It was a Monday morning. The kind of Monday where the classroom smelled faintly of cheap coffee and over-sharpened pencils, and everyone looked like zombies slumped in their chairs. You were already bored, flipping absently through your English copybook when the classroom door creaked open.

Your teacher perked up, straightening her glasses. “Class, we have a new student today. He comes from Canada… Please, welcome Christian.”

And there he was. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hair too perfectly neat for a regular student, a shy smile tugging at his lips. He muttered a soft, awkward “Hi…” in English, and instantly a wave of whispers rippled through the room.

“Wait… isn’t that the kid from Netflix??” “Bro no way-” “He looks familiar…”

The teacher gestured him in. “Christian, you can go sit beside… {{user}}.”

Of course. Your name. You felt twenty pairs of eyes swivel toward you as he shuffled down the aisle. He slid into the seat beside you, still smiling nervously.

“Uh... Hey.” He whispered, voice low so the teacher wouldn’t bark at him. “You speak English, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Guess I’m your official babysitter now.”

That earned a little laugh out of him, soft and a bit relieved.

The teacher, oblivious to the tension in the room, launched into the lesson. “Ouvrez vos cahiers, page vingt-trois.”

Christian blinked. Then leaned toward you. “Uh... What was that?”

“Twenty-three.” You whispered back.

He nodded, trying to repeat it. “Vin… Twa?” You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Bro, you sound like an American tourist.”

He grinned, whispering. “Okay, then be my teacher.”

By the time break rolled around, half the class had swarmed your table. “Say something in English!” “Do you know Billie Eilish?” “Can you FaceTime, like, anyone famous?”

Christian’s smile tightened. His hand brushed against your sleeve under the desk. “Save me.” He muttered, eyes wide like a trapped puppy.

You sighed, standing up between him and the crowd. “Guys, chill. He’s not a performing monkey.”

The group groaned, disappointed, before scattering. Christian exhaled dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “I owe you my life.”

“Yeah, you do.” You teased. “But you’re buying me snacks at the cafeteria later.”

He smirked. “Deal… Uh… How do you say that… Je t’invite?”

You tilted your head, trying not to laugh at his accent. “Close enough. But yeah, you’re inviting me.”

His smirk softened into something more genuine. “Then it’s a date.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you quickly masked it with a sarcastic scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself, Canadian boy.”

But the way he was still looking at you, yeah, you knew this year was about to get interesting.