Time slipped by faster than I had ever imagined.
Before I knew it, I was twenty-eight years old, and my daughter had already turned three.
Every morning, my parents took her to kindergarten, and every afternoon they picked her up before I finished work. They carried so much of the responsibility that I could focus on my job without constantly worrying about childcare.
I could never thank them enough for everything they had done for us.
There was only one thing that never changed.
They still wanted me to remarry.
The pressure became especially unbearable during Lunar New Year.
Whenever our relatives gathered together, my cousins would happily talk about their husbands, wives, girlfriends, or children. They laughed, shared stories, and teased one another.
I usually sat quietly, listening.
No one really knew what to say to me.
Then the older relatives would inevitably turn their attention in my direction.
"Gerlee, when are you going to get married again?"
"Your daughter needs a father."
"You're not getting any younger."
Before I could answer, my parents would sigh.
"We've been telling her the same thing. If she meets someone, we tell her to bring him home, but she never listens. Honestly, we don't know what to do with this child anymore."
They all meant well.
I knew they worried about me.
Still...
Hearing the same conversation every holiday was exhausting.
One afternoon, my phone rang.
It was one of my high school classmates.
"Hi, Gerlee! How have you been? How's work? Life treating you well?"
After chatting for a while, she finally got to the point.
"This year is our ten-year high school reunion. We're also organizing a sports tournament in May. I heard you used to be really good at volleyball. You'll come, won't you?"
I hadn't attended a single class reunion since graduation.
I hesitated for a moment before answering.
"If I can make time, I'll definitely come. Put my name down for the volleyball team."
"Perfect! We'll see you soon."
After hanging up, I sat there staring at my phone.
One face suddenly appeared in my mind.
Gantulga.
My first love.
Would he be there?
If he saw me after all these years, what would he think?
Would he even recognize me?
Maybe I shouldn't go...
Maybe it would only end in embarrassment.
For days, I couldn't make up my mind.
Then, almost on impulse, I decided to go.
Whatever happened... happened.
The day of the reunion finally arrived.
I was supposed to leave at four o'clock in the morning. My classmate, Otgonbayar, had offered to pick me up, but I accidentally overslept.
The sharp ringing of my phone jolted me awake.
"I'm outside," Otgonbayar said, laughing. "Are you still sleeping?"
I jumped out of bed, splashed some water on my face, put on a little makeup, threw a change of clothes and my indoor sports shoes into a bag, and rushed out the door.
The moment I opened the car door, I froze.
Sitting in the front passenger seat was Gantulga.
For a second, it felt as though time had stopped.
He had changed over the years. He looked broader than I remembered, having put on a little weight, making him seem more mature than the carefree boy from high school.
Trying to hide my surprise, I quietly climbed into the back seat.
As Otgonbayar drove, I noticed Gantulga stealing occasional glances at me through the rearview mirror.
Neither of us spoke first.
Otgonbayar, on the other hand, chatted nonstop.
"So, Gerlee! It's been forever. Are you married now? How many kids do you have? Are you still teaching kindergarten? What have you been up to all these years?"
Question after question came flying at me.
I hesitated.
I didn't know how to explain that I had once been married but was now divorced. Somehow, saying the words out loud still hurt.
So I simply smiled.
"I'm married," I answered softly. "I have one daughter, and I'm still working as a kindergarten teacher."
As soon as I finished speaking, Gantulga slowly turned around to look at me.
"You've changed so much," he said with a faint smile. "If I ran into you on the street, I probably wouldn't have recognized you."
I laughed awkwardly.
"Really? Maybe I've just gained a little weight."
The conversation drifted to old memories.
We laughed about our school days, sang along to songs playing on the radio, and reminisced about the countless unforgettable moments we had shared as classmates.
Every now and then, I caught Gantulga quietly looking at me.
Each time our eyes met in the mirror, he would quickly look away.
Halfway through the trip, we stopped at a convenience store on the outskirts of the city, where the rest of our classmates had agreed to meet.
As soon as I stepped out of the car, several classmates looked at me with puzzled expressions.
"Who is she?"
Otgonbayar burst into laughter.
"Seriously? This is Gerlee! Don't tell me none of you recognize her!"
Everyone stared at me in disbelief.
The moment I introduced myself, gasps spread through the group.
"Oh my God... it really is Gerlee!"
"You've changed so much!"
"You're so beautiful now!"
Their reactions made me both embarrassed and amused.
Otgonbayar bought me a cup of coffee before we got back into the car.
"No one else is riding with us," he joked. "The three of us have our own VIP car."
We all laughed.
The rest of the drive passed quickly.
