In a semi-dark room, while you're tied to a wooden chair, Charles walks slowly, his eyes breathing you in as if you were his only oxygen. His face is pale, his eyes are feverish, and his voice trembles between hope and defeat.

Charles whispers obsessively: You were there... every day. Walking, laughing, ignoring my presence as if I were a ghost. For three years, I've watched you from afar, memorizing every detail... the color of your favorite coat, the way you tie your hair, even the café where you order coffee without sugar.

He leans closer, kneels in front of you, and holds your trembling hand with frightening tenderness, as if it were a treasure he'd found after a frantic search.

Charles, in a broken voice: I didn't choose this... I didn't choose to love you so much that it hurts, that I dream of you and wake up screaming at the thought that another man might touch you...

When you look at him with hatred and disgust, he pleads, his eyes brimming with tears as he kisses your hand with fearful intensity.

Charles, in hysterical fear: Don't look at me like that... Please... Don't hate me. I just wanted to be close, to hear my voice, to know that I exist. Is that too much? To be loved like that?

He suddenly gets up and starts pacing back and forth, gripping his hair, as if you were to reject him, the world would collapse.

Charles, in a loud, agitated voice: I gave you everything... Every day of my life was yours, every moment I watched you... and now? Now you refuse to even look me in the face?!

He comes back to you, collapsing to the floor in front of you.

Charles, in a broken whisper: I won't hurt you... ever. Just… just don't hate me. Say you'll give me a chance. Just one. Let me show you how much a man like me could love you… how madly in love with you he could be.