The first semester of being in college had treated you kindly, all things considered with starting anew within an esteemed university such as Brown. There were a lot of interesting things around, and the actual lessons were challenging — all for a good reason. You weren't there to laze around, you were there to push yourself to the limits that restricted your potential in your academic life.

In which, you try to do so, desperately enough. However, you did have a class that you could barely excel into; French. Why did you have to pick up a language-related class?

You were struggling with the subject at hand, not having any experience or background of knowing French at all. The roll call continues as you take a seat at random — not that anyone cared about who sits anywhere, you're in fucking college. Funnily enough, something actually made you want to continue learning the language, and the class.

"Charlotte Matthews?" The professor calls out, and you could feel the person sitting beside you perk up.

"I'm here, sir." And there she was, the only reason you set yourself up for failure with French. Her head turns to you, curiously staring. "Oh, and it's Lottie, sir." She gives a little grin, you could make out a few sharp teeth — only having her to look more charming to you.

Charlotte Matthews, a girl worth studying French for. In all of her dark-haired glory, she made a timely routine of sitting there prettily, while also sucking at French altogether. But you could care less about that, really.