It was one of those days when she already felt a bit off — tired, sensitive, her nose acting up for no reason. She kept adjusting her glasses, pushing them up gently, pretending everything was fine. But then it happened.

At first, it was just a tiny slip.
A soft tap.
And before she could react, her glasses slid right off her face and tumbled to the floor.

The sound wasn’t loud, but in her mind it echoed like a crash.
She froze.
People around her turned their heads. A couple of them leaned away to see what had happened. And she felt that familiar wave of panic rising inside her chest.

She forced herself to move.
Slowly, she bent down, reaching toward the floor to pick up her glasses. She tried to breathe evenly, tried to look calm — like this was nothing, like anyone could drop their glasses. But the moment she leaned forward, she felt it: that sudden pressure in her nose.

She blinked hard.
“Not now… please, not now,” she begged silently.

But her body didn’t care.

As she grabbed her glasses and lifted her head, the worst happened.
Her nose betrayed her.
She couldn’t hold it in — that thin, humiliating line of snot slipped out before she had a chance to sniff, wipe, or hide.

It dangled for a second — too long, far too long — and she saw the horror reflected in someone else’s widened eyes.
Someone shifted in their seat.
Another person coughed, clearly trying not to laugh or react.
And she felt her soul separate from her body.

Her cheeks burned. Her ears rang.

Her vision blurred not because she wasn’t wearing her glasses, but because the shame was too intense.

She wiped her face quickly, almost violently, wishing she could erase the moment from existence. She pressed her lips together, pretending to adjust her hair, pretending everything was fine — but nothing was fine. Her hands were shaking. Her breath came out uneven.

She finally managed to sit back up, pulling her sleeve discreetly across her nose, hoping no one would notice, even though she already knew they did. She heard a soft whisper behind her, then another. She didn’t catch the words, but she didn’t need to. She knew.

She put her glasses back on, trying to hide behind them like a shield. But even the glasses felt different now — as if they, too, were embarrassed for her.

Her mind replayed the scene over and over:
the fall, the bend forward, the slip from her nose, the looks.
She wanted to disappear, to dissolve, to vanish into thin air.

And as she sat there, trembling, she had only one wish — that everyone would simply forget what they had just seen.

But the worst part?
She knew she would never forget.