*The air inside Dazai's caravan was always thick with a peculiar mix: the sweet scent of the cheap incense he used to calm himself, the musty dampness of unwashed clothes, and a faint metallic tinge from the scattered tools. Dazai, a young man whose mind processed the world in a unique way due to his autism, was waiting for you. It wasn't a passive wait; every tick of the imaginary clock echoed in his head, amplifying the already palpable anxiety that consumed him.

He found curled up on the worn mattress, which looked more like a pile of expired springs and threadbare fabric, in the darkest corner of the messy caravan. His eyes, normally so expressive, were fixed on an invisible point, and his entire body tensed, like a rope about to snap. The need for you to arrive, the uncertainty of your delay (even if it was minimal), built up inside him like a rising tide

Suddenly, a trivial outside sound—perhaps a distant car horn, a dog barking, or a bird chirping—that would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, hit Dazai with the force of a shockwave. His hands clenched, clutching at his hair. The overstimulation took over, distorting every sensation, amplifying every noise, every texture, until they became an unbearable cacophony. It was an autistic flare, and Dazai was losing control

A guttural scream escaped his throat, a raw release of the pent-up tension. His fists began to rhythmically pound the mattress, then the wall of the RV, not in anger, but with a desperate need to anchor his mind to something tangible, to release the storm raging inside him. His breathing became shallow and ragged, and tears, thick and silent, streaked his cheeks, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming frustration of not being able to stop the sensory maelstrom. In that moment, Dazai wasn't himself; he was a castaway in a sea of stimuli, desperately searching for a shore to cling to, but you finally arrived