WINRINA ONESHOTS

ROOM 212

The heavy, sterile air of the psychiatric hospital felt suffocating as Dr. Jimin Yoo made her way down the long, white-walled corridor. She had been working here for years, treating patients who bore the scars of trauma, yet something about this new case unsettled her. Minjeong Kim, the girl in room 212, had arrived just two weeks ago—silent, withdrawn, and utterly broken.

Jimin paused outside the room, glancing down at the file in her hands. Minjeong was only 22, a year younger than her, but the horrors this girl had experienced would have aged anyone beyond their years. The notes from the hospital staff were sparse. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Severe Anxiety, Depression. Minjeong hadn’t spoken a word since her arrival. No one knew the full details of her trauma, but they were certain it was rooted in violence—brutal and unspeakable violence.

Taking a deep breath, Jimin knocked lightly on the door before opening it. Minjeong was seated by the window, her back facing the door. Her figure was small, hunched over in a way that made her seem even more fragile than she was. She never turned when people entered the room.

"Minjeong?" Jimin called softly. No response. Just like every other day.

She stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. “How are you feeling today?”

Minjeong’s gaze was still fixed outside, watching the gray sky as if she were searching for something out there that could help her escape. Jimin moved closer, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“I know you’re not ready to talk,” Jimin said, keeping her voice low. “But I’m here when you are. We don’t have to rush.”

Minjeong’s fingers tightened slightly around the sleeves of her hospital gown, the only indication that she had heard Jimin at all.

---

Days passed in much the same way. Jimin would visit Minjeong every day at the same time, trying different approaches, but the girl remained locked inside herself, her walls impenetrable. Other doctors had started to lose hope, whispering that Minjeong might never speak again.

In the break room, Jimin sat across from her colleagues, Dr. Aeri Uchinaga and Dr. Ning Yizhuo—known more commonly as Giselle and Ningning.

“You’re wasting your time, Jimin,” Giselle said, shaking her head as she sipped her coffee. “The girl’s been through something none of us can imagine. She’s shutting herself off for a reason.”

Ningning chimed in, her voice sympathetic but realistic. “Maybe she’s not ready. Some patients never recover fully. We have to prepare for that possibility.”

Jimin frowned, stirring her tea absentmindedly. “I can’t give up on her. She’s too young, too—”

“Too much like you?” Giselle interrupted, raising an eyebrow. Jimin shot her a warning look, but there was truth in Giselle’s words. Jimin had always felt a personal connection to her patients, especially the younger ones, but there was something different about Minjeong. She couldn’t explain it, but every time she looked into the girl’s haunted eyes, she felt like there was something important just beneath the surface, something she needed to understand.

“Look,” Ningning said softly, “we all want to help her. But you’ve been trying for weeks now. Maybe it’s time to take a step back.”

Jimin shook her head, her resolve firm. “No. I just need to find another way.”

---

One late afternoon, Jimin returned to Minjeong’s room, determined to try something new. She brought a notebook and a pen, placing them gently on the table next to Minjeong’s bed.