The New Student

On Monday morning the English class was already almost full when a new student appeared in the doorway. She was tall, with long black hair, and she hugged her notebook to her chest, hesitating as though unsure whether she was in the right room. The teacher, noticing her unease, smiled warmly. “Welcome,” she said. “Would you mind telling us your name?”

“Hana,” the newcomer replied, so quietly that the students at the back had to lean forward. “And where do you come from?” asked the teacher. “From Japan originally, although I’ve been living in Leeds for the past few months.” A few heads turned in her direction, and Hana felt her cheeks grow warm.

The boy at the next desk leaned across and murmured, “Sorry to ask, but how old are you?” “Twenty-five,” said Hana and then, rather boldly, “and you?” “Twenty-two. I’m Tom.” Their eyes met, and they both burst out laughing, which broke the stiffness that had settled over the room.

“Perhaps you could tell us what made you decide to study English,” the teacher suggested. “I’d like to work in a hotel one day,” Hana explained, “and I can hardly do that without being able to talk to the guests.” Tom, clearly enjoying himself, put in a question of his own: “Who’s your favourite singer?” Hana considered it for a long moment. “That,” she admitted, “is far harder than anything the teacher has asked me.”

When the break came, they took their coffees from the machine in the corridor. “When does the next lesson start?” Hana wanted to know. “Ten past eleven,” said Tom. “What time is it now?” “Five to eleven.” She had arrived that morning not knowing a soul, but as the conversation drifted on she realised that, somewhere between the first question and the last, she had acquired a friend.