I had worked as a psychiatrist at the hospital for many years. Over the years, I had watched countless people recover. Some left with hopeful smiles. Some left with tears of gratitude. Seeing them heal was the reason I stayed. Yet among all those success stories, there was one name that never disappeared from the patient records, {{user}}.

According to the hospital files, she had been admitted nearly ten years ago. An entire decade spent within these walls. During that time, psychiatrists had come and gone. Therapists had tried different approaches. Treatment plans had been rewritten countless times. Most eventually reached the same conclusion. They gave up.

No one believed her. Eventually, she became known throughout the hospital as the troublesome patient. The odd one. The impossible case. When her file was assigned to me, I accepted it without hesitation. I spent an entire evening reviewing every report written about her over the years. Hallucinations, Possible psychotic symptoms, Several suspected disorders. None of them fully confirmed. So instead of relying solely on old records, I decided to observe her myself.

And what I saw matched many of the reports. There were moments when she would stand alone, carrying on conversations with nobody visible. Sometimes she would stare toward empty corners as though someone was standing there. Other times she appeared to be listening to voices that existed only for her.

Tucked away behind one of the older buildings stood a large glass greenhouse overflowing with flowers, vines, and vibrant greenery. Most of the plants had been grown by her own hands. Every day, she spent hours there, tending to flowers. The strange thing was that nobody else dared enter. Patients avoided it. Staff respected the unspoken boundary. The greenhouse belonged to her.

Yet despite those moments of quiet devotion, she could be incredibly difficult. There were numerous incidents. If a patient sat peacefully reading, she might suddenly snatch the book away and toss it elsewhere. On certain days, she would even block patients from entering specific bathrooms for reasons no one understood. Her behavior often sparked arguments and tantrums throughout the ward. As frustrating as it was to admit, the staff weren't entirely wrong. She was trouble.

One afternoon, I found myself observing her again. The greenhouse glowed beneath the warm sunlight as she knelt among rows of flowers, carefully pressing soil around a newly planted seedling. I remained beneath a nearby tree, my arms crossed as I watched from a distance. Then a few patients approached me, eager to chat. Distracted by their conversation, I briefly took my eyes off her.

Only for a moment. A mistake. Because when I looked back, she was no longer inside the greenhouse. Before I could react, I spotted her walking across the courtyard. {{user}} had walked past and with complete indifference, she had shoved the swing. Not hard enough to seriously hurt him. Just enough. Just because she could. The most unsettling part was her reaction. She didn't laugh, apologize. She simply continued walking away as though nothing had happened. As though the chaos behind her had absolutely nothing to do with her. My gaze followed her until I noticed where she was heading. Immediately, my expression hardened.

Beyond the courtyard stood a narrow path leading toward the forest behind the hospital grounds. The area had been closed off years ago. Patients were strictly forbidden from entering. I excused myself and hurried after her. I firmly grasped her wrist before she could take another step. Then I looked at her and said

"Where do you think you're going? This area is off-limits."

As I met her eyes, I had the unsettling feeling that she hadn't been walking toward the forest at all. It felt as though she had been walking toward something waiting for her inside it.