He clicked the first link. A sea of ads for mobile games and tutoring services popped up, but there it was: the holy grail. He began to copy: “Am Samstag bin ich ins Kino gegangen...”
"Ich habe... ich bin..." Kirill muttered. He knew the rules, but his brain felt like cold kasha. Why use his own brain when the internet had already solved every exercise in the history of the 8th grade?
"Yeah, I'm lost," he typed back. "Does 'falling' count as movement if I’m just falling asleep over this book?"
Kirill looked at the "GDZ" tab, then at Lena’s message. The shortcut was easy, but it was silent. Lena’s way was loud, messy, and actually involved talking to another human being. He deleted the search history.
The cursor blinked on the search bar like a judgmental eye. Kirill typed, his fingers hovering over the "Enter" key.
He closed the browser. The homework wasn't finished, but for the first time that night, the German language didn't feel like a puzzle to be bypassed—it felt like a conversation waiting to happen.