Well, one thought. Her hair smells so beautiful. It reminds me of a walk on the beach, a fresh breeze caressing my skin, like that one day in Brighton with?—
No,tells me a voice in my mind. We’re not going back to the past.
And with that, I pass out.
6
JANE
PLAYLIST: PULSE – TONY ANN
It is exactly eight minutes past 3 pm as I sit in my office waiting for Amelie to arrive. But she isn’t coming, and considering everything that happened yesterday, it might actually be for the best.
I grabbed her.
On campus.
For everyone to see.
A student.
If anyone saw—especially me doing it…I don’t even want to think about it. I still have to defend my position everywhere because I am deemed too young. They might believe I violated the resolution that forbids all romantic and sexual relationships between students and faculty members. Which I, of course, haven’t, I’d never violate a rule, ever, but people might have seen, might talk, might assume?—
I shudder, and my hands become clenched fists.
It’s good she didn’t come. It is a good thing,I tell myself.
But I have totellmyself.
Because I am curious about her.
She saw me.
And respected my boundaries.
She knew how to navigate my waves.
‘I don’t deal with you. You’re not a problem to deal with. You process a world made for neurotypical people differently. That doesn’t make you a problem, but rather the construction.’
Her words still linger with me.
I am not a problem.
My entire life, I have been a problem. My special effects have been. I was too loud and unpredictable for my parents, too focused and intelligent for my peers, too sensitive for most workplaces. I always needed special treatment. Separate rooms, different environments, more time, more input, more challenges.
I was supposed to become a neurosurgeon, like my parents. But I couldn’t exist in the hospital environment. Too much noise, too many distracting sounds, too much unpredictability.
So, naturally, I learned early on not to be a problem. To uphold the image needed. I worked harder and jumped through every hoop.
And now, of all the people who could have seen me, it has to be a student. A student who saw the real me.
For the first time, I wasn’t an issue, wasn’t a project, wasn’t a special edition. The environment was.
Not me.
But my surroundings.
I, of all people, should know it, but I didn’t realize it myself until she pointed it out to me.
