In my dreams, it was dark all around, and the only faint light seemed to emanate from Roger's skin. I couldn't see his face, I could only see his back. He is leaving me and leaving me in the dark. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up with him. No matter how loud I shouted, he didn't look back. I woke up in the middle of the night restlessly and couldn't fall asleep again until a long time later. Since then, he has appeared in my dreams almost every night, but always far away from me, out of my reach.

The month following the accident was full of tension and unease, and the first few days were embarrassing.

For the rest of the week, I was dismayed to find myself in the spotlight. Moore Ham was intolerable, and he followed me wherever I went, babbling about trying to make it up to me. I tried to make him understand that I didn't need anything, that I just wanted him to forget about it all - especially if I wasn't hurt in any way - but he was still stubborn. He followed me after each class and sat down at our now crowded table at lunchtime. Jack and Ike are unfriendly to him, even more than they are hostile to each other. This distressed me: I had another undesirable admirer.

No one seemed to care about Roger, even though I explained again and again that he was my savior, how he pulled me aside and almost hit me. I'm trying to convince everybody. But Mary, Jack, Ike, and Ike, like everyone else, all said they didn't see Roger there at all until the van was pulled away.

I asked myself why no one had noticed that he was standing so far away before he suddenly and almost immitsurably rescued me. I realized to my chagrin that there was something wrong - no one was always paying attention to Roger like I was. No one but me would have looked at him like that. What a sad discovery.

Roger was never surrounded by a group of curious onlookers who listened to him describe his first-hand accounts. People avoided him as usual. The Wright siblings and the Smith twins always sat at the same table, eating nothing but talking to their own people. They, especially Roger, never looked at me again.

In class, when he sat next to me, he always sat as far away from me as his desk could tolerate, seemingly unaware of my presence at all. It was only when his fists tightened every now and then—the taut skin was almost whiter than bone—that I wondered if he was really as forgetful as he appeared.

He wished he hadn't pulled me out from under Moore's wheels in the first place—I didn't think anything else

I was tempted to talk to him, and I tried the day after the accident. The last time I saw him outside the emergency room, we were both so violently reactive. I was still angry because he refused to trust me and tell me the truth, even though I had impeccable unilateral compliance. But he did save my life, no matter how he did it. So, after a night, my anger finally disappeared and turned into a heartfelt gratitude.

When I walked into the biology classroom, he was already seated in his seat, looking straight ahead. I sat down and hoped he would turn to me. But he showed no sign of realizing my presence.

"Hello, Roger." I said kindly, and I was looking at myself to him.

He turned his face slightly to the side, didn't look at me, just nodded, and looked away.

That's all I had with him for the last time. Although, every day, he was there, just a foot away from me. Sometimes I would look at him, and I couldn't stop myself at all - but I just watched him from afar, in the cafeteria, or in the parking lot. I looked at him and noticed that his golden eyes had darkened noticeably, getting darker with each passing day. But in class, I don't pay more attention to him than he shows to me. I was in an extremely miserable situation. And that dream continues.

Even though I've been lying, the content of my email still makes Tia sense of my depression. She called me from time to time, worried about me. I tried to convince her that my depression was entirely caused by the weather.

At the very least, Jack was happy with the cold war between me and my experimental group partner. I could tell that he was worried that Roger's heroic act of saving beauty would make me feel good about him, and now he was relieved to see that it seemed to backfire. He grew more confident and always sat at my desk and led me until the biology class began, completely ignoring Roger's presence as he did for us.

After that dangerous day of snow and ice, the snow was washed away forever by the rain. Jack was disappointed that he hadn't had time to start his snowball fight. But the beach trip was coming soon, which gave him some comfort. Although, week after week, the heavy rain continued.

Mary gave me an idea of another big thing that was looming. On the first Tuesday of March, she called me and asked for my permission to invite Jack to join her at the Spring Girls Choice Dance in two weeks' time.

"You really don't mind? …… Aren't you going to invite him? When I told her I didn't mind at all, she stubbornly asked.

"No, Mary, I'm not going." I assured her. Dancing was clearly beyond my capabilities.

"The prom was a lot of fun." She half-heartedly tried to convince me. I sometimes feel that Mary is friends with me more because of my inexplicable popularity than because she really likes to be with me.

"Have a nice time with Jack." I encouraged her.

The next day, in trigonometry and Spanish classes, I was surprised to find that Mary wasn't talking to herself as much as she used to. When we walked together between classes, she was silent. I couldn't really ask her why. If Jack had turned down her offer, I would have been the last person she wanted to tell.

At lunch, I was even more worried, because Mary sat far away from Jack and had a good conversation with Ike. Jack seemed unusually quiet.

Jack walked with me to the classroom, remaining silent the way, the uncomfortable look on his face was a bad sign. But he never brought it up until I sat down and he leaned back on my desk. As always, I felt like I was electrocuted, realizing that Roger, though sitting within reach, was so far away, as if he were just a dream I had made up.

