He is, I would say, my most stubborn student. All of the chaos in class usually originates from this boy with a face of an angel.
I look at him where he seats at the back of the room. He is staring outside through the window. He is staring, and I know he is not really seeing anything. He is unusually quiet. Maybe he feels my gaze at him because he then turns and looks at me, and flashes that angelic smile.
He comes to me and asks, “Sir, if I were your son, would you be proud of me?”