exhale of relief.

Lucy smiled, softly. She didn’t know this woman, but she wanted to stand beside her in that moment. Applaud her. Offer tissues and company and the quiet assurance that her sneezing didn’t have to shrink for anyone.

And as the next sneeze built again—already tugging at the woman’s shoulders, eyes fluttering, curls shaking loose—Lucy knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

The next sneeze was massive.

“Hhhuhhh-HHHRRRSSSHHHHHHHhhuhh!!”

The woman doubled over in her seat, one hand gripping the armrest, the other pressed tightly over her face, shoulders shuddering with the release. Her loose hair swung forward like a curtain, catching light, tangling softly at her jaw and collarbone. The need to stifle for the man had unleashed something uncontrollable inside the woman. It was no longer just sneezing—it was a storm, rising through her body, refusing to be contained.

Lucy sat forward unconsciously, elbows on her table now, breath caught in her throat.

“Huhhh-huhhh… Huhhh-HHRRSSCHHhhuhh!! … Huhh-TSSCHHHHhhuhhh!!”

The woman gasped between sneezes, nostrils flaring with desperate anticipation. Her body jerked again—hard this time—and she let out a helpless, congested moan just before another one hit.

“Nggkt’chhh! Huhhh-huhhhhhhRRSSHHuhhh!!”

She had no control left. And she’d stopped trying.

Her head fell back between sneezes, throat exposed, lips parted as she panted through it. Her hands trembled faintly. The paper towel, now useless, crumpled in her lap. A few nearby patrons exchanged looks, unsure whether to pity or avoid her. One woman offered a polite “Bless you,” but mostly the room stayed quiet—like it was waiting to see if she would break.

She didn’t.

Instead, the fit softened. The sneezes tapered into smaller, wheezier ones. Her shoulders sagged. Her head bowed forward. A soft sniffle, then another.

Lucy felt something swell in her chest. Desire. Admiration.

The woman sat, breath slowing, hair falling like dusk across her face. She looked raw, undone. But not ashamed.

Lucy rose slowly from her chair, leaving her cold tea and unread book behind. She hesitated for just a moment—and then crossed the space between them.

The woman looked up, eyes watery and red-rimmed, nose pink and quivering still. She gave Lucy a faint, tired smile.

Lucy reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a fresh, unopened travel pack of tissues. She placed them gently on the edge of the woman’s table.

“These are for you,” she said softly. “For the next time it’s one of those days.”

The woman blinked at her, then gave a short, thick laugh that caught in her throat. “Thank you; I’ll probably go through them before the end of this day.”

As if on cue, her nose twitched and her eyes went distant. Sh peeled a tisue free and held it to her nose, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Huhhh… hhuhhhHHHRRRSSHHHuhh!!”

Lucy turned to go, but paused. She glanced over her shoulder and added, “You don’t have to stifle. Not for them.”

The woman looked up, stunned for a moment.

Then she nodded—just once, but it was enough.

And as Lucy returned to her seat, the next sneeze rang out behind her. Loud. Unrestrained.

Alive.

I’m Kelvin069, and Hitch Lit is my home for sneeze fiction: the teasing buildups, the messy releases, the chaotic fits, the stifles, the slip-ups, the slow burns, the ones you try to stop but can’t, and the ones you don't even try.

Every post here is fully fictional—and intentionally varied. Some stories will be quiet and sensory, others dramatic and relentless. Some characters enjoy it. Some suffer through it. Some are watched. Some are caught. Some are in control—most aren’t for long.

If you’re into:

• Induced fits

• Allergy attacks

• False starts

• Public displays

• Long buildups

• Total loss of control

…you’ll find something here.
And if you’re looking for something you don’t see yet, tell me. I take requests, and I’m not shy.

I’ll be posting full stories weekly.
Free subscribers get a full story monthly, weekly teaser content, and updates.
Paid subscribers get full access to the weekly goodness, bonus arcs, and the occasional surprise drop you won’t find anywhere else.

I’ve been around this community long enough to know what makes a good fit—and I’m just getting started here.

Pass the tissues (or a hanky, if you please).

– Kelvin069