The pressure of my final year was crushing me. My university degree was almost in hand, but my IELTS Speaking score was still an embarrassing obstacle. I was determined to improve my skills at all costs. I went on OVFRIENDS and typed a dry, emotionless post with a single goal: “Looking for a serious English practice partner.”
David appeared. His profile was like a breath of fresh air: an American exchange student at RMIT, “Coffee addict. Trying to survive Ho Chi Minh city heat.” It was an interesting contrast to the 40-degree Celsius heat outside and the 400-degree anxiety inside me.
I messaged first, as methodical as my study plan: “Hey, I help you with Vietnamese, you help me with pronunciation?”
“Deal!” David replied instantly, quick, and almost eager.
Our first meeting was at a small café by West Lake. It was a windy afternoon. The rich aroma of phin coffee mingled with the earthy smell of the recent rain, still clinging to the leaves of the milkwood trees.
I arrived early, carrying an entire arsenal: a notebook, three different colored highlighters, and a meticulously prepared list of topics: “Describe a person you admire,” “Talk about your favorite book,” “Solutions to environmental pollution”… Everything screamed that I was serious about studying.
David arrived a few minutes later, wearing a simple white shirt, his hair slightly messy from the wind, and a smile so relaxed it made my tension seem ridiculous. He ordered an iced black coffee, took a sip, and winced in surprise. “The coffee here is seriously strong. Now I get why Vietnamese people are always so awake.”
I laughed.
We started with the coffee, then the conversation veered to an indie band we both happened to like, then to our vague fears about the future. I talked about the invisible pressure of the IELTS exam, about my fear of making grammar mistakes. He talked about his intense homesickness, about the sense of loneliness being the only “Western backpacker” in the student market.
I realized I was speaking English, naturally, without straining, without trying to choose “C1-level” vocabulary.
Occasionally, David would tilt his head. “Am I speaking too fast?”
“No, it’s perfect.” I looked down at my notebook, flustered. “But… I think I forgot to take notes.”
When I finally checked the clock, startled, it was already 10 PM. Three hours had flown by in the blink of an eye. I opened my notebook. The page was pristine, clean, without a single highlighter mark.
David chuckled, his eyes twinkling playfully. “Well, looks like today was just the “warm-up”. We’ll definitely need a few more sessions to really study.”
From that day on, I learned more than just pronunciation. I learned how to listen, and what it felt like to be listened to. Six months later, when we were officially dating, David and I still called it “the longest speaking lesson” of our lives. It was a lesson that introduced a different language, one that didn’t need grammar points, only mutual understanding.