Chapter 2

At work, my desk was also piled high with these things. There was a sandalwood diffuser. Activated charcoal packets. A humidifier. Solid air fresheners. Peppermint essential oils. Even deodorizing spray.

I bought everything I could, and my desk soon became the most fragrant desk in the entire office. Anyone walking by would probably choke on how potent the scents were.

But it was still useless.

My colleagues would still instinctively fan their noses when walking by, and people would still try to avoid me in elevators.

I was driven into a corner. I had no choice but to wake up at 6:30 am every day so that I could reach the office by 7:20 am, a good hour and a half before any of my colleagues usually trickled in.

The first time I did this, I bumped into the cleaning lady, Mrs. Howell, who was mopping the floors. She was stunned when she saw me.

"You're early, miss," she said.

I forced a smile at her and headed for my desk with a bottle of disinfectant. Then, I disinfected my entire tabletop, my keyboard, my mouse, and my chair. I even cleaned the grout in between the tiles with an old toothbrush three times.

Mrs. Howell handed me a dry rag. She didn't pry and just helped me clean everything up.

There was a large pink eight-foot teddy bear placed toward the left side of my desk. I thought that it had always been there since the first day I came to work, but the admin manager, Nathan Bullock, told me that it was a prop from a previous company event. It was registered as an "asset" in the company, so we couldn't just dispose of it.

I used to think that it was really cute back then. When I felt stressed at work, I would even reach over and pat it on the head a few times to destress.

But then, I later learned that the teddy bear hadn't been placed there all along. Someone had deliberately placed it next to me.

That morning, I finally couldn't hold back my curiosity and tugged on Mrs. Howell's sleeve.

"Mrs. Howell, can you lend me your nose for a bit? Do you think something stinks here?"

She came closer to me and sniffed around seriously. Then, her expression changed.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

"Mrs. Howell?"

She didn't answer my question. Instead, she just pointed at the deodorizer on my desk and said, "Miss, it's no use no matter how much you spray this."

I was stunned. "Why not?"

Her lips parted, but she didn't say anything.

I found out later that she'd accidentally bumped into the teddy bear while cleaning the place last month, and my manager, Joel Winters, had told her off angrily in front of the entire office for ten minutes. From then on, she never dared to touch that teddy bear again.

After Mrs. Howell was done cleaning up and was just about to push her cart away, she suddenly stopped and looked at me like she was hesitating about telling me something.

"Miss, if there's a chance for you to switch your desk, you'd better do so, and hurry."

I froze, still clutching the wet rag. The cold water from it ran down my arm and dripped from my elbow to the floor, creating a splotch on the tiles.

When I looked up again, I saw someone standing in the corner of the hallway.

It was Joel.

I didn't know how long he'd been standing there and listening to my conversation with Mrs. Howell. But the moment he realized that I had noticed him, he turned on his heels and left quickly, like he had something to hide.

…

That weekend, I went to three different departments at the hospital.

I went to the dermatology department. The doctor checked me over and over and told me that there was nothing wrong with my skin, and I didn't have any body odor either.

I then went to the endocrinology department. I had three vials of blood drawn, but all of my indicators were normal.

I then went to the dentistry and gastroenterology department, and after the doctor checked me thoroughly, he wrote down a single line in the medical report.

I picked it up and read it.

"Mental health consultation recommended. Suspected anxiety related to the olfactory system."

I sat on the long bench in the hospital hallway, staring intently at the line of words on my report. My tears fell onto the paper and blurred the black ink.

Next to me, the patient was laughing while playing with his kid. Yet, here I was, clutching a medical report as my falling tears continued dripping onto the paper.

At that point, I began getting suspicious of myself.

Had I really gone crazy? Did the smell really not exist after all?

But I couldn't possibly hallucinate my colleagues' aversion toward me, could I?

After getting home that night, I threw all of the clothes I'd worn into the washing machine. Once they were washed and dried, I brought each clothing item to my nose and sniffed them hard.

They were all clean.

Even my bag, mask, and shoes were clean. The tote bag I'd had for three years also smelled clean and fresh. I sniffed each item again and again and could only determine that they smelled of nothing but detergent.

The smell wasn't coming from me either.

The moment I thought of that, I felt a chill run down my spine. I also remembered the hesitant look in Mrs. Howell's eyes the other day.