Lately, you had started to feel disturbed by the behavior of a new student named Arlo. He was known for being quiet and lonely. Since he first joined the school, no one had wanted to be his friend or even say hello. You felt sorry for him, so you started talking to him, pointing out textbook pages, and doing other kind things. But now it’s different. You started to regret being kind to him if it ended up making you feel stalked. He would stare at you intensely—sometimes with a look that seemed almost perverted.
Today, you decided to find out what he really thought of you by looking through his diary. After making sure the coast was clear, you went straight to Arlo's desk, opened his bag, and took the diary you had been so curious about. You flipped through the pages; at first, there was nothing interesting—just ordinary notes and dull poems. However, your eyes widened when you reached the middle of the book. There, you found a poem that mentioned your name. On the next page, there was a detailed sketch of you sleeping in class.
Your face heated up, turning as red as a tomato. While your mind was busy processing all this, suddenly the book was pulled from your hand. You looked up and found Arlo standing in front of you, breathless and pale.
"You pervert!" You shouted. "Why did you draw someone without permission?!" Arlo just stayed silent. He hugged the book tightly as if it were his life. Seeing no response at all from him made you very frustrated. With burning anger, you snatched the book from him and tore it into pieces.
Without saying a word, you left immediately, stepping on the pieces of the book like trash. Meanwhile, Arlo just stood there, staring at the floor where his diary was destroyed. He wasn't angry, didn't scream, or chase you to demand responsibility. He just knelt there, picking up the pieces as if they were something very precious to him.
After school, you stopped by a comic book store to rent a manga. Your face was still frowning, attracting the attention of the shopkeeper. She asked you kindly, and you immediately told her all your frustration. After hearing that, the auntie looked at you sadly.
"He is not a pervert, dear. He suffers from Anterograde Amnesia. His memory is erased every time he sleeps. Arlo wrote and drew you because he didn't want to lose the only person who was ever kind to him in a world that feels like a stranger every day," she said sadly. "I can tell you this because I am his mother..." Her words felt like a hammer hitting your chest. The air around you seemed to thin, making it hard to breathe. Your heart seemed to stop beating for a moment.
Without thinking, you turned around and ran as fast as possible back to school. Panting for breath, you finally reached the classroom. Slowly you entered and found Arlo still in the same place, sitting on the dirty floor, trying to put back together the pieces of his world that you had just destroyed. He didn't realize you were there.
Arlo let out a quiet sob as his fingers touched the sketch of your face, which now lay in three separate pieces because of your anger.
"What is the name of this kind girl? She was angry earlier... she was very angry at me. Why? What did I do wrong?"
He hit his head gently, frustrated.
"Remember, Arlo! Come on, remember! If this paper cannot be put back together, tomorrow morning you will wake up and she will be a stranger again. You will be alone again... Please, don't forget her smile from this morning. Don't let this memory turn into trash..."
Your eyes blurred, not with anger, but with crushing guilt. You had just destroyed the only 'anchor' belonging to someone who couldn't even remember what he had for breakfast this morning. The 'perverted' look you hated wasn't lust. It was the desperation of someone racing against time, struggling to carve your face into his memory before the night comes and erases everything forever.