20.01.2025

I quickly woke up as the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room like a painter’s brush on a canvas. The warmth of the sun coaxed me from my dreams, wrapping me in a comforting embrace. Glancing at the clock, I realised I had overslept, a reminder that time waits for no one. With a quick stretch and a yawn that felt like a cat’s, I swung my legs out of bed, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet—a stark contrast to the cosy warmth of my blankets.

Hurrying to slip on my trainers, I grabbed Marley’s lead from the hook by the door, eager to seize the day. As soon as I stepped outside, I was greeted by a delightful warmth in the air, a promise of spring whispering sweet nothings to my senses. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds that floated like cotton candy. Marley, my spirited golden retriever, tugged at her lead, her excitement palpable as she yearned to explore. She bounded ahead, nose to the ground, investigating every intriguing scent as if the world were her treasure map. I chuckled as she paused, her tail wagging furiously like a metronome of joy. After a few moments, she found the perfect spot and did her business, a satisfied look on her face, as if she had just conquered a great mountain.

Returning home, I felt invigorated by the fresh air, my spirit lifted like a kite on a breezy day. The kitchen was bright and inviting, the smell of the chicken I had prepared the night before lingering in the air like a warm hug. I quickly set to work, plating up a modest breakfast that felt like a feast. The succulent pieces of chicken paired perfectly with a steaming cup of tea, each bite a reminder that sometimes the simplest pleasures are the most profound. I savoured every morsel, relishing the warmth that filled my belly and the comfort that enveloped my heart.

With breakfast finished, I settled into my favourite chair by the window, the sunlight warming my skin like a gentle caress. I took a moment to simply breathe, listening to the birds chirping outside, their melodies weaving a symphony of life beginning anew. The world felt alive with possibilities, the promise of spring evident in the vibrant colours of the day and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

After a brief respite, I glanced at the clock and realised it was to get moving. I grabbed my bag, gave Marley a quick pat, and stepped outside once more, ready to embrace the day. The air was fresh and invigorating, a sweet reminder that life is full of opportunities waiting to be explored. I couldn’t help but smile; it truly felt like spring. With a spring in my step and the world at my feet, I headed off to school, ready to embrace whatever the day had in store, knowing that each moment was a new adventure waiting to unfold.

After school I returned home. There I had my lunch and then I played Roblox, exploring new made games and jumping on obbeys. While I was playing Roblox I talked to my friend Carlo who's now living in Ireland. Then I had an Italian class that turned into biology. My teacher and I studied different types of flowers and trees.

The school bell rang just as the first proper winter chill settled in. I zipped up my coat against the nippy air—the kind that makes your nose tingle but doesn’t quite freeze your eyelashes. My gloved hands buried deep in my pockets, I took the familiar route home, enjoying the crunch of frost underfoot and the way my breath swirled in little puffs before me.

The warmth of home hit me like a hug when I stepped inside. Someone—probably Mum—had left a thermos of creamy tomato soup on the counter, still steaming when I unscrewed the lid. I paired it with thick slices of buttered toast, the perfect fuel against the winter afternoon.

Snuggled under my favorite fleece blanket on the sofa, I fired up Roblox. Outside, the bare tree branches tapped rhythmically against the window, but I was soon engrossed in winter-themed obbys. My avatar slipped and slid across icy platforms, occasionally face-planting into virtual snowbanks to my silent amusement.

A familiar chime announced Carlo logging on. We connected via voice chat, and his voice crackled through my headphones. "Ugh, my flatmates are at it again,"he groaned. "The Spanish guy blasts reggaeton at 2 AM, and the Slovenian one keeps inviting people over. I swear, they think ‘quiet hours’ are just a suggestion."

I laughed. "Do you ever actually talk to them?"

"Only to ask them to turn the music down," he sighed. "Thankfully, my English course mates are way better. There’s this Italian guy, Marco—we get along really well. And two other lads, Raf and Tom, who are actually fun to study with. We go to this café after class sometimes. Way better than being stuck in that noisy flat."

"At least you’re making friends," I said as my avatar missed another jump and plummeted into pixelated snow. "And your English must be getting crazy good."

"Yeah, but I still mess up sometimes," he admitted. "Yesterday, I told the teacher my flat was ‘full of noisy ghosts’ instead of ‘noisy hosts.’ She nearly cried laughing."

We spent the next half-hour gaming while Carlo vented about his chaotic living situation and praised his classmates. "Marco’s teaching me Italian swear words," he confessed. "Very educational."

"Unfortunately, I'm not a fan of swear words in any language, but to tell you the truth, Carlo, while I was living in Russia, I didn't use a single Russian swear word—not with my peers nor with my teachers. And when I arrived in Germany, I started to swear a lot—not in German, but in Russian. Even my Russian teacher called me out on it one day, ahaha! But you know, when I had just started learning Russian? Never ever. My Italian teacher uses swear words when we talk about emotionally sensitive topics—but I don’t repeat after him, and I do my best not to use them while speaking with Italians. Haha!

Then came my Italian lesson, which took an unexpected turn toward biology. Francesco, my ever-enthusiastic teacher, had been explaining the etymology of "fiore" (flower) when he suddenly paused. "Wait!" he exclaimed, his voice crackling through the speakers. "You study plants in science, yes?" Before I could answer, he'd switched gears entirely.

He began sharing images from an old botanical text - delicate illustrations of Tuscan wildflowers alongside their scientific names. "Look how Italian flowers carry Latin in their veins," he said, tracing the connection between "margherita" (daisy) and its taxonomic name, Bellis perennis. The lesson became a lively comparison of Mediterranean and British flora - the olive trees that dotted his family's Puglian countryside versus the ancient oaks in my local park.

Francesco grew particularly animated discussing almond blossoms. "In Sicily, they're the first sign of spring - pure white petals against winter-bare branches. We call them 'fiori di speranza' - flowers of hope." He contrasted this with the holly berries brightening my winter garden outside. "Your plants wear their Christmas colors year-round!"

The hour flew by as we explored how language and biology intertwined - from the poetic "girasole" (sunflower, literally "turns with the sun") to the practical "albero di melo" (apple tree). By lesson's end, we'd covered more ground in ecology than grammar, yet somehow I'd learned more Italian vocabulary than in our previous three sessions combined.