It was drizzling that day—just like this afternoon. It was the second time I met Arga, at the Student Hall.
"We're the only ones here?""Yeah. Some are still in their labs, and maybe others are stuck because of the rain."
I set down my backpack, the heavy one I always carried every Friday.
"Didn't you come with Ama?""She's got a lab too. She'll catch up after Maghrib." I shook off the droplets on my jacket sleeve. "She didn't even remember my name yesterday. All she remembers is Ama," I teased.
Beauty is absolute, and Ama deserves the title. She's a campus sweetheart at our faculty. So far, only Tio seemed immune to her looks. Maybe he never realized it, but I owed him a lot. For more than a year, I'd lived in Ama's shadow—guys approached me just to get close to her. Lab seniors were kind only to get her number.
But Tio? He treated me genuinely. Even after getting to know Ama, he still prioritized me. He kept me from feeling like a loser, a shadow, a nobody.
"How about your bike lock? Did you get a new one?" Arga ignored my teasing or maybe just wanted to change the subject.
"I gave up on locking it. I keep losing the keys.""What if the whole bike gets stolen?""If it's meant to be mine, God willing, it won't go anywhere," I answered lightly.
"Yeah, life's just that simple. I'm heading to the food court.""I'll come!" I replied without thinking. No way was I staying alone with a bunch of strangers. I only knew a few upperclassmen and smiled at them whenever our eyes met. Everything still felt foreign—the place and the people.
Strangely, Arga already felt familiar on our second meeting. But I do believe there are some people you just naturally click with—no need for time or explanation.
"Is it safe to leave my bag? I've got my laptop in there." I scanned the room. For me, trusting fate depends on what's at stake. I'll put in as much effort as the item is worth.
"Mas Den, can we leave our bags here?" Arga motioned to both our backpacks leaning against the secretariat wall.
"Sure," replied Mas Deni, before going back to strumming his guitar.
Arga and I walked out of the room together.
"How do you know Mas Deni?" He was one of the most visible student leaders on campus—kind of like an internal affairs minister. He often gave speeches when the student body president was absent.
"He was my senior in high school.""Oh."
We reached the canteen. Between the canteen and the food court was a five-meter stretch without a roof. I paused, bracing myself to walk through the drizzle. I mapped out my steps, careful not to fall into the pothole near the cherry tree.
"Let's go."
His offer made me freeze. He pulled up the hood of my jacket—the one I had taken off earlier. A hooded jacket is perfect for the rainy season. A charming, thoughtful guy putting it on for you? A disaster for unstable feelings.
Arga jogged ahead, then turned around when he noticed I hadn't moved.
"Come on, Nis."
His face lit up beneath the gloomy sky.
"Nis," he called again, the third time—his eyes warm against the cold drizzle.
That look—I'll never forget it.The look that had once left me dazed even after two years of resentment.The look I've tried to avoid ever since.If only my eyes could cooperate and pretend they didn't notice.That look—The one that made me fall for him without any defense.
Friday, 4:30 PM.I hate Friday.
"Your backpack, Miss." The security staff at the entrance to FX held up a metal detector, snapping me out of my memory.
I stopped, took off my backpack, and handed it over.
I'm so tired of love songsSo tired of love songs... so tired of loveJust wanna go homeWanna go home
Lauv and Troye Sivan's I'm So Tired played overhead.Yes. I'm so tired.And I do want to go home.
I've exhausted myself loving him. I can see clearly now what kind of person he is. I can't possibly love him again, right?
I'm meeting him for closure. Just to reconnect, exchange stories—nothing more.I know him well. And I need to let him go well.
I joined the line for the elevator and pressed 5 once I got in.
"Window seat," Arga texted, as if reading my mind just before I asked. He even sent a photo of where he was sitting.
I walked confidently toward the seat, believing my heart would be just fine. Hopefully, there wouldn't need to be another meeting after this.
"Nis!" Arga waved at me. I walked toward the table he had already claimed. The food court wasn't too crowded—maybe because it was Tuesday and still just 4:30 in the afternoon. The takoyaki stall was the busiest.
People say the takoyaki at FX is really good—soft and with big chunks of octopus. Maybe someday I'll reward myself by trying it here.
Before sitting down, I whispered to myself:"Nis, you're only here to make sure you've truly moved on from Arga."
His smile was still the same.But I wasn't.