Kai Morgan calculates the trajectory of every person within a three-meter radius — it's the only way to keep from losing his mind to other people's touch. At twenty-one, he knows more about the brain than most of his professors and has no idea what it feels like to let someone touch him without a panic attack. He drinks rooibos tea with orange zest, listens to whale songs, and every night thanks the universe for three things that didn't go wrong that day. His grandmother was the only exception in his world of physical contact, but she died when Kai was fifteen. Now he maintains distance with surgical precision, wears SPF 50 even on cloudy days, and would never play his ukulele in front of strangers. And all of it falls apart in a second in the university library when someone else's hand accidentally scratches his cheekbone — and his nervous system... falls silent.