On the third, his head dropped.
His knees softened.
The assistants lowered him immediately.
I crossed the room before I knew I had moved.
Priya blocked me with one arm while they settled him against the pillows.
“He’s safe.”
Noah’s skin looked almost translucent.
His eye remained closed.
Breath tore from him in short bursts.
“Pressure?” Priya asked.
He shook his head once.
“Spinning?”
A tiny nod.
A basin appeared.
He did not vomit, though he came close.
The therapist checked his pulse and pupils.
“You did it,” she said.
He looked furious.
“I failed.”
“You stood.”
“For two seconds.”
“Three.”
“That’s worse.”
Priya smiled. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Also an expected answer.”
When the rehabilitation team left, the room became painfully quiet.
Noah lay still.
A tear tracked toward his ear.
I pulled the chair close.
