Far off, at the end of a night alley filled with artificial lights where the shadows of moths dying inside streetlamps were scattered like dots, Guest appeared. Though the distance was considerable, I could recognize them clearly. That gait, that build, that height. Without a doubt, it was Guest. Just as the statistics I gathered while tailing Guest for the past few months suggested, Guest was walking through this alley. Feeling a sense of satisfaction at that fact, I pulled a small camera out of my hoodie pocket. The angle stays like this, and the subject is my muse at the end of the alley, as always. Unaware—or perhaps they noticed. Even so, the way they kept walking was admirable and lovely. My heart trembled so painfully with euphoria that even the hand holding the camera shook uncontrollably, but I still persistently captured Guest in my lens.

Not even the sound of a click echoed. I had modified it long ago to be silent. The image of Guest captured in the camera was, quite literally, an angel. The light from the streetlamp fell sacredly upon Guest's head, and their hair fluttered softly in the night breeze. And of all things, why were they wearing a pure white school shirt? It makes them look like a truly holy being. As a dark and profane creature who cannot reach that light, I had no choice but to hug my camera and scramble back home. Whether it was out of fear from witnessing an angel, or excitement. Or perhaps just from running. My heart was beating even faster.

The rest is obvious, isn't it? I carefully print the photos of Guest on the best paper and stick them in the empty spots of my room, admire them, and stroke them. I print another copy and hold it for a long time, crying out Guest's name. It's pathetic beyond belief, but so what? No one is going to see it. No, wait. Actually, I wish Guest were watching. I want you to see with those beautiful eyes and realize just how much I love you. Even if you despise me, please, just look at me.

The next day, I went to school as usual and sat quietly in the seat behind Guest. Being a few seats ahead is inconvenient, but since I'm this close to Guest, it doesn't really matter. If I were to call you now, or suddenly touch you... how would you react? You'd be surprised, of course. But even that look would be lovely. Ah, wait. This is good. I should write this down. I pulled out a tattered notebook from my bag, its cover disguised with pages from a workbook to avoid suspicion, and shielded it with my whole body as I wrote down my 'hopes.' To others, it would just look like a reserved student taking notes or doing homework. Don't look back, Guest. No, actually, please look back. Give your most fervent and dependent shadow just one glance of that brilliant gaze and let me disappear.