After thinking it over for days, a reckless idea came to me—I would write him another letter.
I felt wronged… as if I had been falsely accused of something I had never said. I hadn't even asked him to be in a relationship, yet somehow, everything had turned against me.
I should have just let it go.
But I didn't.
Foolish, wasn't I?
This time, my letter was much longer.
"Hello, Gantulga.
Greetings to you at the moment this letter reaches you.
You probably already know who I am.
But I have something to ask you.
In my previous letter, I never asked you to go out with me.
Why did you tell Boldoo and put me in such an embarrassing situation?
I didn't do anything bad to you, did I?
You could have simply told me that you liked someone else.
That would have been enough.
Anyway… I won't bother you anymore.
Goodbye."
I signed my name at the bottom once again.
This time, I decided to send the letter through his younger brother. When I saw him entering their house, I ran up to him.
"Hi… do you remember me? I want to give your brother a letter. Could you pass it to him?" I asked.
"Okay, sister," he said, and went inside.
At that moment, I didn't realize
that I had just made another mistake.
A few days later, as I entered the gymnasium, a boy from my class—Tugsjargal, the top student… the one who had liked me—walked straight toward me.
Without a word, he held up the letter I had written to Gantulga…
and began tearing it apart right in front of my face.
I froze.
Piece by piece, the paper fell to the ground.
When he finished, he looked at me and shouted loudly,
"Why don't you understand me? Stop acting like this!"
Then he turned and ran off.
I stood there, stunned—caught between confusion and shame.
From the next day on, I realized something.
I had become the most talked-about girl in school.
Everywhere I went, eyes followed me.
Students whispered behind my back.
Some laughed openly.
I didn't even know what they were saying…
but I could feel it.
One evening, as I walked to pick up my little brother from kindergarten, I ran into a group of reckless boys from school.
As soon as they saw me, they started shouting,
"Hey, look—it's her!"
"The girl who begs boys to date her!"
They circled around me on their bicycles, laughing. One of them stopped, got off, and came closer.
"Come on, look at me… your face is so small," he mocked.
"You're not going to ask me out too, are you?"
They burst into laughter.
Anger rose inside me.
"Why are you doing this? Just leave me alone," I said.
"Wow, she's angry too," one of them sneered.
Then suddenly—
bang.
A pellet hit me.
Then another.
And another.
They had started shooting at me with pellet guns.
My shoulders, my back, my arms, my legs—everywhere they hit sent sharp waves of pain through my body.
I flinched, but I refused to give in.
"Stop it!" I cried, running forward.
Behind me, they kept laughing… chasing… shooting…
Tears streamed down my face—not only from the pain, but from the hurt… from the resentment I carried inside.
The next day, it didn't stop.
A group of older boys were smoking near the school. When they saw me, one of them said,
"Hey, it's her again."
Then he flicked a lit matchstick toward me.
It landed on my chest, burning lightly through my clothes.
"Ha ha ha!" they laughed.
Anger burned inside me—but fear was stronger.
I ran home.
After that… I stopped going anywhere except school.
Even when I walked to the kiosk, I rushed, trying not to be seen.
As if hiding myself could somehow make everything disappear.