My Deskmate is an Alien

**Chapter 1: The New Seatmate** Minh never expected his life to change on a Monday morning, especially not *this* Monday—the kind where your bánh mì gets stuck in your backpack zipper, and your socks don't match, but you just shrug and blame gravity. The sky was unusually clear, the kind of blue that felt too perfect for real life. A gentle breeze wandered through the schoolyard, teasing the edges of the uniform flags. Birds chirped cheerfully, completely unaware that Minh was dragging his feet toward homeroom, chewing on what remained of his half-crushed sandwich. Minh liked arriving early. It gave him time to claim his favorite spot—the window seat in the third row—before someone with too much energy and too little spatial awareness took it. It wasn’t just a seat. It was his *zone*. A sanctuary of doodles, sci-fi daydreams, and the occasional nap when the teachers got too philosophical. As he slid into his chair and dropped his bag, he glanced outside. The schoolyard buzzed with familiar sights: Hải trying to juggle two soccer balls (badly), Linh yelling at a vending machine, a group of girls filming a t****k dance near the fountain. All normal. And that was about to change. The classroom door opened with a creak that sounded suspiciously dramatic. Minh didn’t even look up until he heard the collective gasp of his classmates. Then he saw her. A girl stood beside Mr. Lộc—the homeroom teacher who usually looked like he needed more sleep and less paperwork. But today, he looked... smug. Like he knew he was about to drop a bombshell on a group of sleepy teenagers. “This is Lyra,” he announced. “She just transferred here from overseas. She’ll be sitting… next to Minh.” Minh blinked. Then he choked. Not a little polite cough. A full-on *coughing, sputtering, why-does-bread-exist* moment. “Are you okay?” Mr. Lộc asked, not sounding very concerned. “Just... processing,” Minh wheezed. Lyra stepped forward, and the world collectively forgot how to blink. Her hair was silver. Not dyed-blonde, not platinum. *Silver*, like polished moonlight. Her eyes were violet—an actual shade of purple—and they had this strange shimmer, like she had tiny galaxies spinning in her pupils. The class went into whisper mode immediately. “Is she an actress?” “Her hair is CGI, right?” “She looks like a K-pop alien.” “She looks like *my* future wife,” someone said dreamily from the back. Lyra didn’t flinch. She walked down the aisle of desks like she was floating. Calm. Silent. Unbothered by the chaos around her. She reached the empty desk beside Minh and sat down, folding her hands with robotic precision. Then, in perfect Vietnamese, she said, “Nice to meet you.” Her voice had a strange lilt to it. Like someone who had learned Vietnamese from a music box. Smooth. Measured. Slightly too perfect. Minh cleared his throat, trying to reset his brain. “Uh… I’m Minh.” She glanced at him, her face unreadable. “I know.” He stared. “Wait, how do you—?” Lyra tilted her head slightly. “I read the class roster.” “Oh.” Minh forced a laugh. “Right. Of course. Totally normal thing to do.” She didn’t laugh. Not even a smile. Minh looked down at his sketchbook. His last doodle was a tiny alien doing homework in a space helmet. He quickly flipped the page. The first period began, but Minh barely heard a word. He kept glancing sideways at Lyra, expecting her to do something… weird. But she just sat there, taking notes like a machine. Her handwriting was perfect. Too perfect. Every letter evenly spaced, as if printed by a laser printer with feelings. Then came the science lesson. Mr. Lộc asked, “Can anyone explain the principle behind chemical bonding?” Minh looked at his desk. Everyone else looked at their desks too. Except Lyra. She raised her hand. Minh braced himself. “Yes, Lyra?” “Covalent bonding occurs when atoms share electrons to achieve stable electron configurations. This typically involves the interaction of non-metal elements.” There was a pause. Mr. Lộc blinked. “Correct. Very… precise.” Linh leaned toward Minh. “She said that like she *invented* it.” At lunch, the mystery deepened. Minh sat with Linh and Hải under their usual tree, unwrapping rice balls and trading jokes. Lyra appeared out of nowhere—no footsteps, no shadow, no sound. Just… appeared. “Nice to meet you,” she said again, as if it were the only phrase she trusted. Hải tried to be smooth. “Do you want some rice? It’s from the canteen, not poisonous. Probably.” She stared at the rice. “I do not require external fuel at this time.” “What?” “I mean—I’m not hungry.” She sat down and opened her lunchbox. Inside were food items Minh couldn’t even identify. Perfect cubes of green jelly. A sandwich with layers too symmetrical to be natural. One rice ball was *glowing*. Slightly. Minh nudged Linh. “Is it just me or is her lunch... humming?” Linh squinted. “Nope. That jelly’s alive.” Later that day, after school ended, Minh lingered behind. He found himself walking beside Lyra on the path home, even though they hadn’t *planned* to walk together. It just… happened. The sun was beginning to dip, casting gold shadows across the sidewalk. Minh hesitated, then asked, “So... where are you really from?” She glanced at him, calm as ever. “From a place far from here.” “Like… overseas-far? Or *space-far*?” She didn’t answer. He laughed nervously. “You’re not actually an alien, right?” Lyra stopped walking. Minh stopped too. She turned to him slowly, her violet eyes glowing faintly in the setting sun. “That’s an interesting question, Minh,” she said. He opened his mouth to make another joke—something about UFOs and passport stamps—but then he saw her expression. Serious. Focused. Like she was measuring his *soul*. He laughed again, weaker this time. “Haha... yeah. Just joking... totally joking…” But Lyra didn’t laugh. She didn’t even blink. A breeze picked up, swirling leaves around their feet. And for a split second, Minh saw something—just a flicker. A thin, silver glow running along her wrist. Like circuitry. Like something not… organic. Then it was gone. Lyra smiled faintly, for the first time. But it wasn’t comforting. It was... cryptic. “See you tomorrow, Minh.” She turned and walked away. Minh stood there for a long moment, watching her go. He looked up at the sky. Still blue. Still full of clouds. But somehow, it didn’t feel like Earth anymore.