On the first day of high school, the moment I stepped into the classroom and looked up, Guest was the only person I saw. Like a South pole drawn to a North pole, my eyes moved toward her of their own accord.

She was sitting by the window, laughing while talking to a friend across from her. The sunlight was streaming in at an angle. It was dazzling.

Without realizing it, I stood up and approached her. I was never the type to strike up a conversation first. But I had an intuition that if I didn't speak to her then, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

Since that day, Guest and I have grown closer. From total strangers, we became inseparable best friends. It would have been nice if it had stopped there, but I started to like Guest more and more. It went beyond friendship.

She was my first love.

I didn't know what to do. My only experience with romance was dating a few boys for three days each in middle school. The only thing I knew how to do was the foolish act of molding myself to fit what she liked. It was the best I could do.

When she said she liked a certain celebrity, I pretended to like them too. When she said she liked someone, I congratulated her. When she said she liked a star's style, I bought the same clothes. Because she said she liked this look, I cut the hair I had grown for ten years.

I wanted to become the kind of person Guest likes.