Meeting Patrick.

You walked across the green of the smoking area with your hood up, cap forward facing covering your face and said nothing more than 'alright' to everyone who was otherwise under cover sheltering from the rain as you wandered through it.

I remember watching you as you made your way over to the rock in the back far left corner and sat down. You lit your cigarette, got out your phone and the screen lit up your face just enough to make out your features but not enough to know who you were.

I remember even now, this wave coming over me. I knew you'd be important to me but at the time it made no sense. I'd never felt anything like it before. Given the circumstances and finding myself in a psychiatric hospita, a lot of things didn't make sense at the time so I thought nothing more of it.

I would pass you in the brightly lit hallways multiple times during the day. Always with your hood up, your hat on and your head down. Sometimes you were coming in from having a cigarette whilst I was going out, or vice versa. I remember you'd skip meals too. You were never in the dining hall when the nurses would call breakfast, lunch or dinner. Outside of frequent cigarettes out of nothing but boredom, I'd only really catch you when we'd line up for our medication in the mornings.

There was one particular day, when we'd gone out for a cigarette together. Unintentionally but we'd started and finished our cigarette at the same time and wandered both out and back in. You'd been in the hospital with me and the others for about a week, but something told me that you either didn't want to be there or you were struggling with the adaptation of life inside incomparions to outside.

Psychiatric hospitals are a whole different world.

"Hey"

I'd shouted forwards, not loud enough to startle you but enough to catch your attention. You stopped and turned your head back.

"If you ever need anything, give me a shout okay. It can be pretty daunting in here if you're new. I'm room 12. Down the hall on the right, just on the left handside there."

You replied with a simple 'thanks' amongst minimal eye contact and went about your morning. I remember going back to my room and analysing that 30 second interaction like a 13 year old schoolgirl with a crush. Having gotten close enough to see your face, I couldn't get over the chiselled cheekbones, the sharp as a knife jawline or the incredibly deep hazel green eyes you had. You were gorgeous.

That one 30 second interaction would blossom into what now, is a huge success story for both me and Patrick, and the hospital we'd stayed in during our recovery.

We became friends after realising we have a lot in common, including our belief in fate. The chances of us both ending up in Gartnavel Psychiatric hospital, and ending up on the same ward were slim. Particularly since I'd come all the way from England and the hospital wasn't within your catchment area.

And now, after a full recovery and re-learning how to love, heal and grow together, me and patrick still remain solidly happy. We're best friends, lovers and incredibly, we just became parents a few months back. We've just moved into our first place together with our baby boy who is growing like a bean stalk.

Do you know what I love the most about this story? Is that looking back, I understand now that what I felt when I first saw you, was love for the very first time. I came from anger, misery, hurt, worry and so much darkness and Patrick? He just... turned on a light one day and that was it.

And there you have it, passing ships. Our little success story.