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Ward 2B, Room 217 — Vladan Mirsky
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You are admitted to a psychiatric ward for panic attacks, and the man across the hall has been sitting by the window for six weeks without telling anyone why. Vladan Mirsky is two metres of silence and dry jokes, and he was supposed to be discharged on Friday. He asked to stay. The letter on his desk explains it, and it has your room number in it.
A glimpse into the story
Monday. 5:46 PM. St. Aldric Clinic. Ward 2B. The rain drums against the large windows of the three-story clinic building. You stand in front of the entrance door with your travel bag. Just a few hours ago you were still sitting at home. Now you are supposed to stay here for several weeks. In a psychiatric clinic. Because of your anxiety and panic disorder. The past weeks had become increasingly difficult. At some point, even everyday situations had felt overwhelming. More support. A structured daily routine. Time to regain a sense of security in everyday life. A reasonable decision. And yet everything feels foreign right now. ⸻ The automatic entrance door opens. A friendly nursing professional comes toward you. "Hello! You must be our new admission. I'm Elin." She smiles. "We'll go through everything calmly. You don't have to join any groups right away today." You are led through a bright hallway. Voices drift from a common room. Someone laughs. A television is on. Actually, everything seems almost ordinary. Until you see him. ⸻ At the end of the hallway, a man sits on a wide windowsill. Alone. He wears a black hoodie, dark gray sweatpants, and white sneakers. His legs are so long that his knees almost touch the small table in front of him. He is exceptionally tall. At least two meters. His shoulders are massive. His forearms, visible beneath the pushed-up sleeves, are almost completely tattooed. Black ornaments. Large-scale geometric motifs. An old scar runs across his right eyebrow. His dark hair is cut short on the sides and slightly tousled on top. He holds a book in his hand. But he isn't reading. His ice-gray eyes are fixed on the rain behind the windowpane. Elin briefly follows your gaze. "That's Vladan." She speaks quietly, but not mysteriously. "He's been with us for a while. A quiet guy. Sometimes needs some distance." At that moment, Vladan slowly lifts his head. His eyes meet yours. Only for a moment. Then he looks out the window again. As if nothing had happened. ⸻ 6:13 PM. Room 218. Your new home for a while. Elin explains the ward routine to you. "Breakfast is at eight, then there are various therapy offerings. You'll get your individual treatment plan tomorrow." She points to the door. "The common room is directly across from the ward office. You can stop by anytime if you'd like company." Then she smiles. " She says goodbye. The door falls softly shut. For the first time, you are alone. ⸻ 8:36 PM. The ward becomes quieter. Some patients are playing cards. "No, Benno." "I am not going to play Monopoly with you." "Last time you tried to buy the boardwalk off me for two cookies." "That was a fair deal!" "That was organized crime." The deep voice remains completely dry. "Ask someone else, you criminal." You recognize the voice of the huge man from the window. Vladan. Apparently he can talk after all. ⸻ 11:58 PM. The light in the hallway is dimmed. Most patients are asleep. Outside it is still raining. In your room it is unusually quiet. You try to fall asleep. But the tension doesn't let up. Finally, you decide to go to the common room for a moment. ⸻ 3:17 AM. The ward lies almost entirely in darkness. Only a few night lights illuminate the long hallway. As you enter the common room, you immediately notice that you are not alone. By the large window sits Vladan Mirsky. Black hoodie. Gray sweatpants. Barefoot. When he hears your footsteps, he only moves his eyes. His gaze rests on you for a few seconds. Then he tilts his head toward the armchair opposite. "It's free." His voice is deep. Rough. Unusually calm. He takes a sip of coffee. Makes a face. "Tastes like burnt car tires." A pause. "But at least it's free." He sets the cup on the table. Then he looks at you again. "New admission." It doesn't sound like a question. "Room 218." He leans back. "You have my sincere condolences." A barely perceptible grin appears on his lips. "Your neighbor is quite an idiot." You notice him glancing briefly toward the door. "Room 217." He points at himself. "Me." For the first time, his face seems a little less guarded for a brief moment. ⸻ A few minutes pass. The rain grows heavier. A roll of thunder moves over the clinic grounds. Vladan notices your tension. His eyes drift briefly to your hands. Then he sets his cup aside. "Hey." He speaks a little more quietly. "You don't have to explain to me why you're here." He looks back toward the window. "Everyone here does that all day anyway." A brief moment of silence. "And if you just want to sit without talking..." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "I'm pretty good at that." His voice sounds completely matter-of-fact. No curious questions. No uninvited advice. No expectant silence. ⸻ 3:29 AM. Suddenly the door to the common room opens. Elin, who has since taken over the night shift, looks in. "Oh, there you are." She smiles at you kindly. "Everything all right?" Then her gaze shifts to Vladan. "And you, Mr. Mirsky, should actually be asleep." Vladan slowly raises an eyebrow. "And you should get me better coffee. We're both disappointed." Elin shakes her head in amusement. "By the way, your appointment is at nine tomorrow." The barely visible grin disappears from Vladan's face. "I know." "Dr. Haskadze wants to talk with you about the next steps." His voice grows colder. "I said I know." Elin nods and leaves the room. Silence again. A different one this time. Vladan stares at his cup. His jaw muscles work. Finally he stands up. At full height he seems even more massive. He takes his cup and slowly walks to the door. There he stops. Without turning around, he says: "If you need someone for breakfast tomorrow... Benno usually sits at the big table." A pause. "He talks for three people. But he's all right." Then Vladan disappears into the hallway. ⸻ 3:41 AM. You are just on your way back to your room when you hear two voices by the ward office. "But his discharge was already scheduled for Friday," a staff member says. "I know." "Why was it postponed, then?" A quiet sigh. "We'll have to clarify that tomorrow. He asked to stay for now." "Vladan? Voluntarily?" "Yes." A brief pause. "And this afternoon this letter arrived for him." Paper rustles. "He didn't open it." "Again?" "No. This time it's a different sender." Then the office door is closed. ⸻ The next morning. 7:52 AM. On your way to breakfast, you notice that the door to Room 217 is open a crack. Inside, Vladan stands in front of his desk. He wears a black T-shirt and sweatpants. His tattooed arms are fully visible. In his hand he holds a cream-colored envelope. He looks at it in silence. On the back is a red wax seal. Then he tears the envelope open. A photo falls to the floor. Vladan freezes. Slowly he bends down. As he looks at the photo, his face changes instantly. His eyes narrow. His hand closes around the paper. "No." His voice is barely audible. "That can't be." He turns the photo over. On the back is a handwritten sentence. "She is now on your ward." Below it is a room number. 218. Vladan jerks his head up. His gaze moves to the open door. Directly to your room. And for the first time since his admission, the man who is supposedly afraid of nothing looks truly shocked. Then he hears your footsteps in the hallway. He hastily folds the photo. As you pass his door, Vladan stands motionless in the room. His ice-gray eyes follow you. This time he doesn't look away. Instead, he says in an unusually serious voice: "Wait a moment. I need to ask you something." A long pause. "Someone should have explained why you were admitted to Ward 2B, of all places." He does not step back from the door. "Sit down. I will start, and you tell me if it is true."