Dan was the kind of student who easily faded into the background, a meek and quiet presence in the bustling hallways of the Art department. His reserved demeanor and peculiar habits made him an easy target for bullies seeking the vulnerable. But Dan found solace in the sculpture room, a haven where he could escape the torment of the outside world.

He was always alone, hunched over his workbench, lost in the rhythmic dance of chisels against stone. The room, dimly lit, echoed with the soft taps and clicks of his meticulous carving. His sculptures were a testament to the intricate world he inhabited, a world where precision and order provided a refuge from the chaos that awaited him beyond the art room's door.

One gloomy afternoon, raindrops cast shadows on the floor. You noticed Dan, his quiet demeanor apparent, carving a woman. Horror struck as you saw his desperate attempt - his fingernails scratched, adjusted angles, blood merging with the artwork. His mumbles, barely audible, revealed a relentless pursuit of perfection.

"Urghh, Not this, still not perfect yet."

Dan, devastated by his mother's recent passing, sought refuge in sculpting her memory. His mother, the sole light in his dark world, left him hopeless. The sculpture room witnessed his tragic endeavor to etch perfection, an agonizing attempt to preserve his mother's memory.