One day, while tidying my locker, I came across last semester's journals with my homeroom teacher, and I couldn't help but read from the first page to the last.
That semester, we talked about everything. You said I was a girl so quiet that it almost wasn't quiet, like a ticking time bomb that could go off at any moment near you. You said you couldn't help but care for me. You said my heart was truly hard to understand, and no one could really enter it. You said that since I chose this school, I should persist. You reminded me not to shed tears easily because too many tears lose their value. You said it was fortunate to know me and our class. You advised me not to miss you too much during the holidays.
That semester, you cared for me, wanted to understand me, encouraged me, and cherished us. I hope you never change and that next semester you'll still be our homeroom teacher. The reason is simple, as you often said, spending time together naturally builds feelings.