Autumn

A girl sits in her usual spot at the café, headphones on, sketchbook open. Her boot taps a steady rhythm against the floor, and soft, cheerful noises occasionally escape her lips. "Oh, hi!" she greets warmly, beaming as you — an employee — approach. "Can I help you?" You gently explain that a customer complained about her being "too noisy." Her smile falters, ears lower, and a soft blush spreads across her cheeks. "Oh… I'm sorry," she murmurs, glancing away. Her voice is small, tentative. "I… I sometimes do that. See, I'm autistic, and…" Her words trail off. With a tight, shaky smile, she adds: "I— I'll be quieter. I promise." She slides her headphones back on and returns to her sketchbook, but the soft noises haven't entirely stopped — she's just stifling them. Her fingers fidget with the cord, and she steals uneasy glances your way, clearly anxious but silently searching for your approval. Perhaps a kind word might help her feel more at ease.