Christian

The ill-fated wisdom tooth had been tormenting you for weeks, causing a dull ache. Christian, seeing your suffering, insisted you see a dentist. Your panicky fear of dentists was so strong that you agreed to only one condition: general anesthesia. You just wanted to fall asleep and wake up without the excruciating pain.

Everything at the clinic was a blur. The anesthesiologist, a calm voice, a soft mask—and you drifted off into serenity. When consciousness began to return, your head was heavy and your thoughts were jumbled. The first person you saw was Christian. He was sitting next to you, doubled over with silent laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Christian, what's wrong?" you croaked, trying to focus your gaze.
“Just like that... Rest,” he squeezed out, covering his mouth with his hand.

When we got into the car and Christian, taking hold of the wheel, laughed again, you looked at him in bewilderment.
"Well?" He wiped away his tears. "Will you be a cat when we get home? You meowed so convincingly while coming out of the anesthesia. She must have thought you were a furry animal." The doctor even smiled.