The teacher had written:
"No one else can truly see or feel what is happening within your heart. So, my dear, listen carefully to your own heart. Before making any decisive move, learn to look at things from many sides. In time, you must learn to let all of this go. And if anyone mistreats you, come and tell your teacher. You are a strong and confident girl. I wish you success in overcoming everything. You can do it."
From those few lines, I came to understand so much. That no one but me could truly feel my heart. That I must listen to it when making decisions. That I should see things from many perspectives when dealing with others. And finally, that time has the power to make us forget.
I began trying to act as though nothing had happened—to forget everything.
In eighth grade, my studies improved, and I successfully passed my exams. Yet, every time I saw him, that familiar mix of excitement and fear still lingered.
After graduating, I entered ninth grade.
And then, something unexpected happened—Gantulga transferred into our class.
I thought my classmates would have forgotten, but they hadn't. From time to time, they teased me:
"Hey Gerel, your first love is here—no need to write letters anymore, right?"
"Gantulga, why don't you give your first love a kiss?"
"Enkhmaa, looks like you've got competition. Gerel might steal him away!"
I ignored them all. As soon as classes ended, I would go straight home.
A month later, our school's Art Festival approached, and everyone stayed after class to prepare. Some sang, some danced, others played instruments. As for me, I joined the group dance—I had always been good at it.
One day, he came up beside me and said,
"You dance really beautifully."
As we began exchanging a few words here and there, my heart started to flutter again, as if my feelings were quietly awakening.
But he was still with Enkhmaa.
Enkhmaa treated me normally. Whenever she asked for help with lessons, I would deliberately give her the wrong answers.
Cruel of me, wasn't it? Hehe.
We practiced dance until late in the evenings. Eventually, the routine turned into a paired dance. As boys invited girls to dance, Gantulga walked up to me and asked me.
Of course, I agreed.
To the soft melody, he placed his hand around my waist, and I rested my hands on his shoulders as we moved together.
Leaning close to my ear, he asked softly,
"Gerel, why do you like me?"
I froze, my face flushing, not knowing what to say.
"We've barely even talked," he continued. "You're strange."
Then, after a brief pause, he said,
"Listen to me. I don't like you. I love Enkhmaa. I really do. And because of you, she's been getting upset with me. So… could you stay away from us?"
His words struck me like a blow.
My eyes filled with tears. Hearing his honest feelings, anger suddenly surged within me. I pulled away from him and said sharply,
"Fine. That's how it is."
Then I ran out of the classroom, tears streaming down my face as I went.
I didn't stop until I reached my apartment building. Sitting down on the bench outside, I began talking to myself:
"Of course… what did you expect? You really thought you'd get another chance, didn't you? How foolish you are, Gerel. You deserve this."
From that moment on, I hated him.
Truly… deeply.
And yet, somewhere within that pain, I remembered my teacher's words—and began to realize that perhaps looking at things from different perspectives was the right thing to do.