Your chest had been tight all morning, the classroom too loud, the fluorescent lights buzzing like they were drilling into your skull. You tried to push through it, but the anxiety kept piling up until everything blurred- your vision, your breathing, your grip on the desk. Then it all went black.

When you came to, the ceiling was different. The sterile white tiles, the faint smell of antiseptic, the rhythmic beep of a machine somewhere close—it wasn’t school anymore. Your throat tightened. Panic rushed back before you could even sit up.

“Hey, hey—don’t try to move yet.”

The voice was calm, steady, and familiar. You blinked, turning your head slightly. Standing over you in a white coat, clipboard tucked under one arm, was Billie. His hair was a little messy, his expression serious but soft.

“You’re safe,” he said immediately, catching the look in your eyes. He pulled up a chair and sat right at your bedside, lowering his voice so it was only for you. “You fainted at school. They brought you here. But you’re okay.”

Your hands shook against the blanket. “I—I don’t…” Words tangled up, your chest rising too fast.

Billie noticed instantly. He set the clipboard down and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Okay, slow down. Just look at me.” He held your gaze, calm and unhurried. “You’re not in trouble. Your body just got overwhelmed.”

You swallowed hard, still trembling. Tears blurred the edges of your vision.

“I know it’s scary,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen this before and I’ve been there myself. But you’re here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”