The room was colder than usual.
Or maybe it was Andra's mind that felt unusually empty—calm, sharp, and oddly mechanical—because he had already memorized half the theories on consumer behavior long before the exam was even scheduled. Sitting in the middle row, pen in hand, he scanned the questions one more time as if he needed reassurance, although he didn't.
He didn't.
"This is easy…" he whispered in his mind, not daring to let it slip past his lips.
Around him, many of his classmates squirmed, scratched their heads, tapped their pens, and stared at the ceiling as though divine revelation would descend in the form of multiple-choice answers.
Andra already filled all of his. Neatly. Cleanly. Almost too perfectly.
But—and this was important—he didn't stand up.
He didn't walk to the lecturer's table to submit his paper like someone who wanted to show off. Because, for Andra, submitting early wasn't a flex. It was social suicide. It was an open invitation for whispers.
So he rested his chin on his hand and pretended to still be thinking. He even narrowed his brows a little to really sell the act.
He looked very convincing, if he said so himself.
At least until a chair beside him squeaked.
"Andraaa…" someone whispered sharply.
He didn't have to look. That tone belonged to Udin, one of his longest-running sources of academic suffering.
"Andra... number three, what's the answer?" Udin hissed.
Andra inhaled slowly. Deeply. The type of inhale that suggested he was preparing his soul for a test far more painful than the written exam—the test of patience.
Before he even responded, another voice emerged from his right.
"Dra, what's number seven? I swear the lecturer wrote this because it was during the war," Budi whispered with a strained voice, as if the exam was choking the life out of him.
Andra closed his eyes.
He knew this would happen.
Every exam.
Every semester.
Every country, even—he was sure of it.
There it is, he sighed in his head. Proof that academic leeching is a universal phenomenon. No matter where you go. No matter where you run. Some people will always whisper during exams.
He kept his expression neutral, face tilted slightly toward the paper, pretending to be deep in thought.
"What's number three, Dra? Oi. Don't pretend you didn't hear it," Udin insisted.
Oh, I hear you, Andra thought. And I also hear the sound of my remaining sanity leaving my body.
He finally lifted his gaze, whispering through clenched teeth, "Shut up. Want to get caught, huh?"
They both nodded vigorously, as if that answer gave them hope.
In fact, he had nothing in mind.
He was literally waiting for time to pass.
The exam supervisors paced at the front of the room, occasionally glancing toward the students. Andra kept his face as innocent as a lamb in front of a butcher—obedient, quiet, unprovocative.
Minutes passed.
Twenty.
Thirty.
And when the lecturer finally announced, "Time's almost up, please prepare to submit your papers," Andra stood up along with everyone else. No attention drawn. No spotlight over his head. Exactly the way he planned.
Udin and Budi dragged their feet dramatically.
"Draaaa, I swear if I pass this course, it will be because of God and you," Budi groaned.
"? Shouldn't it be because of your own efforts?," Andra corrected dryly.
"Heh, all I know is that I was born to just have fun," Udin insisted.
"Why are you proud of that even.."
He ignored them, submitting his paper and stretching his back slightly after.
The hall slowly emptied.
Some students dashed outside like prisoners tasting freedom for the first time. Others complained loudly about unfair questions. Andra only watched them walk away with the expression of a man who had lived this life for too long.
Most days, Andra would walk straight to the library. That was his sanctuary, his ecosystem, his natural habitat.
But something felt off today.
An uncomfortable emptiness inside his stomach.
Ah.
Right.
He hadn't eaten anything.
How did that even happen?
He always brought something. A snack. A piece of bread. A container of rice. Something small at least.
But today? Nothing.
"Great," he muttered. "My brain is full but my stomach is a desert."
So instead of going left toward the library, he turned right—toward the campus canteen.
The smell hit him before he even reached the counter. That familiar, dark, herbal scent.
Rawon.
His greatest academic companion besides coffee.
He ordered a full portion, added an extra spoon of sambal, and sat down with the tray like a king preparing for his feast.
Andra didn't talk when he ate. He didn't check his phone. He didn't look around.
He just ate, spoon after spoon, the warm broth melting the stiffness of the exam out of his bones.
Halfway through his meal, he felt alive again.
Human again.
Functional again.
He finished everything. Clean plate. Beautiful.
Then he stood up, ready to finally go to the library and pretend the world didn't exist.
Except—
The world very much existed.
And it was blocking his path.
"Hah?" Andra blinked.
In the corridor leading toward the library, a thick crowd had gathered. Students standing, whispering, raising their phones. Some were excited. Some looked awkward. Some seemed like they wanted popcorn.
"What is this?" Andra muttered.
He tried stepping forward, but the crowd wouldn't budge. He wasn't tall enough to see over them, but he caught parts of sentences.
"It's crazy, guys, it's really busy." "How come it's so noisy here?" "He said his girlfriend was angry." "Seriously? How dare he—oh, oh, he's getting even more angry!"
Andra's eyebrows rose.
Oh no. Please don't let this be someone I know. Please. I just ate rawon. I want peace. I deserve peace.
But curiosity was a parasite.
He squeezed himself between two overly enthusiastic onlookers.
"Excuse me… excuse me… guys, move a bit—"
And then he saw her.
Her hair he recognized instantly.
Her voice, sharp as glass.
Her posture, rigid with anger.
Nafisa.
Right in front of him.
And she wasn't alone.
In front of her stood Dani—her boyfriend—looking like he was moments away from being skinned alive in public.
"You think I'm stupid?" Nafisa snapped.
"No, darling, I just—"
"Don't call me that!"
The crowd oooh-ed.
Andra's soul left his body.
His stomach—once content and warm—dropped somewhere near his ankles.
No. No, no, no. Why her? Why today? Why after rawon?
The argument escalated quickly.
"You've been lying to me for weeks."
"No! I just—"
"Then what is THIS, Dani?" She shoved her phone into his face.
Students leaned closer.
Andra wanted to evaporate.
Or rewind time.
Or walk into another dimension.
Anything but this.
Nafisa's voice rose again.
"You flirt with girls behind my back, then blame me for being 'too sensitive'? Are you insane?"
Dani stuttered.
The crowd swallowed every word.
Andra watched the scene unfold with one clear, undeniable realization drilling itself into his head.
Couple fights are universal.
Everywhere.
Every city.
Every campus.
Every culture.
Every generation.
And there will always be an unlucky witness.
Today, that unlucky witness was him.
Nafisa turned her head slightly—and finally realized the crowd had been watching the two of them.
His eyes froze. His heart stopped. His expression flickered—anger, shock, humiliation, something else he couldn't name.
She didn't move. She can't. The crowd continued to murmur, oblivious to the silent flash between the two of them. Then-
"Then go," Nafisa spat at Dani. "If you want to lie, do it well somewhere else." And he pushed Dani's arm away.
Dani staggered backwards. The students gasped.
Nafisa's chest rose and fell, her breathing was labored.
Andra took a step back, unsure whether he was allowed to stay or not.
Nafisa's hands were shaking. His eyes glittered with anger that seemed almost like heartbreak..