The first night they spent sleeping in the same room was completely silent. He doesn’t speak my language, Ethan figured, and I don’t speak his. Why make a fool out of myself?

But the next morning when they woke up, something pushed Ethan to speak.

“I’m Ethan,” he said.

His new friend looked confused and a little startled that Ethan had spoken. “Shto?”

Ethan tried again, pointing at himself. “I’m Ethan.”

Another confused look—then, a glint of recognition. “Nyeh zvoot imofee.”

It was Ethan’s turn to look confused until his friend pointed at his chest and repeated himself.

“Imofee?”

His friend shook his head. “Timofee.”

“Timothy!”

He got the sense that Timothy still thought he was pronouncing it wrong, but the shrug he gave proved he wasn’t up for arguing further.

“Are you hungry?” Ethan asked.

Timothy gave another puzzled look, and Ethan pantomimed eating. “I’ll get us some food.”