He took a breath. Then another. Then a deep, glorious, lung-filling inhale that traveled all the way down to his toes. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard: the soft, rhythmic whisper of oxygen moving freely through his face.
It was 3:17 AM, and Leo was certain of two things: first, that he had an important presentation in five hours, and second, that his nose had been replaced overnight with a solid block of cement.
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.
