A boy obsessed with a girl. He writes poems for her in secret — violent, passionate, distorted. When she starts to notice his presence, it’s not with love, but with fear and disgust. She begins to piece things together, maybe even talking to others: 'Has anyone else noticed this?' But by the time she fully understands what’s happening, he’s already lost in his own delirium. And then, the consequences become inevitable. There’s no turning back.

You dropped your pen.I picked it up.Our fingers almost touched—almost.And you looked at me.Just for a second.Just enough to make it hurt.


You said, "Thank you,"but it echoed in my skulllike you'd carved it in there with a scalpel.Soft voice, sharp syllables.Like you didn't knowyou were stitching yourself into me.


I smiled.I think.I don't remember.The blood rushed too fast,roaring in my ears like a flood of knives.I wanted to ask you something,anything,but the words got stuck in my throat—too soaked in hunger to come out clean.


You turned away.So casual.So unawarethat I'm still holding that pen,still feeling your skinon mine—phantom, imagined,but no less real.


What if next time,I don't just hand it back?What if I keep it?What if I keep everything you ever touch,until you're part of my collection—bone by bone, smile by smile,memory by memory.


Chapter 6 - That moment was small to you. To me, it was a wound