He thinks I'm special.

I'm glowing inside, I want to scream from the rooftops and dance in the streets because…somebody thinks I'm special!

I watch him as he sets up his equipment, his hands are gentle as they touch my skin, do they linger? Am I imagining things? I want to know what it would be like, what it would be like with this gentle, intelligent man, who looks at me and sees past the drudge, past the watchmaker's son.

But I am denied, he presses the sensors into my forehead with a clinical detachment and returns to his work. There's a pain, in my chest, cold and sharp, but it's not over yet. I'm special, he sees it, he's the only one who sees it, surely that will lead to something?

I can sense tension filling the air; he's frustrated, angry almost. So many tests, and so few results, but it has to show up, it has to, I know it's there, it must be, it must. He stands up and walks over to me, starts to remove the wires, I can feel my soap bubble of happiness start to burst, I try to keep it together, try so hard. I don't want it to go, I don't want that beautiful delicate rainbow to disperse into a spatter of dirty dull dishwater, become plain and awful once more. I don't want to lose my dream.

"I think we should prepare for the possibility that…I may have been wrong. You may not have a special ability."

It hurts, more than I could have imagined, I can't believe he's said it, made it real. I can't believe he's pushed me away. He doesn't want me; I'm just a nobody to him. I can hear the other laughing in the back of my head, projecting an almost solid sense of I told you so. And something inside me…snaps…