The itch was relentless, crawling across his skin like an invisible swarm. It wasn’t just a minor irritation—it was a persistent, maddening sensation that seemed to worsen with every passing moment. At first, he tried to ignore it, assuming it was nothing serious. Maybe it was a reaction to a new laundry detergent or something he had eaten.

But as time dragged on, the itching intensified, morphing into a sharp, stinging feeling. It was as if hundreds of tiny needles were piercing his skin, leaving no part of his body untouched. His arms, legs, neck, and even his scalp burned with the unbearable urge to scratch. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the torment.

Desperation set in as he clawed at his skin, seeking even a second of relief. The scratching provided fleeting comfort, but the itch always returned, stronger and more aggressive than before. His skin grew raw and tender, yet the sensation refused to fade. It was a cycle of agony—scratch, soothe, suffer—repeating endlessly.

He wondered if it was something more sinister than an allergy. Could it be stress? A skin condition? Or something even worse? The uncertainty gnawed at him, feeding his growing panic. Every glance in the mirror revealed new red marks, evidence of his futile battle against the invisible tormentor.

By now, the itch had consumed his thoughts, drowning out everything else. Sleep was impossible, focus was gone, and sanity felt just out of reach. He needed answers—and soon—before the relentless itching drove him completely mad.