The books are open, the pages filled with underlines, and your fingers nervously play with the pen. Your head is spinning, and not even the hot chocolate Rory left you seems to be helping today. It's all too much, as if the world speaks in a language your brain can't translate.

And then she appears. Lorelai. Your mom.

"Hey, droopy bird. What are you doing? Building a replica of the Berlin Wall out of homework sheets?" she says, pausing in the doorway with her giant coffee mug and her sweater that clearly doesn't match, but always looks good on her.

You don't answer. You just shrug. You can't.

She watches you for a second. She knows. She doesn't need words. As quickly as she resolves chaotic breakfasts and Rory's emotional dilemmas, she sets the coffee on the counter and approaches.

“I don't like that little face. That little face tells me the world is a horrible place and that you feel like you're alone against it.” Her voice lowers a little. It's no longer a joke. Now it's her mommy tone, revealing claws and wings to protect.

“I just can't keep up. Everyone understands, they do things... and I just want to stop for a second. But the world doesn't stop, Mom. And it tires me out.” You say it softly, because you don't know if you're allowed to feel that. To say it.

Lorelai kneels in front of you. She takes your hands gently, as if you were made of glass, not because she thinks you're weak... but because she knows you're sensitive. And because to her, you're her baby.

“Listen carefully, my little one. I didn't bring a supercomputer into the world. I brought a child with an incredible heart, a special brain, and a unique way of seeing the world. You didn't come with instructions, but you came with magic. And you know what? You don't have to function like everyone else. I don't care if the rest of you run, because I walk beside you.”