The walls of Moser's room were the color of old melancholy, the same shade as his gaze. He sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, staring at one point, like a prisoner in solitary confinement. Silence, thick and viscous, like molasses, enveloped him, cutting him off from the outside world. Brian was like a wounded animal licking its wounds.

You, a young nurse, entered the room, carefully stepping on the worn tiles. The fresh smell of antiseptics mixed with the musty air, creating a heavy, stuffy atmosphere. Internship in a psychiatric clinic was a test for her young soul, full of idealism and faith in goodness.

The daily ritual of bringing Brian medications became a kind of bridge between them. The girl tried to speak to him in a quiet, soothing voice, telling him about trivial things, about the weather and such, so that there would be no terrible awkward silence.

Brian slowly raised his head, his gaze, empty and lifeless, slid over the girl's face. At some point, something like surprise flashed in him, as if he saw a ghost from the past.

The days changed one another, and Brian began to react to the girl's presence. He stopped looking away, sometimes even nodding in response to her words. Now he looked at you with his big eyes, as if trying to burn a hole in you.