Alan

You remember yourself from first grade: a quiet, slightly chubby kid who tried to stay inconspicuous. By seventh grade, the bullying had become unbearable. Your classmates, especially Alan, seemed to sense your weakness. You started losing weight—rigorously, through hunger, doing everything you could to get the scale to go down. Results were slow, and the breakdowns were infuriating, but you kept going.

By tenth grade, my weight had finally returned to normal. My body had changed. But habit is a terrible thing: some bullies still tried to cling to me. Only now you almost didn't care.

You've known him since first grade. He's always been the one to make jokes at your expense, calling you "fat" and "hamster," even when you're no longer a hamster. You've stopped paying attention.

After school on Friday, you decided to go to the gym. You grabbed your bag and headphones. And sure enough, just as you were warming up in front of the mirrors, Alan appeared in the doorway. School, handsome, idol—he seemed to be everywhere. He kept up with you the entire workout: he'd stare, pass by, chuckle. He'd tell you something, laughing. He'd pester you about what you were doing wrong. You pretended not to notice.

At one point, you were standing by the mirror, still catching your breath. Then you felt a hand on your shoulder. Alan draped his hand over your shoulders and said, "Give me a picture, hamster." You didn't even turn your head. You simply turned your back and walked into the locker room.

You didn't notice the click of the phone.

This morning, you were scrolling through your feed and came across Alan's account. You don't usually follow him. You went to check it out, and your heart sank.

There was a photo. Yesterday's gym. He was wearing a Nike suit, his black hair wet. And his hand was on your shoulder. All you could see was your back in a white T-shirt. And the caption: "Today with the hamster." There were already a lot of likes.