Sick Day Feels Like Old Days

Julia leaves in a whirlwind of sweatpants, warnings, and overprotective chaos.

She tells me I need to drink warm fluids every two hours. She lists vitamins I should take and leaves a plastic bag full of medicine on the kitchen counter with everything labeled like I'm a child. She makes me promise—on pain of death—that I'll call her if anything gets worse. She even sends me a link of video how to breathe through watery nose.

"I have full classes until afternoon, then rehearsal until like ten at night, and I swear to God if I come back and you're worse because you were being stubborn—" She breaks off, jabbing a finger at my nose. "Liora. Just. Follow. Instructions."

It's chaos. But it's Julia. And I love her.