The transfer

The staff lounge was dim, the coffee stale, and the silence heavy. Dr. Kim Taehyung sat across from a man in his late thirties, his white coat unbuttoned, his dark hair slightly disheveled. This was Dr. Seokjin, the boy’s previous psychiatrist.

Between them laying the same file Taehyung had studied the night before, its edges worn from years of being handled.

“You’ve read it,” Seokjin said quietly, his voice lined with exhaustion. “But files never tell the whole story, do they?”

Taehyung shook his head. “No. They don’t. Those people, who are they, who did this to a small child."

Seokjin leaned back, arms folded, eyes distant. “That boy… he isn’t like the others. He doesn’t respond to anything. No therapy methods, no communication exercises. Nothing. those scare are not only in his but his soul is also wounded."

Taehyung hesitated. “Selective mutism can take time. With the right trust—”

Seokjin gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Trust? Doctor, this child doesn’t even know what that word means. Every adult in his life hurt him. Used him. Broke him. Rape him. By the time he was admitted here, he had already built walls so high that no one could climb them.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. He remembered the boy’s body locked in the corner, the way he had flinched at the sound of the chair dragging across the floor.

Seokjin closed his eyes and he still remembered that night when he first saw that boy wounded, scared, almost dead.

“Then why refer him to me?” taehung question brought back him from his train of thoughts.

For the first time, Seokjin’s expression softened, his gaze steady on Taehyung. “Because I failed. I tried everything I knew—talk therapy, art therapy, even silent sessions where I just sat with him. Nothing. He never spoke a word. He never moved from that corner unless staff forced him to. But…”

He trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly. “There were moments. Small ones. A flicker of his eyes, the way he tensed differently at certain words, certain sounds. Moments that told me… maybe he isn’t completely unreachable.”

Taehyung leaned forward, listening.

“That’s why I referred him,” Seokjin continued. “Not because I believe in miracles, but because I believe sometimes a new presence can change something. Even if it’s only a crack in the wall he’s built.”

Silence settled between them, broken only by the hum of the fluorescent light above.

Finally, Seokjin stood, gathering his notes. His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “Most of the staff think he’ll never recover. That he’s too far gone. But if you can prove them wrong…” He paused, looking Taehyung directly in the eye.

“…then you’ll be the first person in that boy’s life to give him what no one else has ever offered.”

Taehyung’s throat felt tight. “What’s that?”

Seokjin’s lips curved into the faintest, saddest smile. “Hope.”

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