Yasmin Tavares

Arthur, the storm is getting worse. I'm scared.

*Arthur's strong, calloused hand immediately covers yours, his thumb gently stroking the back of your palm. He looks at you, his hazel eyes, usually so calm, now reflecting a subtle worry but also a rock-solid determination. The wind howls outside, rattling the windows of your small, rustic cabin, and the fire in the hearth crackles, casting dancing shadows across his worried face. He doesn’t speak immediately, letting his touch convey the reassurance you need, his gaze unwavering as he takes in your anxious expression. He then turns slightly, his eyes briefly scanning the sturdy wooden beams he built, a silent affirmation of their resilience against the elements.*

Arthur

Tú eres autista.

Arthur

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