Clearing my throat, I answered, “Yes, absolutely. Thanks again for stepping in.”
“It feels good to be back in the lab and away from strategy meetings and investor calls.” She squinched her nose in jest, causing her freckles to bunch together. It took everything in me not to reach out and touch them.
When she pulled on her gloves, our eyes met and held for a few moments before she looked away. I busied myself with wiping down the long stainless-steel bench, the cold shock of it bringing me back to attention. The familiar scent of zinc and alcohol helped me focus.
“The team has the glass sample jars labeled with the batch numbers, date, and formula variation already,” I said. Leyla nodded and prepared the glass slides.
Being here in a lab, working alongside her again, felt like I’d been given a gift, maybe even a second chance.
For hours, we worked as a team, testing the comparative stability of each batch. We were both focused and quiet, except for brief conversations about the work we were doing.
“The performance run isn’t working yet. I can’t seem to get consistent SPF retention results under heat. I just need to try it under a few more conditions,” I mumbled, hunched over the batches, making notes.
Leyla leaned back, stretching her back and shoulders with a grunt. “We’ve been at this all day. I think we need the team to just start over with new batch samples.”
“Not yet. There’s something I’m missing,” I answered, adjusting the heat lamp.
“Niko, you’ve tested every sample three times. I’m calling it. As much as I hate to admit it, we need to start over.” She was getting frustrated with the way I was working. I could tell. She wanted a pass-or-fail for each sample, but I was methodical in my approach to testing.
“Yes, I know we’ve tested them multiple times, but the only way I know how to proceed is to change one variable at a time and note it. Only then am I satisfied that the batch is no good. Please, just let me do it my way,” I begged, leaning on the bench and looking at her.
“The technicians have already completed most of that, and these samples are the result of those findings. I don’t understand why you insist on wasting time. We have a deadline to meet,” she said, her voice rising with irritation.
I put my head down and took a breath before saying, “Is that the CEO speaking, or the scientist?”
Anger instantly lit her gemstone eyes on fire. “How dare you question me like that? I have to look at this from all angles. Yes,allof it matters, but your arrogance is costing me money,” she yelled. The explosion made everyone else in the lab stop and stare.
Trying hard not to retaliate, I answered as evenly as I could. “This is not arrogance. I don’t draw conclusions from results first. I process patterns. I’m sorry if it doesn’t fit your timeframe, but I’m the head of your R&D department. I was hired to do this job, and that’s what I’m trying to do.”
Realizing she had drawn the staff’s attention, she lowered her voice. “We are short-handed, and as much as I have enjoyed being back in the lab, I have responsibilities piling up on my desk. It’s not my problem that you have your processes. They’re notworking.” Her glare was as harsh as her loud voice had been. “Are you telling me that you can’t deviate from what you’re used to for the sake of the team? You can’t, just thisonce, change the way you do things?”
Shaking my head, I answered, frustration building. I needed her to understand. “No, Leyla. I’m sorry. I can’t. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll miss something important. I don’t know how else to work through this except what makes sense to me.”
“What does that evenmean?” she asked, her hands lifting in the air in frustration.
Looking her in the eyes, I blurted out, “It means I’m neurodivergent.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Leyla
The silencein the room was deafening. My heart pounded so loudly it threatened to burst through my chest, and I had to inhale deeply, forcing air into my lungs. I blinked a few times as Niko’s words finally settled into my mind. He studied me, no doubt waiting for my reaction, his eyes pleading with me not to react negatively.
“You’re neurodivergent,” I whispered.
He looked around at the team, still stealing glances at us. He took my elbow and led me into his office, closing the door. When I stood still as a statue, he gently led me to the chair near his desk before sitting in his own.
My eyes scanned his, back and forth, waiting for more of an explanation.
“My parents knew from early on that I thought and acted differently from other kids my age, but they just accepted me as I was. It never occurred to them to speak to someone about it.” He swallowed, gathering the courage to continue.
“Back in elementary school, just talking to kids my age was daunting. My family attributed it to us being immigrants and having a strong accent. But it was more than that. I would become anxious trying to make friends.
“I would have tantrums and panic attacks that scared the teachers and me, not to mention my parents. My pediatrician missed the signs and told my parents I was just painfully shy.
“In my first year of high school, things got worse. Because I missed social cues like jokes, innuendo, and sarcasm, my classmates just stopped trying to include me in anything. And then when I’d feel overwhelmed and misunderstood, I would give one-word answers, walk away, and disengage. That only made my classmates label me as weird, rude, and stupid.” His face flared red at the memories.
Exhaling deeply, he continued as I stared in shock at what he was sharing. “The way I saw other students interacting and working through schoolwork was so completely different from the way I did. It was just easier for me to work independently since I couldn’t make myself change. Because my grades were so good, my teachers didn’t push me.”
