Her reflection in the black screen glowed like Aphrodite, elegantly refined and yet at the same time relaxed and full of energy. He couldn't help but stare at her as she scribbled notes furiously before the professor took them off the projector; stared at her perfect skin and her large, blue eyes; stared at her shapely, seated figure; stared at the marvellous fashion in which her hair covered just enough of her ears to make an observer wonder what they truly looked like and if their beauty could possibly match the rest of her burning beauty. All this he saw in the reflection of his black computer screen, sitting one row ahead of the object of his desires.

A teenage boy only wants one thing, they would tell the girls, they only wanted sex, nothing else. And yet how could such a longing, such a need, be attributed to a mere, infantile sex drive? No, this obsession was one of love, a love so deep that nothing physical was needed to confirm its existence. The connection he felt with this girl – which he did not even have a name to attach to – was like some supernatural chains that held his soul to hers. He could see his arms around her, holding her in an amorous embrace that would cause the very cosmos to stop moving to admire their closeness; he could see her body, clothed in white, intertwined with him in such a way that he knew no being, natural or supernatural, could ever undo; he could see their lips held together by the most basic laws of nature; he could see the way that they would live together for the rest of their lives, living above the rest of the world as a pair of surreal beings holding the fabrics of time and space together with their love. All of this he could see with a blindingly clear eye in his mind as he came to know, over time, that this objectification of perfection and him were destined to be together, for Fate and God had come to an agreement that two such immaculate persons could never be held apart, even by the supposed omniscient powers that these divine spirits possessed.

Their eventual connection was bound to happen soon, or so he hoped, for he couldn't bear to watch her every day, silently suppressing his need to announce to the world his deep love for her and everything about her. Each day he would ignore his note-taking responsibilities to gaze incessantly upon her form, ever vigilant in his watch, never failing to catch a single, small detail of her visage that might give way to the idea that she had finally noticed him. In reality, she never did notice him but his thoughts led him to think otherwise. He came to believe that every twitch, every shifting movement, was a sign to him, a sign telling him that he is welcome to her and that she is his to take. This thought festered in his mind like a million dung beetles feasting on his cerebrum for he knew he did not have the courage to acknowledge her in return. The flesh is willing but the spirit is weak.

Never did he approach her, nor she he, so there was no reason to think that they might become lovers, but he held on fiercely to the notion with such mental exertion that all else slipped from his mind. His thoughts remained on her from the moment of his waking every day to the moment his body could no longer sustain his conscious state and forced him to slip into sleep. He neglected his consumption of food to the point where he would falter with weakness when he walked. His only intake of food consisted of when his mother brought him sandwiches in his room when she began to fear for his health. All day he would sit in his room, notepad in hand, sketching over and over the contours and details of his love's body, diligently remembering which clothes she had been wearing that day and drawing them accordingly. He had hundreds upon hundreds of these sketches, all in a messy pile next to his bed, all expertly drawn down to the finest microscopic detail. His mother asked him who this girl was every time she visited his basement to bring him food, but his only reply was a moan of desire at the mention of her very existence outside of his own head. His marks dropped continuously downwards until his instructors told him he would fail if he did not improve his study habits and attention in class. He cared not for such trivialities as "homework" or "exams" but rather was focused upon the ever-present dilemma of how to approach his soul mate, for she still did not know his name, and he feared that before long she would leave and he would never again have the ultimate privilege of fixing his eyes upon her reflected glory.

He tried to devise a plan in his head describing how he would go about introducing himself and his love, but every idea failed as he found flaw after flaw in each plan he made. He was not of the romantic sort, nor was he a poet, so he could not think of any literary means to approach her, nor was he an athletic type so he could not impress her with boastings. He wrought his brains, trying over and over to find something to impress his deity with, but nothing came to mind that would truly make her fall into his arms. His search for a means to woo her bore no fruits for three months when he suddenly came upon an idea that struck him as being painfully obvious just as much as it was painful. He realized eventually, after more pointless attempts at planning, that this was the only way, the One Way. He dutifully went about elaborating on his idea, setting up every detail of his design, never failing to notice the smallest imperfection and to correct it immediately.

All was in place. He met up with her in the alleyway in which she walked through to get home, blocking her path with his arms so that she had to notice him. His teeth flashed in the dark like some deranged Cheshire cat.

"Hey, Jenny! Kinda late to be walking home alone isn't it?"

It really gives you a new perspective on things when you find out the quiet kid who used to sit next to you had just committed suicide after fatally raping a girl. The police said they found their bodies tied together at the waist…in a grave.