While talking about all this, Anya kept looking into Charlie's eyes, afraid that Charlie would hate her.

People are often like this: when you have an unhappy past, even if the root cause of that sin isn't you, you still feel inferior all the same, afraid that your honesty will make others despise you.

Just like at school, she clearly only had short hair, she had never told anyone about her past, and yet she still kept getting mocked and hurt.

As for the short hair, Anya was afraid of having her hair ripped out. Once, someone really did rip her hair out, yanking it from her scalp, with blood and all. So she cut her hair short.

And the transfer to another school actually wasn't about academics, but because a serious incident of domestic violence alarmed the neighbors and the school. Her father had actually beaten her mother in public, and Anya was forced to transfer schools to "escape the influence of a bad environment," which in reality was a last resort for the school and social workers.

It was also because of this that Anya's parents were both detained.

Anya repeated over and over:

"I'm not a psycho… I didn't hurt my mom… I'm really not like that. My dad and mom… they're not criminals, they're not criminals."

She looked at Charlie with a hint of pleading.

She was afraid of losing Charlie as a friend. She thought that the reason Charlie hadn't gone to save her that day was because Charlie believed the rumors those people spread.

She gathered her courage and told Charlie about her family. This was the only social skill she had learned—honesty.

Even though most of the time this trick didn't seem to work very well, it was the only thing she knew how to do.

As Anya spoke, she started to cry.

Charlie didn't leave; he just said to Anya:

"I'm sorry."

Charlie handed her a tissue, and Anya said:

"Charlie, we're friends, right?"

Charlie nodded:

"Mm! We're friends."

Strangely enough, Anya had always been terrified that after hearing her story, Charlie would grow to hate her, but Charlie didn't.

He even felt that, so there really is someone else in this world who, like me, isn't loved by their parents. So I'm not the only one like this…

He truly started to see Anya as his friend.

From then on, the freak and the psycho often chatted together after school. Anya was utterly honest with Charlie. She would even let Charlie read her diary.

Anya had inherited her mother's artistic talent. Her diary contained not only words, but also heartbreaking sketches and abstract watercolors.

In the drawings there was a white little bird entangled in black thorns. There were whirlpools painted in dark blue and blood red, symbolizing her parents' quarrels.

Broken mirrors reflected countless crying little girls.

In that moment, Charlie finally understood why Anya liked the whirlpools in his own paintings.

They were two people with the same illness, their worlds filled with the same feelings, never knowing whom life would suddenly send to hurt them.

That day, Charlie was very happy; he had found another friend like Huohua.

Anya was a mirror for Charlie, reflecting his own suppressed pain, loneliness, and family misfortune. In her, Charlie saw a more extreme form of "weakness," which gave his own suffering an object onto which he could project and which he could care for.

Gradually, Charlie began to look forward to every dismissal bell. He looked forward to hearing about Anya's past, to hearing Anya's voice, to hearing her talk about her old life.

He thought Anya was the one relying on him, but most of the time, it was actually him relying on Anya.

Being Anya's only listener was the one time in his failure-filled life that Charlie felt useful, felt needed. This made him develop a complicated dependency on Anya.

They were like two thorns winding around each other, using the prickles on their bodies to heal the other.

Charlie thought that with Anya's arrival… maybe he could finally overcome those old wounds. In this girl who was even more unfortunate than he was, he saw a special kind of resilience and strength.

During that time, his face started to show a smile again.

His drawings were no longer whirlpools, but colorful pupils. Even Anya often smiled during that period; her smile was very sweet.

Until one day, Anya appeared again in the classroom. It was the biology classroom. Yes, that same classroom where Charlie had once embarrassed himself.

On that day, Anya had no smile on her face. She looked somewhat anxious at Charlie, then walked over to him.

She said to Charlie:

"Charlie… can you give me a hug?"

Countless boys and girls began to hoot and jeer:

"Oh! Is the freak and the psycho dating?"

The words "dating" triggered Charlie's stress response.

In that instant, Charlie heard countless people laughing in his ears; he saw the human anatomy chart with a heart locked by a padlock; he heard his father's words:

"How can you behave like an animal?"

Charlie whispering in someone's ear, Hillvy's disgust, the teacher's scolding… all those voices crashed over him, like a tsunami, smashing apart the little raft he had finally managed to weave together.

Charlie panicked; his eyes once again turned into a chaotic whirlpool.

He stepped back in fear.

With that single step back, the light vanished from Anya's eyes.

"I'm sorry… Charlie, I'm sorry… I-I shouldn't have asked for something like that. I overstepped."

Anya forced a smile.

The bruises on her face hurt when she moved them, and that smile looked twisted and ugly.

That day, Anya didn't attend class; she left school directly. For several days afterward, Anya still didn't come to class, and this made Charlie panic.