After a long and difficult year of silently battling with my own heart, summer break arrived before I even realized it. During that summer, I did almost nothing except stand on the balcony of my room. Why did I stand there, you ask? Of course—just to see him.
He lived in the building next to ours, so I would watch him whenever he came outside to play. When he played basketball with the boys on the court, I couldn't take my eyes off him. Yet the thought that his heart did not belong to me, but to Enkhmaa, filled me with quiet sadness. Still, just seeing him was enough to bring a little joy to my heart. And like that, summer came to an end.
Eighth grade was an important year, filled with national exams, so I devoted myself to my studies. But something unexpected happened—my homeroom teacher had noticed me. She had seen how a once open and lively child had suddenly become withdrawn and silent.
One day after class, she held a meeting. At the end, she said,
"Soon, you will begin preparing for your exams, so please work hard. And if any of you have something you wish to tell me, you may write me a letter."
As the students left, she asked me to stay behind. I pulled a chair in front of her desk and sat down. Looking at me gently, she asked,
"My dear, is there anything you'd like to tell your teacher?"
"No, teacher," I replied quietly.
She stepped closer and asked softly,
"Would you like a hug?"
Before I knew it, my eyes filled with tears, and I nodded. The moment she embraced me, I broke down in sobs.
"It's alright, my dear," she whispered. "Your teacher understands you. If you ever face something difficult, you can share it with me."
Her words stirred something deep within me, and I cried even harder. She gently comforted me, softly patting my back.
"Now calm down," she said. "Life is full and beautiful. As you grow, you will meet many people. When that time comes, observe carefully how others treat you before you open your heart to them."
Then she added,
"I have another class now, so I must go. If there's anything else, write me a letter."
We left the classroom together. On my way home, the heaviness in my heart seemed to fade away.
When I got home, I found myself staring at my mother for a long time.
"If you're back from school, wash your hands and have your tea," she said.
At that moment, a small sadness returned to me. Because while my own mother did not speak to me so openly, my teacher had comforted me like a mother—giving me warmth, understanding, and hope. I wished, quietly, that my mother could be like her.
Still, my heart felt lighter than before. Wanting to share everything, I decided to write my teacher a letter. I tore a page from the middle of my notebook and began:
"Hello, my dear and respected teacher. Thank you so much. Your embrace comforted me and brought me happiness. I want to tell you everything that has happened. Please guide me on what I should do next."
I wrote in detail about why I had given Gantulga the letter and everything that followed. Then, determined, I ran to deliver it myself. My teacher lived in the building next to ours.
When I knocked, her daughter opened the door and called for her. My teacher came out and smiled warmly.
"Oh, my dear, you've come," she said.
"Teacher, I wrote you a letter," I told her.
"I see. I'll read it carefully and give you my reply tomorrow," she said.
I smiled. "Alright, teacher. See you tomorrow," I replied, before hurrying down the stairs.
The next day, after class, she handed me her reply with a gentle wink before leaving. Unable to contain my excitement, I ran all the way home and opened the letter.
At the very top, it read:
"Dedicated to my wise student, Gerel."