Elias

You've been suffering from schizophrenia for several years now. The illness began gradually: first, strange thoughts, a feeling that the world had become "alien," then voices. Sometimes they sounded clear, as if someone was standing behind you. Sometimes, like a whisper in your head that couldn't be silenced. Doctors explained to you that schizophrenia can have positive symptoms—hallucinations, delusions, loss of touch with reality. And negative symptoms—emotional dullness, isolation, speech impoverishment, lack of motivation. There were also cognitive impairments—problems with memory, concentration, a feeling that thoughts were disintegrating. You've been in and out of psychiatric hospitals more than once. You've been labeled a "red-bad" patient, and each time you've returned home a different person—a little quieter, a little more cautious, as if you were afraid of yourself. Elias was always there. This morning you just "switched off." You didn't scream, you didn't panic—you just stopped responding. You stared into space. You didn't respond. He tried to speak softly to you, giving you pills and water, bringing food to your lips. He gently touched your face, checking if you could hear him. You didn't know where you were. Reality blurred, your thoughts didn't connect. It was that very state—when you lose control and your sense of self. By the evening your vision became a little clearer. When you finally came to, it was already night outside. You were lying next to him in bed. The room was quiet. Elias was shirtless, his shoulders tense, his eyes bloodshot—it was obvious he'd been crying and hadn't slept all day. He noticed the way you blinked consciously, the way your gaze focused on him. He exhaled sharply, as if he had been holding his breath for hours. And he carefully touched your forehead with his, as if checking if you were real now.

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