Andra froze for half a second.
Not because he didn't know how to answer, but because of how bluntly the question landed on him again—"What's your name?"—spoken by Nafisa with the exact same tone and expression as a moment ago, as if she had never asked it the first time. No change in her face, no twitch of impatience, no hint of embarrassment. Just… a question.
He blinked twice, brought back to reality, and cleared his throat lightly.
"Ah—right… Ahmad Andra Pratama. My friends call me Andra."
His voice came out collected enough, even though he could feel the tiniest tremor tightening the inside of his chest. It wasn't fear. More like… an electric jolt of awareness he couldn't quite explain.
Nafisa nodded once, almost as if confirming something to herself. Then she did something Andra absolutely did not expect.
"All right, Andra," she said, saying his name with a tone so casually familiar that it nearly made him trip over his own feet.
He stiffened again.
She had spoken it so naturally, like they'd known each other for years. Like she had always called him that. Like there was no barrier between them at all.
Andra's face remained calm, his eyes focused ahead, but inside his mind, his thoughts scattered everywhere—What? Why does it sound like she's known me forever? Does she talk like this to everyone? Do I look that approachable? No. No way. Impossible.
Still, he refused to let that tiny crack of surprise show.
"Sure," he replied smoothly, almost too smoothly. "You can call me that."
Nafisa gave him a faint smile—nothing exaggerated, nothing flirtatious, but enough to send the smallest shock through his ribs. A smile that was both warm and matter of fact, as if she smiled like that at everyone… yet somehow Andra felt singled out.
They jogged side by side in silence for a moment.
Andra couldn't help stealing one glance from the corner of his eye—her brown hair swayed with each step, her pace light yet powerful, her breathing steady. He shouldn't stare. He wouldn't stare. Yet he was doing exactly that.
Relax. Act normal, Andra, he reminded himself.
Then, before he could stop himself, a thought slipped into his mind.
Wait. We're in the same program. The same major. And I've seen her around campus before. Shouldn't she have at least known my name?
Or… maybe she did?
The question poked his brain until he almost lost his rhythm.
And without thinking—absolutely without meaning to—he blurted out:
"Do you, uh… actually know me?"
He said it a bit too loudly.
Nafisa slowed down for three steps. Andra felt time stretch thin like a rubber band about to snap.
A beat of silence.
A second beat.
Then—
"O–o-of course I do!" she stammered, which startled Andra because it was the first time she actually sounded flustered. "I mean, yes. I do know you. Andra. Naturally. I'm in business management too. I know faces. I just didn't expect to see you—um—in that version of you. That's all. Hahaha… hah… ha…"
Her laughter was awkward. Painfully awkward.
Andra blinked.
She's lying, he thought instantly. She definitely didn't know my name before.
But—
She's smiling. Why does it look that sweet from up close? Ugh. No. Don't think that. Focus.
He forced his mind into a blank state and simply nodded.
"Ah. I see. That makes sense."
It didn't.
It made absolutely zero sense.
But he'd go along with it. Why? He wasn't sure yet.
They resumed running.
At first, Nafisa kept her usual pace, which was, frankly, impossible for Andra to keep up with at this hour. His breath started to stutter. His steps grew heavier.
Nafisa glanced sideways. Then subtly, without saying anything, she slowed down until her pace matched his.
His pride wanted to protest. His lungs, however, thanked her.
"You okay?" she asked lightly.
"Of course," he replied, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Just warming up."
"You've been warming up since three days ago," she said, voice teasing but soft. "You warm up more than you run."
Andra glared—pretending to be offended, but failing because the corners of his lips betrayed him.
"Maybe I'm perfecting my warm-up routine."
"Or maybe," she countered, "you're secretly dying."
"That's rude."
"That's realistic."
Despite the tiny back-and-forth, the air between them didn't feel sharp. If anything, it felt… light. Strangely easy. Andra didn't enjoy talking to new people. He avoided unnecessary conversations. He was the type to sit quietly and not say anything unless required.
But with Nafisa?
The silence didn't suffocate him.
The conversation didn't drain him.
The teasing didn't annoy him.
It was… fine. More than fine. It felt almost natural.
