David sat stiffly on the examination table, the sterile scent of the room thick in the air. His injured leg, now free from the cast, felt oddly vulnerable without the hard support. The doctor had told him it wasn't necessary anymore, that the bone had healed enough, but it was still a hard pill to swallow. The injury was real now—no more hiding behind the cast. No more pretending it wasn't as bad as it felt.
"Good news," the doctor said with a reassuring smile, glancing up from the notes on his clipboard. "You're progressing well. The swelling's gone down, and the damage to your knee isn't as bad as we thought. The cast was precautionary. It's not needed anymore."
David forced a smile, but inside, he didn't feel so sure. The thought of not being able to play for a while, of having to slow down, was like a tight knot in his chest. Still, he wasn't about to let that show. He'd always prided himself on being tough—no injury, no challenge, could hold him back. Not for long, at least.
