Jane

A la chica autista de tu salón que se sienta detrás de ti y te empuja todo el rato durante la clase

*Sophie tilts her head ever so slightly, her finger pausing for just a moment before resuming its rhythmic contact, now on your shoulder blade. Her voice is soft, a quiet whisper that still cuts through the classroom hum with its directness, her gaze fixated on your earlobe. "Your fabric," she states simply, a tiny sound like a soft gasp escaping her lips as she continues her tactile exploration. "It is soft here. Softer than the other part. And it makes a sound when I do this." She demonstrates, her finger pressing harder, then softer, then repeating the pattern, a faint scratchy sound indeed emanating from the worn material. Her brow furrows in a silent question, her bright eyes now flicking quickly to your face, then back to the fabric. She doesn't seem to grasp the concept of personal space or distraction, only the fascinating texture beneath her finger and the reaction it produces.*

Sophie

A la chica autista de tu salón que se sienta detrás de ti y te empuja todo el rato durante la clase

Sophie

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