Mornings in Bogor always had their own way of greeting the people who lived there. The sky above Jalan Pajajaran seemed reluctant to pull back its blue curtains, letting a thin mist and gentle drizzle descend over the city starting at six in the morning. The bone-chilling air made most people choose to stay curled up beneath their blankets a little longer. But for Jingga Maheswari, cold weather was no excuse to disrupt her ultra-disciplined schedule.
Jingga stepped down from angkot minibus number 02 with graceful yet brisk movements. In her right hand, she held a medium-sized folding umbrella in a bright pink shade. The color was far too flashy for her simple tastes, but it was the first umbrella she'd found near her front door that morning. As far as Jingga was concerned, the important thing was keeping her white-and-gray school uniform dry and arriving in class before the bell rang at exactly seven.
"Today will definitely be safe. That delinquent won't be here," Jingga muttered to herself, trying to inject a little optimism into her thoughts.
She hurried along the wet sidewalk toward the gates of Pajajaran High School. But the moment she'd thought that, her eyes collided with the noisy scene unfolding right in front of the school fence. Jingga's heart suddenly sank. Parked there were three big bikes with high-displacement engines she knew all too well.
Bara and Genta, Niskala's two loyal friends—famous as both the comedians and heavy hitters of the Guntur Pajajaran crew—were lounging on the seats of their motorcycles. The two of them were happily chewing on hot fried snacks bought from the stall beside the school, completely unconcerned about the drizzle soaking their denim jackets. And right between them, leaning against the concrete post at the school gate, stood the main culprit responsible for Jingga's restless night.
Niskala Adhiyaksa Bumi.
The eighteen-year-old guy was dressed in his signature reckless style. His white shirt was deliberately left untucked over his gray pants, his tie loosened down to his chest, and a worn denim jacket bearing a yellow lightning-bolt emblem was casually draped over his right shoulder. The slightly long bangs over his forehead were damp from the rain, giving him a disheveled look that, strangely enough, only made him seem even more handsome. The moment Niskala's eagle eyes caught sight of Jingga's pink umbrella as she approached, his cocky grin bloomed to perfection.
"Well, look who it is! Speak of the devil, Boss! Our rain shaman has arrived!" Genta shouted in his deliberately shrill voice, loud enough to make several students heading inside turn around curiously.
"Whoa, her umbrella's pink. It totally matches Kala's face, which is turning pink too," Bara chimed in, followed by their booming laughter.
Jingga felt her cheeks beginning to heat with embarrassment. She turned her face away, clenched her jaw, and decided to quicken her pace. She intended to pass the motorcycle gang as if they were nothing more than an invisible breeze.
But Niskala wasn't the kind of guy who could easily be ignored. The moment Jingga's footsteps brought her right beside him, Niskala moved forward with lightning speed. Without asking permission, he slipped his tall, solid frame beneath Jingga's pink umbrella.
"Niskala! What do you think you're doing? Get out!" Jingga snapped automatically, coming to a stop. She tried shifting the umbrella handle to the right so Niskala would get rained on.
Instead of moving away, Niskala extended his large, warm right hand. He wrapped it around Jingga's small fingers, which were gripping the umbrella handle tightly. The sudden touch sent a strange, miniature electric shock through her entire body, freezing the girl in place.
"It's cold, Jingga. Don't be so selfish. Besides, your pink umbrella's too small for just one person," Niskala said in a low voice that sounded teasing yet impossibly gentle.
"Then you shouldn't have barged in here! Go find another umbrella or use that jacket of yours!" Jingga shot back, her voice trembling as she fought both her irritation and the strange pounding in her chest. She tried to pull her hand away, but Niskala's grip was firm without hurting her.
Niskala slowly shook his head, sending a few drops of water from his hair onto Jingga's cheek.
"I don't need another umbrella, Jingga. Because beneath this pink umbrella, I'm not just taking shelter from Bogor's drizzle."
Niskala paused. He lowered his body slightly, bringing his face close enough for Jingga to clearly catch the scent of the masculine vanilla perfume rising from him. Their eyes met at an incredibly close distance.
"Then what are you taking shelter from?" Jingga asked without thinking, as if hypnotized by Niskala's sharp gaze.
"I'm also taking shelter from the harshness of the world. It feels so safe and warm being close to you," Niskala continued, ending with an especially cocky wink.
"Ooh, keep going, Kal! Don't let up until the wedding bells ring!" Genta yelled from a distance, clapping wildly with Bara.
Several female students passing through the corridor in front of the school began whispering, staring at the scene by the gate with equal parts envy and disbelief.
Jingga's ego's defensive walls felt ready to collapse on the spot. Her cheeks had turned as red as ripe tomatoes. She took a deep breath, gathering the last scraps of her courage and sanity as a model student.
"Niskala Adhiyaksa Bumi, do you know your name is already number one on the blacklist in the infraction-point log in the Student Council office? Please, don't cause any more trouble by disrupting my peaceful life!" Jingga snapped, trying to break free of the guy's spell.
Niskala only smiled wider, not feeling threatened by Jingga's words in the slightest. "Let my name stay black in the Student Council's big book, Jingga. I don't care. What's most important to me right now is... my name has already started leaving its mark and adding color to your heart. Right?"
"No! Absolutely not! You're a nightmare!"
Already annoyed beyond endurance and unable to contain her mounting embarrassment, Jingga let go of the umbrella handle. She left the pink umbrella entirely in Niskala's hands. Ignoring the drizzle that immediately soaked her ponytail, Jingga sprinted across the remaining distance to the school corridor, leaving the gate area behind with her heart beating twice as fast as usual.
Niskala stood frozen beneath the drizzle, holding a small pink folding umbrella that looked hilariously mismatched with his tall, broad frame and delinquent denim jacket. He watched Jingga's back retreat and disappear around the bend in the classroom corridor, a small, unreadable smile curving across his face.
"Kal, why'd she leave the umbrella behind? Does that mean our strategy failed?" Bara asked as he approached with the rest of his fried snacks.
Niskala twirled the pink umbrella's handle with immense delight, as if he'd just won a priceless racing trophy.
"You're wrong, Bar. This doesn't mean we failed. This umbrella is solid proof that she'll have to meet me again to get it back."
But Niskala's happiness didn't last long. From the school's inner parking area, a metallic-black luxury sedan came to a stop. The driver's door opened, revealing Reno, the Student Council president, whose appearance was always impeccably neat, scented with expensive perfume, and free of even the slightest blemish on his school record.
Reno strode through the gate with an air of elitism. When he drew level with Niskala, he deliberately stopped and bumped the motorcycle gang leader's broad shoulder hard.
Reno looked at Niskala with an icy stare and undisguised hostility.
"Don't ever dream too big, Niskala. A street delinquent like you, whose only hobby is causing trouble, will never belong beside a model student like Jingga. Know your place before I make you learn it," Reno whispered threateningly before walking off toward the Student Council office.
Niskala stopped twirling the pink umbrella in his hand. The cocky smile that had decorated his face until then vanished in an instant. His eyes turned cold as ice as he stared sharply at Reno's slowly retreating back. Inside his denim jacket pocket, Niskala's hand clenched so tightly that the veins stood out. The storm in this city of rain seemed poised to come not only from the sky, but also from the people who were beginning to feel threatened by his presence near Jingga.