Just like this, I enjoy staring from afar without drawing anyone’s attention. And I love smiling a lot, making sure my smile looks just right—beautiful and graceful. Isn’t that ironic? I don’t want attention, yet I want my smile to be the kind that catches the eye? Haah… Maybe that’s why I can’t smile properly.

No… maybe I’m just afraid someone will notice me from afar, then get closer… and suddenly, I’d find them here, in my space, within these white walls. I fear they wouldn’t even care and would stain my spotless floor.

I fear someone seeing me staring at the ceiling and asking, “What? What are you looking at?” because they wouldn’t be able to imagine what I see.

Ah… I guess I’m strange in some way. And to make matters worse, I never really thought of myself as strange. No, no… I see myself as completely normal.

Hmm… what’s suspicious to others is that I’m observant—too observant. And I have a sharp tongue. But luckily, I know how to control it.

Unfortunately, though, I can’t control my facial expressions.

So I might stare at you with a mocking gaze, expressing disdain without uttering a single word. I might insult you without speaking at all.

I’ve always been like this.

To the point where my friends—well, some of them—because, honestly, most don’t even like sitting with me. Somehow, I come off as a bully.

What a shame… I’m not even a bully.

But I would never try to seem harmless just so you’d like me.

I won’t pretend to be kind.

No, no… I’m real. And in the worst way possible.

Anyway… I want to insult a flower.

But this place is completely empty.

Should I go outside?

Not that I’m scared…

I just don’t want to be rejected by the version of myself that’s out there.

Then, I’ll draw something on my floor.

Hmm… let me find something black to use.

Here I am, twirling in my dress as I search for something dark—deep, solid black—to decorate my spotless white floor.

Ah… I found something.

Is this charcoal?

Aah… right. I burned something recently. How did I forget that?

Alright, let’s begin.

I kneel down and start drawing a long line… ah, then a thick one… and another long one… ah, ah—just like this, forming a rectangle.

Alright. Let’s admire it properly.

Ah, it looks perfect.

Now, let’s continue.

I’ll divide the rectangle—just like this. First line, then a second… a third… and a fourth. I think that’s enough.

Hmm… good. Let’s move on.

This first section will stay as it is.

Then, I’ll split the next one in half—carefully drawing a neat line.

I’m good at this, by the way.

It’s been a long time since I last played this game… so long that I don’t even remember its name.

As I continue drawing, a memory comes to me:

When we were kids, we used a small stone to hop from one square to another, skipping some along the way.

Alright. I’m staring at my game now.

It looks perfect.

Back then, we used white chalk.

I broke the rule today—I drew with black.

But that’s only because my floor is white.

Time to jump, then—cheerfully, step by step.

Hmm… did we use to say something while jumping?

I don’t remember.

Alright. Here I am, gripping the edges of my dress, fully ready to play again.

One-foot hop… then land on both feet, stepping into two squares at once… good… then one foot… then both again…

Oh, this is perfect.

And hop!

Let’s go back again.

Here I am—smiling as I play a game I haven’t played in ages…

So long that I forgot its name entirely.

Ah, by the way… I didn’t lose the picture.

I burned it.

Why?

Because I have no secrets.

And even if I did…

There’s no proof.