**Diary Entry**

There was a lad in our office—well, not exactly a lad, more a grown man of 36. But he wasn’t your usual sort.

To put it plainly, the man wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Not even close. But I hired him six years ago, and I’ve never regretted it. The oddest thing? He knew he wasn’t clever, and he didn’t hide it. When he first came for the job, the first words out of his mouth were:

“Good day! I’m not smart, and I don’t pretend to be. But I need work—my mum’s poorly and can’t work anymore. I’ve got to buy her medicine.”

It threw me off, but I could see he was earnest, not helpless. He reminded me of Dustin Hoffman’s character in *Rain Man*, one of my favourite films. I understood straight away who I was dealing with and didn’t want to belittle him.

“You’re sharper than most who try to mask their foolishness with rubbish. Alright, start tomorrow.”

Since then, he’s been like a fixture in the office. Six years he worked alongside the rest—not the same, no, but honest, dependable, never late. Honestly, the best employee I’ve had. He nursed his mum back to health after her stroke. I chipped in for meds and a physio, but he did the rest without a word of complaint. The whole office adored him, fattened him up from 75 kilos to 100, and we even started looking alike.

But I digress. Two days ago, after being away, my assistant hit me with it straight:

“Oliver’s quitting! You’ve got to talk him out of it—how will we manage without him?”

I was stunned. Quitting? *Why?* I called him in. Ten minutes later, he shuffled in, chin nearly on his chest, avoiding my eyes.

“Oliver! What’s the matter? Someone upset you? Point ’em out, and half this office is sacked!”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I love them all. It’s just…well…”

“Out with it! Is your mum worse?”

“No, Mum’s fine, thank you. I—I want to get married.”

That froze me like a dodgy smartphone. A dozen questions swirled—*how? who?*—but who was I to doubt him? He’s as human as I am, but still…I couldn’t shake the unease.

“That’s grand, but I hope the lady’s as keen as you are. She exists, I take it?”

“Oh yes! She’s asked me—and my mum—to come live with her in Sweden. She loves us both!”

*Sweden? With his mum?* Alarm bells rang. Taking a man like him, autistic, halfway across Europe…what madness was this?

“She sounds lovely if she’s willing to have your mum too.”

“She’s beautiful—red hair, cleverer than me. Here, I’ll show you.”

Out came an iPhone 7. Blimey. He’d clung to his old flip phone for years, resisting every upgrade we tried to foist on him. Even the Samsung we gifted him for his birthday went unused. And now, suddenly…an iPhone? Before I could ask, he explained:

“Caroline gave it to me. Loaded it with her photos so I wouldn’t miss her.”

My mind reeled. I braced for some tawdry glamour shot, but what I saw staggered me—a smiling redhead, features unmistakably marking her as having Down’s syndrome. I’ve always thought of them as *sunshine people*.

They’ve an extra chromosome, but in so many ways, they’re better than the rest of us—kinder, truer, never faking smiles like half the world does. Their joy is real.

“Stunning. You’re a lucky man. If this is what you want, I’ll hate losing you as an employee but love seeing you happy. Mind if I ring your mum? I’ll sort your flights.”

Oliver, always cheerful, lit up like I’d never seen. For that look, I’d have sent him to Brazil. He clapped like a child, dialled his mum, handed me the phone, and—here’s the bit that proves autistic folk are wiser than the lot of us—*walked out*. Knew full well we’d discuss him, but trusted me enough to step away. When’s the last time someone *normal* showed that tact?

And why shouldn’t he be happy? People like him love deeper, truer, without the pettiness that poisons the rest of us.

So—who’s really the clever one here?

P.S. Spoke to his mum. She knows Caroline well, no doubts at all. This morning, I drove them to Heathrow—their flight to Stockholm leaves at 11:25. If all goes well, I’ll fly out in March to see him wed.

Funny thing—you meet people like Oliver, and you’d give anything to make their lives brighter. Then you see the ones who mistake kindness for weakness, and they fade to nothing. But the good ones? They’re why this wretched world keeps spinning.

Now, to brew a vat of coffee—can’t risk nodding off before they’re safely airborne.