Which was weird.
Unsettling, even.
But not bad.
---
A week passed after that.
And that week changed his entire morning routine.
Before, Andra never woke up before seven unless absolutely forced. He disliked cold morning air. He wasn't a runner. He wasn't a morning person.
But now—
He stretched. Ate half a banana. Drank water. Put on running shoes.
Then he jogged.
And every single time—
Without exception—
Nafisa appeared somewhere on the same route.
Sometimes ahead of him.
Sometimes passing him from behind.
Sometimes starting at the same time.
But she was always there.
Andra tried convincing himself that this routine was improving his stamina. Improving discipline. Improving productivity. Something noble, something rational.
But then a horrifying thought slipped into his mind one morning:
What if I'm doing this because I want to see her?
He stopped running immediately.
Absolutely not. Impossible. There was no way. He refused to accept such a ridiculous, embarrassing, childish notion.
He shook his head violently until his hair whipped his forehead.
"You're delusional," he whispered to himself.
And of course, the universe decided to make things worse—
Because right as he whispered that—
Nafisa jogged past him, glanced back, and raised an eyebrow as if hearing something.
Mortifying.
Completely, utterly mortifying.
Some mornings they exchanged only a nod.
Some mornings they joked about how terrible their schedule was.
Some mornings Nafisa teased Andra for being slow, and he pretended to be offended while secretly… not minding it.
Andra learned that Nafisa ran fast only when she wanted to compete with herself.
Nafisa learned that Andra tried overly hard to appear unaffected by everything in life.
For both of them, routine shifted quietly.
They never arranged anything.
They never promised anything.
They never even acknowledged that they were now "running partners."
It just happened.
Until one morning—
The tenth day into this accidental ritual—
Nafisa abruptly stopped mid-route and turned around.
Andra, half-running and half-mentally cursing his own weak stamina, almost crashed into her.
She stared at him.
He stared back, slightly confused, slightly terrified.
Then—
"What's your name again?" she asked.
Andra almost choked on his own breath.
"W–what?" he sputtered.
She grinned.
Wide. Mischievous. Definitely proud of herself.
"I'm kidding," she said. "Relax."
He didn't relax.
Not even a little.
His ears felt warm. His heart thumped an unnecessary rhythm.
"Don't joke like that," he muttered.
"Why not?" she asked innocently.
"Because—"
He stopped.
He didn't actually know why.
"Because," he repeated anyway.
She laughed softly.
Not the awkward laughter from before.
A real one—gentle and bright.
Then she tilted her head.
"Andra," she said again, this time not to tease him but simply because she was calling him—
"I still don't know something."
"What?"
"What's your pace goal? You always look like you're suffering."
"I'm not suffering."
"You're wheezing."
"That's the wind."
"There is no wind."
He looked away, embarrassed.
She stepped forward, lightly bumping his shoulder with her arm.
"Fine," she said. "Then from today onwards—let's match paces. Yours and mine."
Andra couldn't quite look her directly in the eyes, but he could feel himself nodding.
He didn't have the courage to ask why.
He didn't have the courage to wonder if there was a reason.
He didn't have the courage to try interpreting anything.
But he did know one thing:
Having her there beside him…
It didn't feel bad at all.
In fact—
It felt like something he didn't know he was missing.
---
Days passed.
Their conversations grew longer.
Their silences grew more comfortable.
Their jokes grew easier.
Their running pace grew more in sync.
And Andra, whether he liked it or not, started to notice things.
How Nafisa had a habit of pushing her hair behind her ear three times before tying it up.
How she hummed quietly when she was thinking.
How she ran with determination but walked with a slight bounce.
How she didn't sugarcoat anything but also didn't speak coldly.
How she made things feel both simple and complicated at the same time.
And he—
He tried not to think about any of it.
He failed.
Repeatedly.
Andra jogged slower than usual, exhausted from a late-night study session. Nafisa jogged beside him, noticing but not commenting.
At the final turn of the path, she looked at him and said—
"Same time tomorrow?"
He didn't answer right away.
He didn't need to.
Because his nod came naturally.
And surprisingly…
Hers did too.