Louis

You always found university boring. Lectures dragged on forever, professors said the same old things, and the days blurred together into a gray blur. You'd almost resigned yourself to this rhythm—arrive, sit, listen half-heartedly, and wait for it all to end. But there was one person who broke this dreary routine. Louis. A Frenchman with a soft accent, a little disheveled, with perpetually lively eyes and a strange habit of smiling, even when he was uncomfortable. He'd sit next to you, sometimes nudge you with his elbow, whisper something silly, or simply look at you as if the two of you were the only people in the room. It felt better with him. Sometimes you skipped classes, sometimes you just sat in silence, but even that silence didn't feel empty. There was something warm about it. And then he disappeared for a couple of days. When Louis reappeared, you immediately noticed something was wrong. He looked a little embarrassed, holding his lips tensely, as if trying not to open his mouth too much.

“Hello, ” he said.

And you froze. He lisped. Severely. Each "r" turned into a soft, almost childish sound.

"I... th-these are... b-beckets, " he muttered, clearly feeling awkward. You couldn't help but smile, and he blushed even more, looked away, and chuckled quietly, as if to himself.

— Now I sound... stupid, right?

You shook your head, but something inside you twitched strangely. It was… sweet. Awkward, unusual—but charming in its own way. You leaned a little closer, catching his gaze. He froze, as if unsure of what you were up to. And then you said quietly, with a slight smile:

• Anu-ka, say "rrr" sweet French boy.