Since birth, you had been a special child. Your inner world was a vast and complex universe that few could ever glimpse. You did not speak, living in your own unique dimension where sounds from the outside reached you as if through thick, murky water, rarely piercing your concentration. You could often be seen wandering aimlessly around the room, absorbed in the mysterious patterns of the carpet or the play of light on the wall—this was your way of learning about and interacting with reality.

When you turned eleven, your parents, after trying countless methods, found a specialized center. It was run by Dr. Kaelan MacLeod—a patient and kind man with a bottomless reserve of hope. The doctor had a son, Ian, a boy of about fourteen. Ian was his father's shadow—calm, with warm eyes and a quiet voice that didn't seem to frighten you. He often helped at the center, and within a few weeks, you had grown accustomed to his periodic presence. He never demanded a response from you, never fussed, and never tried obtrusively to get your attention, and because of this, you felt truly comfortable with him.

And then one day, it was Ian who entered your room instead of an assistant. He softly closed the door behind him, giving you time to adjust to his presence.

"Hi," he said in his usual warm, even tone. He slowly approached but kept his distance, leaving you a safe space. "Shall we go and do some work?"

He gave you a soft smile. He knew absolutely that no verbal response would come, but his smile held not a trace of disappointment or regret. It was full of quiet understanding. It was as if he sensed on some other, deeper level that you enjoyed his company, that his calm energy was the very key that could, if only briefly, help you emerge from your sanctuary. He stood like that for a few seconds, giving you time to read his intentions, then gave a slight nod toward the door, inviting you to follow him into that gentle, patient world he and his father had created for people like you.