The library was unusually quiet.
Not the peaceful, scholarly kind of quiet that Andra loved, but the kind of quiet that echoed too much—too hollow, too spacious, too sharp—making his thoughts ricochet against the walls of his skull.
He sat at his usual spot, far-right corner, next to the window where the sunlight always hit the table at the same angle around this hour. Normally, this was his temple. His sanctuary. The one place he could rely on for clarity.
Today, it felt like a cage.
He had opened his textbook ten minutes ago. The same page stared back at him. The same paragraph. The same theories. And yet none of them entered his brain.
His eyes were on the words.
His mind was not.
Instead, he kept replaying the scene from earlier.
The crowd.
The shouting.
Nafisa's trembling voice.
Dani's guilty expression.
The shocked look she gave Andra the moment their eyes met, as if fate had chosen the worst possible witness for her humiliation.
He rubbed his forehead.
I'm not thinking about it, he told himself firmly.
He flipped the page.
Read one sentence.
Then another.
But his mind betrayed him.
Why did she look at me like that? Shocked? Embarrassed? Angry? …Or was that something else?
He blinked hard, annoyed at himself.
No. No. No. I'm not doing this. This is none of my business.
He forced himself to look at the textbook.
But the letters swam.
Andra exhaled through his nose and leaned back in his chair.
This is ridiculous. I came here to study. Why am I thinking about someone else's relationship drama?
His jaw tightened.
Then, quietly, like a whisper slipping through the cracks of his restraint—
…Slightly…
Just slightly, I'm glad they argued.
He froze.
His heartbeat skipped.
Then, violently—
"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "No. Stop. Stupid. Don't think like that."
He dragged a hand down his face, embarrassed at his own thoughts even though no one could hear them.
He tried again to focus.
Five seconds later—
Well… Dani kind of deserved it, didn't he? If he was flirting behind her back—
He shut his eyes, pressing his palm to them.
No. No. Not my business. Not my problem.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, exhaling deeply.
He had never been this useless in a library before.
He tried shifting positions.
He tried straightening his back.
He tried drinking water.
He tried reading a different chapter.
None of it worked.
Nafisa's voice lingered like smoke.
Her anger.
Her cracked breath.
Her eyes.
Why did you have to see this?
Andra clenched his jaw.
I didn't want to see it either, okay? If I could choose, I would've chosen to be five kilometers away.
He stared at the book without seeing it.
Thirty minutes passed like this.
His brain was full of everything except academics.
Another thought rose, unwelcome but persistent.
It's not like I'm happy she's sad. I'm not that kind of person. I just…
He swallowed.
He didn't finish the thought.
He didn't want to know what he would have said.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pushed his chair back.
The scraping sound echoed too loudly in the dead-silent library.
One person glanced his way, annoyed.
He ignored them.
Andra shut his book, slipped it into his bag, and stood up. His shoulders felt oddly heavy, like guilt mixed with confusion mixed with annoyance—all directed at himself.
He needed air.
He needed space.
He needed to get out of his own brain.
He left the library without looking back.
The afternoon sun was warm, almost gentle, but for Andra it felt too bright, too exposed. Every step he took was accompanied by a low sigh slipping unconsciously from his lips.
His boarding house was only a short walk away. Usually, he liked this route—trees on both sides, quiet roads, the sound of distant chatter from students heading home.
Today, it felt like static noise.
His feet dragged a little.
His thoughts wouldn't stop.
Why did I think like that? Why did I even care? It's not like Nafisa is—
He cut off the thought sharply.
He didn't know what he was about to say, but he knew he didn't like the direction.
He walked faster.
He arrived at the boarding house, climbed the stairs, opened his door, and locked himself inside.
The silence hit him like a wall.
He threw his bag onto the bed and collapsed into the chair by the small desk. For a moment, he stared at nothing.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
Then finally, he whispered to himself:
"…I need sleep."
But sleep never came easily to someone whose mind was screaming.
—
The sky was still dark.
Andra woke up without knowing why—no alarm, no noise, no dream. His body simply decided it had enough of lying down.
He looked at the clock on the wall.
3:38 AM.
He blinked.
"…Huh."
Too early to do anything.
Too early for breakfast.
Too early for the library.
Too early even for his daily overthinking routine.
He sat up, stretched, and rubbed his face.
He opened a book.
Read two paragraphs.
And felt a knot tightening in his chest.
He slammed it shut.
"…Fine."
He stood up, changed into his running clothes, tied his shoelaces, and stepped outside.
If his mind refused to calm down, then he'd exhaust his body.
Simple.
The campus was misty at this hour. Dew clung to the grass. The air was cold enough to bite but refreshing enough to feel clean.
He started jogging.
One lap.
Then another.
By the third, his breath was already ragged.
His legs burned.
His lungs screamed.
This is ridiculous… Why am I so weak? This is only the third lap—
He nearly tripped over his own foot.
He slowed down to a jog.
Then a walk.
Then he bent forward, hands on his knees, panting.
"Ah… this world is way too heavy…" he muttered between gasps.
He had officially reached his limit.
But oddly enough—
his mind was quieter.
Not silent.
But quieter.
Still, one last thought echoed just before the chapter closed:
…I really hope I don't see her today.
It was a lie.
And his own heart knew it.