I kept replaying his words in my head.
She came to my house.
Those words alone were enough to make me uncomfortable.
But then came the questions.
How did she get there?
Why did she leave the boarding house?
Why did she come in the evening?
And why would she choose his house?
I sat quietly as he explained everything.
According to him, he had been at home when there was a knock at the door.
When he opened it, he was shocked to see his student standing there.
He immediately questioned her.
"What are you doing here?"
She told him she had come to visit.
He couldn't understand.
"Visit me?"
She nodded.
He asked why she had come without informing him.
She didn't give him a convincing answer.
He asked whether she had permission to leave the boarding house.
She said she did not.
That made the situation even more confusing.
I listened with my heart beating faster.
"She just left the boarding house?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Without permission?"
"Yes."
"In the evening?"
"Yes."
I shook my head.
"How?"
He didn't know.
"Did you ask her how she got there?"
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"She didn't really explain."
I closed my eyes for a moment.
There were too many unanswered questions.
I remembered what I had told him earlier.
I had warned him to report the letter.
He had said there was no need.
Now the student was standing at his house.
I couldn't help thinking about how different everything might have been if the matter had been reported from the beginning.
Still, I didn't want to blame him.
The immediate problem was the girl.
He told me that he didn't want her staying at his house, so he decided to give her money for transportation back to the boarding house.
That, at least, sounded reasonable.
He went inside to get the money.
And that was when everything changed.
"When I came back outside," he said, "I saw her parents."
I looked at him.
"Her parents?"
"Yes."
"Where were they?"
"They were already around my house."
My stomach tightened.
"How many people?"
"I don't remember exactly."
"What did they want?"
"I didn't know."
I could imagine the scene.
A teacher standing outside his home.
A female student who had arrived without permission.
Then her parents suddenly appearing.
The situation sounded like something from a nightmare.
"Did they say anything?"
He shook his head.
"Not immediately."
"Were they angry?"
"I couldn't tell."
I stared at him.
"Did you ask the girl why they were there?"
He nodded.
"She didn't know either."
That answer frightened me even more.
How could her parents suddenly appear at his house?
Had they followed her?
Had someone called them?
Had they been searching for her?
Or had they already known where she was going?
There were too many possibilities.
I looked at him.
"What happened after that?"
He told me he tried to remain calm.
He didn't want the situation to become worse.
He explained that the girl had come to his house unannounced and that he had intended to send her back.
But before he could do much, her parents had surrounded the place.
I could feel my chest tightening.
"What did they think?"
"I don't know."
That answer stayed with me.
Because that was the problem.
People didn't always wait for the truth.
Sometimes they saw one thing and created an entire story around it.
A teacher.
A female student.
His house.
Evening.
Her parents arriving.
It didn't matter what had actually happened.
The appearance of the situation alone could create suspicion.
And suspicion could destroy someone's reputation.
I suddenly remembered my earlier words.
"You should have reported the letter."
He looked at me.
"I know."
This time, there was no argument.
Maybe he finally understood why I had been worried.
I wasn't accusing him.
I wasn't trying to control him.
I was trying to protect him.
And perhaps I had been right to listen to the strange feeling in my heart.
But now it was too late to wonder what should have been done.
The situation was already there.
The girl's parents were outside his house.
And whatever they believed had happened, they had come prepared to confront him.
I imagined him standing there, surrounded by people who had probably already formed their own conclusions.
My heart broke for him.
I knew he hadn't told me that story because he wanted to frighten me.
He was telling me because something serious had happened.
And I could hear the worry in his voice.
"Did they accuse you of anything?" I asked.
"Not yet."
Those two words made me nervous.
Not yet.
I knew what they meant.
The confrontation had not really begun.
The worst part was still coming.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about the girl.
About the letter.
About the boarding house.
About the evening visit.
And about her parents surrounding his house.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
And I was afraid that the truth might not be enough to protect him from whatever accusation was coming.
I had trusted my instincts once.
Now I wished I had shouted louder.