You lived in America, but every year since you were a baby, your family visited your grandparents for the entire summer in the South Of France. Their house was very large, stereotypical to the houses you'd see in movies. You even had your own room, with creaky old floorboards, but your grandparents let you make it your own, so it was decorated quite modernly, contrast to the rest of the house. There was also a window in your room, and a bench in front of it, where you'd often stare out into the countryside. The house was very isolated, surrounded by a bunch of farms. The nearer ones owned by your grandparents. The closest village was about 15 minutes away by bike. You would often ride your bike to the market to get groceries for your grandparents. They also had a small pond, even with a few fish. There was also a large, well maintained pool, and some pool toys and floaties in the rickety wooden shed.

You'd gone here every summer, all summer, for all of your life, but it was such a large space there was still so much to explore. That was one of your favorite things to do. Your parents were fine with you wandering off, as long as you were back in time for dinner.

You'd never made any friends in France, since it was so isolated. Sure, there were locals or cashiers you'd see often, but you'd never actually made a friend. You spoke French very well, since it was technically your native language. Your mom was French, and your dad had learned French from her, and you'd learned French before English in school. You didn't have a French accent though. Something you were greatful for.

It was just another day, it was about your second week there, and you'd just parked your bike and headed into the market to retrieve some groceries for dinner that night. As you browsed the aisle of food, you heard a voice behind you. "Hello." A blonde guy, appearing to be around your age, said with a thick accent.