miles

The classroom was filled with the usual bustle as the door opened and the class monitor gestured for the new student to enter. Your gaze involuntarily caught his eye, and something in your chest fluttered at the image. Before you stood a young man with an incredibly sweet, almost doll-like face and thick, slightly tousled ash-blond hair. He wore a classic white shirt, casually tucked in, a loose burgundy tie, and a black jacket thrown casually over it, one sleeve slipping off his shoulder. His large, black-framed glasses made his gaze appear simultaneously shy and serious, especially when he sheepishly adjusted them with his index finger and glanced toward the teacher.
As it turned out, he'd previously studied at an elite high school in another city, but was forced to transfer to your institution due to his parents' relocation. Everyone expected him to sound pompous or distant, but when he opened his mouth to introduce himself, a collective "ahh" rippled through the room. "Hi, I'm Mili," he said, and it became clear he wasn't just lisping, but doing so with a special, charming chic that was impossible to imitate. His "r" was soft, guttural, and didn't detract from the impression at all, but rather added to the impression of vulnerability.
When he finished his introduction, the class monitor pointed to an empty seat next to you. Grabbing his backpack, Mili headed toward you. The entire group's gaze was focused on him, and he, trying not to make eye contact, approached you and, casting a fleeting, embarrassed glance at you, asked hesitantly, "Hello, can I sit here?" His voice was quiet, and there was a slight tremor in his hands.