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Stella said nothing. Michael was mint chocolate chip for her. She could try other flavors, but he’d always be her favorite.
With other people, she didn’t care what they thought. With Michael, she desperately needed to be accepted. She had a disorder, but it didn’t define her. She was Stella. She was a unique person.
This crusade to fix herself was ending right now. She wasn’t broken. She saw and interacted with the world in a different way, but that was her. She could change her actions, change her words, change her appearance, but she couldn’t change the root of herself. At her core, she would always be autistic. People called it a disorder, but it didn’t feel like one. To her, it was simply the way she was.