Friends tumble into view: laughter braided with the clink of tea glasses, college corridors that smell of chalk and jasmine, pranks staged with the reckless generosity of youth. Their voices are music—rapid, guttural, soft—and the captions catch the meaning, not always the cadence. Sometimes a joke arrives early; sometimes the laugh lingers a beat longer than the line, and I learn to trust that gap. It’s there that the film breathes between two tongues.