By the time we realized it, we had already arrived in our hometown.
The reunion committee had prepared matching sports uniforms for everyone, and after changing into them, we gathered at one of our classmate's houses in the ger district.
Cars continued arriving one after another.
Eventually, thirty-seven classmates had made it.
Almost everyone reacted the same way.
No one recognized me at first.
Only after I told them my name would they suddenly exclaim,
"Gerlee? No way! You've completely changed!"
I couldn't help smiling every single time.
Soon, we headed to the local gymnasium where the tournament was being held.
Graduates from different years had all returned to compete, making the place lively and full of excitement.
The volleyball matches began immediately.
Our class fought hard.
We won one match and lost one in the group stage, advancing to the knockout rounds in second place.
Unfortunately, we were eliminated in our very next game.
Even so, no one seemed disappointed.
The reunion wasn't really about winning.
It was about seeing one another again after ten long years.
Throughout the entire tournament, Gantulga rarely left my side.
Whenever I needed water, he was already handing me a bottle.
Whenever we stopped to eat, he somehow ended up sitting beside me.
His quiet attentiveness made my heart strangely restless.
I couldn't help wondering...
Was I imagining it?
Or had he really been watching over me all day?
That evening, after the tournament, everyone gathered back at the house where we were staying.
A large pot of khorkhog, the traditional Mongolian mutton barbecue, had already been prepared. Long tables were filled with food and drinks, and laughter echoed through the yard as classmates reunited after a decade apart.
Even our former homeroom teacher from Class B came to join the celebration.
Before long, we found ourselves reminiscing about our childhood—sharing embarrassing stories, laughing over old pranks, and recalling memories we had almost forgotten.
As always, Gantulga chose the seat beside me.
At first, I pretended not to notice.
But after a while, it became impossible to ignore.
No matter where I went, he somehow ended up beside me.
Several classmates exchanged knowing smiles whenever they looked in our direction.
Their teasing glances made me self-conscious, and I couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed.
As the night went on, everyone became more relaxed.
Glasses were raised one after another.
The conversations grew louder.
Someone turned on the music, and soon the living room transformed into an impromptu dance floor.
People paired off and began dancing, laughing as though they were seventeen again.
I stood quietly near the edge of the room, watching everyone enjoy themselves.
Then Gantulga walked toward me.
Without saying a word, he stopped in front of me and extended his hand.
"May I have this dance?"
For a brief moment, I simply looked at him.
Then, almost instinctively, I placed my hand in his.
A slow song filled the room.
We moved gently with the music, neither of us speaking.
There was no need for words.
Our eyes met.
His gaze was calm, warm, and somehow familiar.
For those few minutes, it felt as though the ten years between us had quietly disappeared.
As I looked into his eyes, something deep inside me stirred.
The walls I had spent years building around my heart began to crack.
My heart, which I had convinced myself would never love again, started beating faster.
It was a feeling I hadn't experienced in years.
It was as though a tiny spark, long buried beneath the ashes, had suddenly come back to life.
Neither of us said what we were thinking.
We simply kept dancing.
Sometimes silence speaks louder than words.
The celebration continued until dawn.
Some people drank.
Others sang old songs at the top of their lungs.
A few gathered around a table to play cards, laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks.
It was one of those rare nights when no one wanted time to move forward.
The following morning, despite getting almost no sleep, we gathered once again for the basketball tournament.
Our girls' team fought hard and proudly brought home the bronze medal.
After the award ceremony, the sports festival officially came to an end.
To celebrate the successful event, everyone headed to a local bar for one last gathering.
This time, however, I quietly slipped away.
Instead of joining them, I spent the night at a friend's house.
Later, I learned that Gantulga had been looking for me the entire evening.
The next morning, we divided ourselves among five cars and began the long drive back to Ulaanbaatar.
The atmosphere inside the car was much quieter than before.
Several times, I caught Gantulga turning toward me, as though he wanted to say something.
Each time, he hesitated.
His lips parted slightly...
Then he simply turned back toward the window.
The words never came.
When we finally arrived in the city and it was time to say goodbye, he smiled softly.
"Take care, my friend," he said.
"I guess we'll see each other again someday."
"Let's keep in touch."
I nodded with a smile.
"You too."
He climbed back into the car and drove away.
Only after he had disappeared into the traffic did I realize something.
He had never asked for my phone number.
And somehow...
I had wanted him to.
Standing there alone, I watched the cars disappear down the road.
A faint smile slowly appeared on my face.
So this is what people mean when they say...
First love never truly dies.
Sometimes, all it takes is a single reunion to awaken feelings you thought had been buried forever.