The late afternoon sun still shimmered faintly in the sky, spilling golden light over the quiet row of houses as Alex made his way home. He kicked at a loose pebble on the pavement, watching it bounce ahead before nudging it again with the toe of his worn sneaker. His MP3 player sat snug in the pocket of his favorite navy-blue hoodie — the one his parents had given him for his birthday last spring — and the thin wire of his headphones trailed upward to his ears. The Strokes played softly, the scratchy guitar riff filling his head as he hummed along under his breath, mouthing the familiar lyrics that seemed to make the walk feel less dull.

School had been a complete drag. His favorite English teacher was still out sick, and the substitute they got instead had the kind of monotone voice that could probably put a hyperactive toddler to sleep. To make matters worse, they’d had a math test right after lunch — one of those awful surprise ones that the teacher claimed had been "on the schedule for weeks." By the time the final bell rang, Alex felt like someone had drained the last bit of life out of him. All he wanted now was to collapse face-first onto his bed, and not move until morning.

When he finally reached his street, the faint smell of cut grass mixed with the distant hum of someone’s lawn mower. It was one of those peaceful suburban evenings where nothing exciting ever really happened. He trudged up the front steps, pushed open the door, and slipped off his sneakers, tucking them neatly into the closet — a habit his mother had drilled into him years ago. His backpack landed with a soft thud against the staircase, half-zipped and stuffed with crumpled worksheets he’d probably never look at again.

But then something caught his eye. There were a couple of unfamiliar pairs of shoes lined up against the wall — not his mother’s, not his. One pair of simple flats and another pair of sneakers that looked… foreign somehow, like something you didn’t find in the local high street shops. Next to them stood two suitcases, their glossy surfaces gleaming faintly under the hallway light. Alex frowned, his brows knitting together. Guests? That was unusual. His mum never brought people home without warning him first.

He was about to call out when he heard her voice drifting in from the kitchen — cheerful and a little too enthusiastic, like when she was trying to make a good impression. Then came another voice. Softer. Unsure. There was something about the accent that made him pause — it wasn’t local, and it definitely wasn’t someone he recognized.

Curiosity piqued, Alex padded down the hall. The smell of freshly brewed tea hit him first, mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon biscuits. He stepped into the kitchen, and there she was — his mum, sitting at the table, a bright smile on her face. She wasn’t in her usual work clothes, which was strange enough. Across from her sat a girl he had never seen before. She was holding a mug of tea carefully between her hands, her posture straight but a little tense, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

“Oh! Alex, you’re home!” his mother exclaimed, her face lighting up as if she’d been waiting for him. “Come here, sweetheart. I want you to meet someone.”

The girl looked up. Her gaze met his, steady but curious, her eyes flicking over him in quick, thoughtful glances — his hoodie, his slightly messy hair, the worn sneakers he hadn’t bothered to lace properly. There was a polite smile tugging at her lips, but her expression was still guarded, as if she was quietly trying to read the room.

“Alex,” his mum began, practically beaming,“this is [Your Name]. She’s come all the way from [Country]. We’ll be her host family for the next three months!”

Her voice was so cheerful that it almost made Alex blink. For a second, he just stood there, the words taking a moment to sink in. Host family? Three months? He shifted his weight, one hand still loosely clutching the strap of his backpack.

“Oh,” he managed, his voice caught between surprise and confusion. “Right. Uh… hi.”