After some time, a boy transferred into our class from Ulaanbaatar. I was sitting quietly, focused on my work, when the teacher finished introducing him. The moment I looked up at him, I suddenly burst out laughing. My classmates turned to me in surprise. Embarrassed, I glanced at the boy, and as he passed by to take his seat, he subtly gestured at me with one hand. Then he sat down at the desk the teacher had assigned.
His name was Tushig.
From that day on, we argued over the smallest things.
"Hey, ugly, give me your notebook so I can copy," he would say.
"Oh, can you even do this?"
"If you're so capable, solve this problem then."
He constantly teased and provoked me. Eventually, our teacher, tired of our bickering, made us sit at the same desk. From then on, we only grew worse. He would pull my hair, mess up my writing by nudging my arm, or even pull my chair away just as I was about to sit, making me fall. Furious, I would report him to the teacher.
Yet despite everything, he was lively and entertaining, always making the class laugh. He excelled in social studies, spoke eloquently, and had a way of captivating people. Still, there was something strange—he seemed to treat me differently from everyone else. On the days he was absent, whether sick or on leave, I found myself missing him.
Even so, I still secretly held on to my feelings for Gantulga, despite claiming to hate him. Tushig found out and would tease me about it as well.
Time passed, and we graduated from ninth grade. Then, in tenth grade, something rather unexpected happened. My classmates had started gathering at houses where parents were absent—whispering secrets, having fun, even drinking. I had never gone to such gatherings, but one day I did. A classmate of ours had won a gold medal in a provincial physics olympiad, and that became the reason for the celebration.
Everyone sat in a circle, and they said they would "wash" the medal by dipping it into a glass of vodka. I was stunned. Then they started drinking from that very glass. I couldn't bring myself to do it—I felt nauseous and nearly threw up. It all seemed pointless to me.
Later, everyone began confessing who they liked. One by one, they spoke, until it was Tushig's turn. Suddenly, he pointed straight at me and said,
"Her."
I was completely taken aback, my face turning red instantly. Seeing me blush, my classmates assumed I liked him back. But that wasn't true—not at all. Even now, I felt as though I was still waiting for Gantulga, despite everything. Some feelings simply refuse to fade, no matter how much time passes or how close someone else stands beside you.
Then Boldoo stood up in the middle of the room and said,
"Hey, Tushig, what are you doing? That girl doesn't like you—she likes Gantulga. Her first love is right here. That's not right."
Tushig glanced at both Gantulga and me before replying calmly,
"I never said I love her. I just said I like her."
At that moment, my friend Chimgee stood up and said,
"Then go and confess properly."
Oh, my face burned even redder, like a ripe apple.
Tushig walked straight toward me, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet.
"Gerlee, I like you," he said—then kissed me on the cheek.
"And… will you go out with me?"
I was so flustered I could barely speak.
"H-hey, what are you doing? I…"
My words caught in my throat. I glanced at Gantulga and Enkhmaa, then finally managed to say,
"Let me think about it… I'll give you my answer tomorrow."
My classmates erupted into applause, shouting that a new couple had been formed.
Imagine that—pairing people up even before an answer is given.