The morning sun over Nusantara High School slowly climbed toward the peak of the sky, turning the cool seven-o’clock air into the sharp warmth of late morning, with ten approaching. Inside Class XI Science 1, the tapping of chalk against the blackboard and the math teacher’s long-winded explanation of third-order matrix formulas droned monotonously in the students’ ears. But Reyhan Arkananta’s thoughts were not entirely in the classroom. Ever since the first-recess bell had rung loudly a few minutes earlier, his gaze had strayed several times toward the classroom’s glass windows, which looked directly out over the basketball court and the main cafeteria hallway.
For Reyhan, first recess was usually filled with a neatly structured routine: checking the cafeteria cleanliness reports, inspecting the Student Council office, or having a brief discussion with Dimas about preparations for the monthly plenary meeting. Today, however, an invisible pull kept splitting his concentration. The incident that morning at the school gate—when Kirana had worn the official badge with a sincere smile and a captivating gaze—continued playing in his head like a recording stuck on repeat, with no pause button.
“Rey! Hey, Prez!”
A light pat on his right shoulder made Reyhan jump. He blinked, then turned to the side. Dimas, his close friend and the Student Council Vice President, was staring at him with a furrowed brow while carrying a stack of proposal folders for the year-end arts festival.
“What’s wrong, Yan? I’ve been calling you forever and you just sit there like a statue. Don’t tell me your calculator brain’s glitching because you’re thinking about matrix formulas. Or... are you thinking about this week’s discipline evaluation targets?” Dimas asked, half teasing, as he pulled over the wooden chair beside Reyhan’s desk and sat facing him.
Reyhan immediately straightened up, stiffening his back and putting his professional mask back in place. He adjusted his glasses with his index finger. “Nothing is wrong, Dimas. I was only thinking about scheduling a surprise inspection for the school’s rear cafeteria, which the teachers on duty often complain about because of its cleanliness.”
Dimas let out a soft snort and chuckled. “Classic excuse. The rear cafeteria’s clean enough. Nothing weird going on there. It’s probably just the tenth graders who like hanging out there during recess.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Oh, right, speaking of the tenth graders, that new kid who caused a scene in the radio room and the Student Council office yesterday... Kirana Paramitha... she looked awfully tame today, huh? I saw her putting the official badge on her collar this morning. What’d you do to her that made her willing to follow the school rules, Yan?”
The question made Reyhan fidget slightly. He hurriedly picked up the pen on his desk and rolled it between his fingers to hide the small burst of nervousness that had suddenly come over him.
“I did nothing,” Reyhan replied in a flat tone that he carefully tried to make sound as natural as possible. “She is simply carrying out her punishment and beginning to understand the importance of obeying this institution’s school code of conduct. That is perfectly normal for any new student.”
“Yeah, and I’m bald,” Dimas scoffed with a bright laugh. “I’ve known you for two years, Yan. Every time you mention that name or talk about her, your voice changes. Just watch out—what if that sacred little black notebook of yours suddenly stops being filled with rule-breakers’ names and starts turning into a book of love poems?”
“Dimas, stop your nonsense and finish that arts festival proposal before recess ends, or I’ll slash its food budget,” Reyhan threatened coldly, though a faint flush briefly passed beneath the skin of his face.
Dimas raised both hands in surrender, grinning widely. “Yeah, yeah, mercy, Your Esteemed Highness. I’m heading to the Student Council office.” With an easygoing stride, Dimas stood and walked out of the classroom.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the school grounds, the rear cafeteria was far more relaxed than the main cafeteria, which was always packed with hundreds of students. The rear cafeteria was surrounded by shady old mango trees and lined with long wooden benches that were often used as gathering spots by students from the art, theater, and journalism extracurriculars.
Kirana Paramitha sat cross-legged on one of the long wooden benches, a brown sketchbook resting in her lap. Beside her lay a colored-pencil case and two cold soda cans she had just bought from a vending machine. Her long hair was loosely pinned up with a wooden pencil, while her gray-and-white school uniform was slightly wrinkled around the sleeves after a day of active movement in the visual arts practice room.
“Kir! Have you really repented and stopped being a rebel now?” Maya asked. She was Kirana’s friend from their school-orientation group and had just arrived carrying a bowl of steaming meatball soup. She sat down across from Kirana. “I was seriously shocked when I saw you put the official badge on your collar this morning. Did a meteor hit you last night or something, that you’re suddenly willing to obey our scary Student Council President?”
Kirana gave a soft snort, then gently closed her sketchbook. She picked up one of the cold soda cans beside her, pulled the tab until it gave a tiny fizzing crack, and took a sip of the carbonated drink before answering.
“Repented from what, May? I’m not a sex criminal,” Kirana replied casually, wiping the last drops of condensation from her lips with the back of her hand. “I just feel like trying a new approach. It’s called cultural diplomacy. If we keep charging headfirst at a stubborn ice block like Reyhan, our own heads will go bald from stress before his does.”
Maya burst out laughing at the phrase “cultural diplomacy” her new friend had thrown out. “You mean stubborn-head diplomacy? But whether you admit it or not, our Student Council President is the complete package, Kir. Handsome, smart, athletic, but unfortunately... he’s as cold as a chunk of polar ice. There hasn’t been a single girl in the past two years who’s managed to break through his ice fortress.”
Kirana fell silent for a moment. Maya’s words slowly circled through her mind. She remembered the previous afternoon in the visual arts room—when she had pulled back the tarp covering her painting, Lost Frequencies of Lines, and the way Reyhan’s pupils had looked at her with complete honesty, revealing the vulnerable side beneath his mask of perfection. A faint smile unintentionally appeared at the corner of Kirana’s lips as she recalled the Student Council President’s startled expression.
“Who says an ice fortress can’t melt under the right sunlight?” Kirana murmured, almost too softly for Maya to hear as she busily blew on her still-steaming meatball soup.
“Huh? What’d you say, Kir?” Maya asked curiously.
“Oh, nothing. Keep eating before your soup gets cold,” Kirana quickly deflected with a small chuckle, then reached for her second soda can.
Unnoticed by either Kirana or Maya, Reyhan Arkananta stood frozen behind a pillar wall some distance away in the rear cafeteria hallway. He held a document folder in his right hand, his steps stopping the instant he heard their brief conversation. The thin frames of Reyhan’s glasses reflected the slanting afternoon sunlight, while his heartbeat suddenly raced at twice its normal rhythm.
Reyhan had not heard Maya’s entire sentence, but Kirana’s final words—about melting an ice fortress—echoed clearly in his ears like a reverberation striking straight at his conscience.
Reyhan drew a deep breath, trying to calm the strange turmoil suddenly rumbling in his chest. He had not intended to eavesdrop, but his feet seemed rooted to the concrete floor of the hallway, unwilling either to walk away or move closer. For the umpteenth time that week, Kirana Paramitha had managed to throw off the entire rational schedule and inner calm he had always prided himself on as the Student Council President of Nusantara High School.
And as Reyhan turned around to walk away from the rear cafeteria, he knew for certain that there was no going back to the past—a life that had been nothing more than a boring straight line without color, without sound, and without the flutter of emotion that was now beginning to fill every corner of his days.