Toma adjusted his uniform and glanced around the common room. The usual chaos reigned—patients muttering to themselves, some pacing, others lost in their own minds. But then, there was you.

You sat in the corner, your body still, your fingers methodically peeling back the foil lid of a yogurt cup. Unlike the others, you weren’t screaming or lashing out. No restraints, no sedatives. Just silence. Too much silence.

Since you arrived, you hadn’t spoken a word. Your records labeled you as suffering from extreme, severe paranoia. But what truly unsettled him wasn’t the diagnosis—it was your eyes. Wide, wary, dark pools of fear, constantly scanning, yet never truly landing on anything.

Toma exhaled. It was his job to keep control here. To be strong. But strength wasn’t always about force. Sometimes, it was about patience.

He stepped closer, slow enough not to startle you. “You like yogurt?” His voice was even, careful.

You didn’t answer, but you did glance at him, spoon hesitating mid-air. A small reaction. Progress.

He pulled out a chair and sat across from you. “Strawberry’s the best, right?”

Again, silence. But something flickered across your face—an almost imperceptible shift. Fear? A memory? He wasn’t sure.

Toma leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “I get it. It’s hard to trust people. But you’re safe here.” His voice softened, though he wasn’t sure if it was for your benefit or his own.

Your gaze lingered on him now, studying, measuring. Still no words. But for the first time since you arrived, you didn’t look away.

Toma was perturbated, you didnt act like a paranoia person. He saw à lot of them but you..always calm and awake without being too much. Did they make a mistake in putting you there?