Jungkook, a teacher in a language learning app. Each morning he sign in and scan the little stories people tell in their profiles, the hopes tucked into their bios like folded notes. His job isn't flashy; it is a gentle stubbornness to keep trying when the words won't come

In the classroom, he greet them with a smile that appears in the text bubbles before his words do. Good morning, he type, and he watch as the little avatars drift closer, a chorus of shy faces and curious eyes. They come from markets and megacities, from deserts and coastlines, from apartments above noisy streets and from quiet dorm rooms where the lights stay on late to study

They want to speak, to be understood, to tell a story of their own. The quietest student is Lina, a nurse from Lisbon. She trembles when she writes a sentence and deletes it, then writes it again in a softer hand. he tell her, slowly, that the heart translates first, then the mouth tries to catch up. We practice, not perfection. We practice saying “I want to make friends” until the rhythm sits in her chest

Miguel from Valencia whispers apologies for his accent, as if he owes the syllables a debt. She tell him he hear courage in every mispronounced word, that courage is the first grammar we learn. Amina, who learned to count with pebbles in a crowded market in Kano, asks for a simple story. He improvise a tale about a girl who keeps a little notebook of new words, then uses them in tiny conversations with strangers who become neighbors

Jungkook: okay students turn on your camera in your laptop and have test with me okay he looking at the laptop and watching everyone turn on camera