At the end of the third-floor hallway of Nusantara High School, the clang of an old bell always signaled one of two things: the start of class, or the appearance of the “Library Ghost”—the ridiculous nickname the students had given Aris.
Aris wasn’t actually a ghost. He was just a Grade 12 Science 2 student who was too quiet, always wore an oversized gray jacket, and spent 80 percent of his life surrounded by the musty scent of the Main Library. To Aris, books never judged him. Books never asked him to be popular, good at socializing, or skilled at basketball like the other kids his age.
However, Aris’s peaceful routine was disturbed that afternoon.
It was Tuesday, the last period of the day. The school was gradually growing quiet. Aris was sitting in his favorite corner—behind the World History, section 900 shelves—when he heard a soft sobbing sound. It wasn’t coming from his imagination, but from behind the Classical Literature shelves directly across from him.
Carefully, Aris shifted a thick book by Pramoedya Ananta Toer so he could peek through the gap between the shelves.
A girl in the same uniform was sitting with her back against the shelving. Her hair was tied in a carelessly arranged ponytail, and dozens of Advanced Mathematics practice sheets covered in red-ink scribbles were scattered across her lap. The girl was Maya, the famously perfect student council president—smart, friendly, and always smiling in front of everyone.
But right now, that perfect Maya was crying silently, wiping her tears with the ink-stained sleeve of her uniform.
Aris froze. He hesitated. His first instinct was to slowly back away and pretend he hadn’t noticed anything. But when he saw the mess of math problems, Aris remembered how frustrated he used to feel studying calculus on his own.
Without making a sound, Aris picked up a blue paper bookmark, wrote something on it with his black pen, and slipped it through the gap in the shelves, right above Maya’s lap.
The blue paper drifted slowly down onto Maya’s worksheets.
Maya startled. She looked up, but all she saw was a row of thick books. Then she picked up the blue paper and read the neat yet firm handwriting:
“Matrices can’t be solved if you keep forcing yourself to find the determinant without straightening out the rows first. Page 42 of the guidebook on the shelf to your right has a more humane approach.”
Maya wiped her eyes, then stood and walked around the shelf. There, she found Aris pretending to be busy reading a history book about the Punic Wars.
“You’re the one who threw this?” Maya asked hoarsely, pointing at the blue paper.
Aris lowered his book slightly and gave Maya a brief look. “I didn’t throw it. I transferred it vertically.”
Maya almost laughed—a nervous little laugh that slipped out between the remnants of her ragged breaths. “You’re Aris, right? The one everyone calls the Library Ghost?”
“My real name is Aris. Without the ‘Ghost,’” Aris replied flatly.
Maya leaned her shoulder against the shelf. “I’m so frustrated. The exam is in two days, and my practice-test score was a disaster. Everyone thinks I can do everything, Ris. But this… I really don’t understand it.”
Aris studied Maya for a moment, then walked over to the math shelves. He took out a worn green-covered book, flipped to page 42, and held it out to Maya.
“People focus too much on shortcut formulas,” Aris said quietly. “But math only needs unhurried logic. Sit down. I can explain it if you want.”
That afternoon, for the first time in three years, the quiet corner of the library no longer felt cold to Aris. And for Maya, the heavy burden on her shoulders slowly lifted, replaced by the calm explanation of a boy who had always been considered invisible.
As the afternoon sun streamed through the glass windows and painted the room gold, the two of them knew that a new friendship had just begun behind those old bookshelves.