Episode 1 – The Patient Who Carried Silence
Dr. Lin Yuhan adjusted the sleeves of his white coat as the clock on his office wall ticked toward ten. His next patient was new—someone referred from the hospital's trauma unit. The file had been brief, almost clinical in tone: Xu Wei, twenty-six. Survived a traffic accident six months ago. Complains of insomnia, recurring panic episodes, and distrust of others.
That much was ordinary. What wasn't ordinary was the way Yuhan's chest tightened the moment he read the name. He didn't know Xu Wei, but sometimes, when a person's pain was sharp enough, it called to him long before they stepped into the room.
And Yuhan always heard the call.
The knock came exactly on time.
"Come in," Yuhan said, rising to greet the patient.
The door opened, and Xu Wei walked in. His movements were cautious, almost mechanical. He was taller than Yuhan had expected, his frame lean but tense, as if braced for impact. His hair fell carelessly across his forehead, his eyes dark, unreadable. He sat on the sofa without waiting for an invitation, posture stiff, one leg bouncing in restless rhythm.
The silence that followed wasn't ordinary either. Patients often hesitated, fumbling for words. But Xu Wei's silence was deliberate, heavy, like a wall carefully built stone by stone. Yuhan could feel it pressing into the room.
"Mr. Xu," Yuhan said gently, taking his seat across from him. "I'm Dr. Lin. Thank you for coming today."
Xu Wei gave a dry laugh, but there was no amusement in it. "I didn't exactly come by choice."
Yuhan glanced at the file. Referred by family. That tracked.
"You're right," Yuhan admitted. "Sometimes, others see us suffering before we admit it ourselves. But even if you didn't choose this, you're here now. That counts for something."
Xu Wei looked at him sharply, as though trying to detect a trick. His eyes lingered on Yuhan's face, then shifted away.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say," he muttered.
Yuhan resisted the urge to reach further into his mind. The pulse of emotion was already there, pressing against his senses like waves against the shore. Fear. Exhaustion. A bitterness so dense it tasted like ash. And beneath it all, a loneliness so profound that Yuhan almost shivered.
But that was his secret. He couldn't let Xu Wei—or anyone—know.
"You don't have to say anything right away," Yuhan replied. His voice was calm, low, carrying no demand. "Sometimes just being here is the first step."
For a moment, Xu Wei's bouncing leg stilled. He stared at the carpet, lips pressed together. Yuhan noticed the faint tremor in his hands, the tightness around his mouth, signs that spoke louder than words.
"Sleep," Xu Wei said suddenly, the word clipped. "I can't. Not without… not without seeing things."
Yuhan leaned forward slightly. "Nightmares?"
Xu Wei hesitated, then nodded once.
"What kind?"
"Does it matter?" The sharpness in his tone was defensive, but the way his eyes flickered betrayed him. "They're just… the same. Every night. Over and over. I wake up and…" He stopped, swallowing hard. "And I can't breathe."
Yuhan's chest tightened in response. You wake up convinced you're still trapped. You can't escape the sound of metal tearing, the taste of blood, the thought that you should have died instead. The words hovered in Yuhan's mind, but he kept them locked away.
Instead, he said softly, "That sounds terrifying."
Xu Wei let out a bitter laugh. "You don't believe me."
"I believe you," Yuhan answered simply.
That seemed to catch Xu Wei off guard. He blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "You said that too easily."
Yuhan allowed a faint smile. "It's my job to listen. Believing you is the least I can do."
The silence returned, but it had shifted. It wasn't the jagged silence of before. This time it felt uncertain, testing.
Yuhan could sense the edge of something else now—curiosity, faint but real. Xu Wei was watching him, waiting to see if he would falter, if he would prove himself like everyone else who had looked at him with pity or suspicion.
Yuhan didn't falter. He met Xu Wei's gaze steadily, not pushing, not demanding. Just waiting.
Finally, Xu Wei looked away, exhaling slowly. For a moment, the wall around him cracked, and Yuhan caught a glimpse of something raw and unguarded: the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, someone could understand.
And Yuhan felt it, as clear as sunlight through glass—that fragile thread of connection, pulling tight between them.
He hadn't expected it. He hadn't wanted it. But there it was, undeniable.
Xu Wei was not going to be just another patient.