"That," Jack said, looking at the floor. "Mary invited me to join her at the Spring Ball."

"Excellent." I made my voice clear and welcoming. "You're going to have a great time with Mary."

"Hmm......" he struggled with my smile, clearly upset at my reaction. I told her I wanted to think about it. ”

"Why are you doing this?" I let my tone tinge with a hint of disappointment, though I was relieved that he didn't say no to her.

He lowered his head again, his face turned upside down. The guilt shook my resolve a little.

"I thought it might ...... Well, maybe you'll invite me. ”

I paused for a moment, disgusted by the guilt that was rolling in my heart. But out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Roger, as if reflexively, turned his head to my side.

"Jack, I think you should accept her offer." I say.

"Have you already invited someone?" Did Roger notice that Jack's eyes were racing in his direction?

"Nope." I assured him. "I didn't plan to go to the prom at all."

"Why not?" Jack asked.

I didn't want to risk my life to go to the prom and test my luck. So, I quickly came up with a new plan.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday." I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway - that Saturday was the perfect time to go.

"Can't you find another weekend to go to?"

"Sorry, no." I say. "So, don't make Mary wait any longer—that's rude."

"yes, you're right." He muttered, turning around in frustration and returning to his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers against the sun, trying to push guilt and compassion out of my mind. Mr. Ruth began to lecture. I sighed and opened my eyes.

Roger was staring at me curiously, his dark eyes flashing with the same familiar frustration as the last time, even more so than the last.

I was surprised, but kept my eyes on it, hoping he would look away soon. But he kept staring into my eyes, and his eyes were direct and deep. No doubt, I had to look away. My hands began.

"Mr. Wright?" The teacher called his name and asked him to answer a question I hadn't even heard.

"The Tricarboxylic Acid Cycle." Roger looked back at Mr. Ruth and replied impatiently.

As soon as his eyes opened to me, I immediately looked down at my textbook, trying to find where the teacher was talking. I was even so cowardly that I pulled my hair up to my right shoulder and hung it down to cover my face. I couldn't believe that my whole body was swept over by a surge of excitement - simply because it was the first time in a week and a half that he happened to look at me. I can't tolerate him swaying my emotions like that. It's so sad. Even more tragic than sad, it's bad for my health.

For the rest of the class, I tried not to pay attention to him. Although, it's unlikely, at least not to let him know that I'm paying attention to him. When the bell rang, I turned my back to him and began to pack my things, hoping that he would leave as soon as he normally would.

"Imia?" I shouldn't have been so familiar with his voice. It's as if I've been listening to his voice for a whole lifetime, not just for a few weeks.

Reluctantly, I slowly turned away. I didn't want to experience that feeling, the kind of feeling I had known for a long time, when I gazed at his too-handsome face. When I looked at him, wariness was written all over my face. His expression was a little inscrutable. He didn't say anything.

"What's wrong? You're talking to me again? I finally asked. There was a smell of gunpowder in my voice, though I didn't mean to.

His lips twitched, and he shot back at me with a smile. "No, not exactly." He admitted.

I closed my eyes and took a slow breath through my nose, noticing that I was gritting my teeth. He's waiting.

"And what do you want to do, Roger?" I asked, my eyes still closed. Talking to him this way makes it more coherent.

"I'm sorry." His voice was sincere. "I know, I was being rude. But it would be better that way, really. ”

I opened my eyes. His expression was serious.

"I don't understand what you mean." I said, my voice full of wariness.

"It would be better if we weren't friends." He explained. "Trust me."

I narrowed my eyes. I've heard this before.

"It's a shame you didn't think of this sooner." I squeezed the words out between my teeth. "You could have saved yourself from this regret."

"Regrets?" The words, and the tone of my voice, clearly made him lose his vigilance. "Regret what?"

"I regret not letting that stupid truck run over me."

He was stunned. He looked at me in disbelief.

By the time he was finally able to speak, his voice sounded like it was going crazy: "You think I regret saving your life?" ”

"I know you think so." I shouted.

"You don't know anything." He's clearly gone mad.

I simply turned my head away and kept my mouth shut so as not to cry out uncontrollably all the reproaches I wanted to throw at his head. I folded the books into a stack, then stood up and walked to the door. I wanted to rush out the door in a menacing manner, but, of course, my boots tripped over the doorframe and the books in my arms were scattered all over the floor. I stood for a moment, trying to just let them lie on the ground. Eventually, I sighed and bent down to pick them up. He crouched there, already piling up all the books. Then he handed me the book with a cold face.

"Thank you." I said coldly.

He narrowed his eyes.

"You're welcome." He replied.

I straightened up, turned away from him again, and walked towards the gymnasium without looking back.

Physical education class is too cruel. We started to learn basketball. It's nice that my teammates never pass the ball to me, but I keep falling. Sometimes I would even cause others to fall with me.

Today I was in worse shape than usual because my mind was full of Roger's figure. I wanted to focus on my feet, but he always came into my mind when I needed to keep my balance......