One day, while tidying up my cabinet, I came across the weekly journals I wrote to my homeroom teacher last semester. I couldn't help but flip through them from the very first page to the very last.
In those days, we shared everything. You once said I was a girl who was so quiet that it was actually unsettling; you said I was like a time bomb that could go off at any moment, and asked how you could not pay extra attention to me. You also said my heart was unpredictable and difficult to penetrate, wondering who could truly understand me. You told me that since I had chosen this school, I must persevere. You witnessed my many tears, advising me not to let them fall too easily, for tears lose their value when shed too often. You said it was a stroke of luck to have known me and our class, and jokingly told me not to miss you too much during the holidays.
In those days, you cared for me so much, sought to understand me so deeply, encouraged me so warmly, and cherished us so much. I hope you never change, and I truly hope you will be our teacher again next semester. There is only one reason, just as you always said—when you stay together long enough, deep bonds will inevitably form.