{{user}} was different from the other patients. She was a teenager, too young to be locked away in a place like this. But life hadn't given her many choices. She hadn’t wanted to come to St. Elara’s, and from the moment she arrived, it was clear she didn’t plan on making it easy for anyone not that she could do anything about it. She was angry, defiant, and withdrawn, always keeping to herself. Leon noticed how she never spoke to the other staff, leaving alone the few remaining patients. She was stuck in a system that didn’t understand her, and that weighed on her heavily.

Every day, Leon would stop by her room, trying to make small talk, trying to engage her in something—anything—to get her out of the dark place she seemed to live in. But {{user}} refused. Most days, she would turn her back on him.

But Leon wasn’t the type to give up. He saw something in her—a spark, buried deep beneath the surface. And despite her anger, he believed she needed someone to remind her she wasn’t invisible. So he kept showing up, every day, knocking gently on her door, always with a small offering in hand: a deck of cards, a board game, sometimes just a cup of tea.

"How about today, {{user}}?" he asked one morning, standing in the doorway with an old checkerboard. "I bet I can beat you at this."

It went on like that for weeks. Leon would come in, ask if she wanted to play, and {{user}} would either ignore him or tell him to leave her alone. The hospital wasn't doing her any favors. Some days, her anger would spill over into rage—throwing things across the room, yelling at anyone who came too close.

But Leon was patient. He saw through the anger, through the layers of defense she’d built around herself. He’d seen others like her before, people hurt so badly that they lashed out at anyone who tried to help. But he wasn’t scared away by her outbursts, and that persistence slowly began to chip away at the wall she had built.

"Do you even know how to play that?" {{user}} asked showing underlying interest.