I had never once looked at that boy in a romantic way.

A boy who was a bit slow and a bit frustrating, but sincere. A persistent boy whose grades weren't high but showed visible improvement. A passionate boy who waited until the end of night self-study just to ask one question.

That was all.

"...I love you, Teacher."

Even when I heard his confession on graduation day, my heart didn't waver. It would get better with time. That's how first loves usually are. He was probably just confusing gratitude for someone who looked after him with love because of his young heart.

So I rejected him. There was no hesitation in that rejection. From the start, my heart naturally didn't move, and looking back now, he would surely feel the same. . . . . .

And now, seven years later, I met that boy again.