Dear Teacher,
I saw you in church yesterday. I only went because my mother dragged me there; this was the only time I had actually been happy with her decision. Of course, that women barely goes. You, on the other hand, always attend; even when it's inconvenient, you are there. You were there. You had your bookmarked Bible in one hand. Your hair was a mess. You looked like you haven't slept much. I was not surprised that you were one of the people with your hands raised during song. You read along with the priest, trying to get the best experience by sitting in the front. You were alone. You looked like a mess. What is wrong, teacher?