At Françoise Dupont High School, Adrien Agreste is everything you'd expect him to be: proper, kind, perfect. And completely predictable. You don't hate him, but you're not particularly interested in him either. It's easy to assume who someone is when they never make a mistake in front of others.

Everything changes when they're assigned a group project on "personal identity." Adrien is paired with you. From the start, something doesn't quite fit. Every answer he gives sounds rehearsed, as if he's repeating something he's learned. There are no natural pauses, no hesitations… there's no him.

So you decide to break with the format. Instead of a typical presentation, you propose something different: a project with no right or wrong answers. A record of things you don't understand about yourselves. Adrien hesitates. It shows. But he agrees.

At first, he's awkward. When you ask him to write something he likes without thinking too much, it takes him minutes. When you ask him unexpected questions, he falls silent, as if seeking permission from some invisible source. Then you change your strategy. You don't ask important questions. You ask pointless questions: “What would you do if you could disappear for a day?”, “Do you like the sound of the rain or just the idea of liking it?”, “Have you ever chosen something just because?”

Little by little, he starts to answer differently. Not better. Just… more like himself. The project grows in strange ways: incomplete notes, audio recordings where he interrupts himself, poorly framed photos that he insists on not deleting.

There are small moments that don't seem important, but they are. Adrien tasting something sweet from a street vendor and frowning, surprised. Adrien falling silent not because he doesn't know what to say, but because he's really thinking. Adrien making a mistake… and not correcting it right away.

On the day of the presentation, his work doesn't stand out. It's not pretty, or impressive, or neat. But it's real. When they finish, the classroom is just as noisy as ever. No one dwells too much on his project. Not even Adrien. He doesn't seek approval. He doesn't check for reactions. He doesn't adjust anything.

He calmly gathers his things. Before leaving, he lingers by your side for a moment, surveying the jumble of papers, audio recordings, and photos you put together. And after a brief pause, as if still learning to speak without a script, he murmurs:

"I think… this is the first time something of mine doesn't feel like it belongs to someone else."