"Group One, led by Senior Dinda... and the following members..."
Each name was a hammer blow against the fragile walls of my composure. I knew, with the certainty of a man who had lived through this before, that I would not be in this group.
Yet, the small, irrational part of my mind, the part that still feared this was all a vivid hallucination, was screaming. What if my memory was wrong? What if the past was a twisted, funhouse mirror of what I remembered?
As the last name for Group One was called, and it wasn't mine, a profound wave of relief washed over me. I wasn't in the first group, but should be in the next one. My memory was still holding, for now. The game was still on.
A new, more intense dread settled in as the senior announced the next group.
"Group Two, led by Senior Yanto... and the following members..."
My breath grew shallow. This was the final safe harbor. The final chance for my memory to be completely intact. If I wasn't in this group, then my certainty would turn to pure terror.
The roll call became a torturous discipline, a silent battle against the desperate urge to simply run, to rewrite the destiny that had unfolded so tragically before. Each name was a small, agonizing step closer to the truth.
I barely registered the students standing and moving toward their new circles. My focus was purely on the words coming from the speaker, a tight knot of hope and dread forming in my stomach.
The last name of Group Two was called. My name, her name, had not appeared. For a split second, a cold knot of fear tightened in my gut. What if my certainty was wrong? What if the past was no longer my guide?
My mind was a quiet strategy room, preparing to accept the impossible, when I heard it. The senior's voice, a detached instrument of fate, called a new group.
"Group Three, led by Senior Feni... and the following members..."
The coiled tension of my body, so long held in check, unspooled. I was no longer a boy waiting for a name. I was a man moving toward his destiny. My past was a map just a little bit rusty, and I was about to take the first, terrifying step onto the alternative path it had shown me.
The art of waiting was over. The knowledge that had been my safe harbor for decades now became a terrifying weight, a script I had to follow and, for the first time, rewrite.
My gaze, a betraying tether, pulled not toward her, but toward the chaos of the hall, a hundred new lives shuffling and merging. My mind, so long a quiet strategy room, was suddenly overloaded.
Around me, the hall was a sudden river of uniforms and hurried steps as the first two groups, already formed, began to disperse. My friend's hand, a familiar anchor in this surreal tide, tugged at my arm.
"Come on, that's us!"
*****
The walk toward our designated circle felt both mundane and monumental. My feet, alien on the polished linoleum, moved as if on their own accord, a puppet of forgotten muscle memory navigating the throng without my conscious direction. The finality of the moment, the knowledge that I was walking toward the first step of my new life, was almost too much to bear.
The noise of the hall, once a distant, muted hum, now fell away completely. The world outside the small orbit of our group seemed to fall silent. As we approached the designated gathering area, the chaos of the hall began to resolve itself. The frantic river of students broke into a smaller eddy of six.
I arrived at my destination, and my breath caught.
Her back was to me, her slight frame a still point in the midst of her new group. The quiet grace I had observed from a distance was now a tangible reality just a few feet away. No more watching from across the hall. No more silent promises to myself. This was the moment of action. A tight coil of anxiety twisted in my chest, but my mind was clear.
I took my place in the circle of students, and she turned. Her gaze, which had been fixed on the senior, now fell on me. For a fleeting, powerful moment, our eyes met, and in that instant, the decades of waiting dissolved into the fragile truth of the present. The wait was over. The leap had begun.
The senior leader for our group, a girl with a sharp bob and a surprisingly kind smile, clapped her hands together to get our attention.
"Alright, Group Three! We're the best group, I can feel it! Let's start with some introductions. Just your name, where you're from, and something you're looking forward to this year."
My friend, in a burst of teenage enthusiasm, went first. "Hi, I'm June! I'm from a place where the air smells of coal and the land is split by a winding river. I'm looking forward to applying for the soccer and music club."
The next boy, a shy-looking kid with glasses, mumbled his introduction. The other girl was a bubbly firecracker, and the final boy was quiet and reserved. The turn was coming back to her. My heart began its frantic rhythm again.
She cleared her throat, a soft, delicate sound. "Vye," she began, and the sound of her name wasn't a new, but precious discovery. "I'm from a place where the river is a wide, slow-moving ribbon of forgotten memories. I'm hoping to get into the literature club."
And then it was my turn. The universe seemed to hold its breath. I looked at her, at the curve of her neck and the gentle way she held her hands, and decades of regret and longing poured into a single, simple sentence.
"Hi, I'm Rhay. I'm from a place where the sun sets behind the hills and the only road is an earthen path through the trees. I'm looking forward to the chess club."