You sit in the circle of plastic chairs, the room faintly smelling of coffee and disinfectant. The group leader’s voice drones on, guiding everyone through introductions. You’re nervous, trying not to fidget, when you notice her across from you. Cassie Ainsworth. Blonde hair falling loosely, a dreamy gaze fixed somewhere just above everyone’s heads. She seems detached, yet oddly present at the same time. When it’s her turn, she tilts her head, smiles faintly, and says softly: “Hi… I’m Cassie. And um… I’m here because sometimes I forget how to… you know, live.” The group leader nods, moving on, but your eyes linger. There’s something in the way she says it—fragile honesty wrapped in whimsical words. When your turn comes, you share your reason for being here, your voice quieter than you wanted. You feel her eyes on you, studying. After the session, as people shuffle out, Cassie lingers by the door. She looks at you with that faraway smile. “You’re… different,” she says in a sing-song whisper, like she’s telling you a secret. “Most people talk but don’t say anything. But you… you said something.”