Yvette silently finished her coffee, deeming further explanation pointless. James shifted his gaze to Michael, who was stealing glances at Yvette. His expression softened.

"Michael," James said, "this is the person you've been wanting to meet, Siren, or Yvette. You can call her Yvette."

Yvette simply lifted her eyes slightly, acknowledging the introduction. Michael shyly peeked at Yvette, his eyes brimming with joy, then quickly lowered his head, nervously fidgeting with his hands before hesitantly managing a complete sentence.

"Yvette, I'm Michael," he said.

James patted Michael's shoulder reassuringly, then glanced at Yvette, feeling a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Yvette," he said. "Michael has a few… quirks. He likes your papers and has wanted to meet you. I hope you don't mind."

Yvette casually glanced at Michael, her gaze devoid of curiosity, yet strangely free of malice. This moved James; for years, others had regarded Michael with a subtle disdain, carefully masked in his presence.

James sighed. "Michael is…"

Yvette set down her cup. "Autistic," she stated calmly.

James was momentarily taken aback, then nodded. As he recalled past events, a deep sorrow settled on his face. "Yes," he said solemnly, "Michael is an autistic child." Yvette raised an eyebrow, her fingers lightly tapping the table.

"Autism, also known as autistic disorder, is a pervasive developmental disorder (PDD). PDDs are currently categorized into five types: autistic disorder, Rett syndrome, childhood disintegrative disorder, Asperger's syndrome, and unspecified PDD. Autistic disorder and Asperger's syndrome are the most common," she explained.

James was shocked. 'She knows these professional terms,' he thought. 'She's clearly done research.'

"Yvette," he asked, "have you done research in this area?"

"I've read a few books when I was bored," she replied politely. "I wouldn't call it research."

James acknowledged her response, feeling slightly disappointed. He'd hoped Yvette's expertise could help Michael. Yet, he inexplicably felt confident in her abilities; a genius, he believed, shone in any field.

He reminisced, "Yvette, Michael's condition is largely my fault. Over twenty years ago, I was engrossed in a crucial physics research project. I didn't go home for three years. One Christmas, I finally took a day off. My son and daughter-in-law were in a car accident on their way home, and they both died, leaving Michael as the sole survivor. Witnessing the accident profoundly affected him."

His voice choked with emotion. For years, he'd been consumed by guilt. If not for his work, the accident wouldn't have happened. He felt responsible for his son and daughter-in-law's deaths, and for Michael's condition.

Michael, watching James's tears, looked confused and panicked. "Don't cry… don't cry," he said, awkwardly wiping James's face with his sleeve.

James quickly reassured him. "Don't worry, I'm not crying."

Reassured, Michael lowered his head and began counting his fingers, muttering incomprehensible words – a series of strange numbers. James felt his heart break; Michael still didn't understand.

Yvette observed the scene, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "All these years," she said to James, "you've been consciously guiding Michael's interests and nurturing his focus, haven't you?"

Surprised, James nodded, his hand trembling slightly. "Yes. When Michael was seven, I noticed his remarkable focus. He had a natural aptitude for physics. Once he started on an experiment, nothing else mattered. I taught him myself. I've grown old, perhaps selfishly hoping he'd have a simpler, safer life than mine."

Yvette looked steadily at Michael. "Lift your head."

James smiled wryly; Michael never listened to strangers. But before he could speak, he heard Michael say, "I'm good, and I lift my head."

Stunned, James turned to see Michael staring intently at Yvette. It was the first time in years he'd followed anyone's instruction. Tears streamed down James's face. He was just an ordinary grandfather.

Yvette met Michael's gaze. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," Michael replied.

"What did your grandpa do three days ago?" she asked.

Without hesitation, Michael described James's activities, detailing his morning routine, a phone call with someone named Mary, and her assessment of James as frivolous. James quickly covered Michael's mouth, his face flushing. "Yvette, don't listen to him. Mary and I are simply colleagues."

Yvette nodded with a subtle smile. "Yes, that's true."

James felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Yvette turned back to Michael, her fingers drumming on the table. "He possesses talents associated with autism. Some excel in music, calculations, or memory; his brilliance is in physics. With your guidance, he's developed his own complete thought system. He's a genius."

It was the first time James had heard such a statement. Doctors had described Michael as difficult, dull, and manic. Yvette's genuine words were a revelation. A long-held burden lifted from his heart. As long as Michael was thriving, nothing else mattered. And it was all thanks to Yvette.