After Ayumu got into an accident, we were told that she had lost her memories.

      “Her doctor says she might never remember again,” said our homeroom teacher. “Since you are her classmates, please help her recall her old self as best as she can.”

     It was a sensible request, but something still worried me, and that worry became a reality when someone suddenly suggested a frightening idea. “Since Ayumu remembers nothing,” they said, “that means she could be anything we make her out to be. Let’s see who would make a good impression and become her best friend first.”

      People, at their worst, can be so selfish. I hate to be pessimistic, but trusting the masses with a person’s life and hoping they will help out of goodwill—that’s just wishful thinking.

      After a few weeks, I found Ayumu sitting alone on a stair one day. She looked like she had been crying.

     “I went for a movie with our classmates,” she said. “I don’t think they had fun being around me. It’s probably my fault for not acting gratefully enough to those who claimed to be close to me once. Also, since last week, people have been texting me to ask if I’m okay. I think I’ve upset them by not texting back quickly enough. Perhaps this is the kind of person I used to be? Someone who couldn’t make anybody happy.”

    “They selfishly forced themselves upon you,” I said, “so it’s not your fault if you couldn’t react like they want you to. After all, when you try to please everybody, you only tire yourself out. Nobody ends up happy, and they might even blame you for it. You still haven’t changed at all.”