(6 years ago...)
That afternoon, the old reading room of the Bodleian Library felt like the only place stable enough to contain Faira's panic.
The sky above Oxford hung in a shade of elegant gray—the kind that made the limestone towers look like something from an old painting. Thin light filtered through the tall stained-glass windows, spilling across long wooden tables that had witnessed centuries of human ambition. Theses, dissertations, manifestos… and perhaps even broken hearts.
The silence there wasn't merely quiet. It felt like an embrace. And Faira needed that.
One hour left.
One hour before her thesis officially landed in Professor Orwell's inbox.
Faira stared at her laptop screen, her eyes feeling as dry as desert sand.
The past two months of her life had been filled with graphs, journals, simulations, and coffee that had long since lost its meaning. She had originally thought she could finish the last chapter in her dorm room.
That thought had been both optimistic… and foolish.
Sarah, Angela, and Michelle had turned their room into an impromptu concert stage. Old songs were being belted out with dramatic passion and tragically off-key enthusiasm.
The floor vibrated. The walls joined in. And Faira knew that if she stayed there any longer, it wouldn't be her thesis that collapsed—it would be her sanity.
None of it was without reason.
Tonight was Angela's mission to salvage her pride.
For the first time in Angela's romantic history—normally as quick as a midnight sale and just as lighthearted—she was truly heartbroken.
Angela had come home that night with sparkling eyes and a belief that felt almost religious, that something existed between them.
The way Hero laughed.
The way he listened.
The way he had stood just a little too close beneath the warm lights of the New Year's celebration.
But two weeks later, nothing had followed.
No invitation for coffee.
No ambiguous but promising late-night messages.
Only polite conversations that gradually grew rarer.
And for someone who was usually the one who left first, being left—or more precisely, not being chosen—was a painfully new experience.
Faira, in truth, knew why things between them had never developed. She knew far more than Angela could possibly suspect. But Faira also knew it would be wiser to keep her mouth shut and allow the matter to resolve itself between the people who truly owned it.
So tonight's karaoke session had become a form of collective therapy.
Though, if she were honest, she desperately wanted to join them. To scream song lyrics at the top of her lungs, to jump around without thinking about cosmological theories that had nearly exploded her brain.
But the thesis had been hanging over her head like an academic version of the Sword of Damocles.
She wanted it done.
She wanted to be free.
And finally—
Click.
The email was sent. The attachment uploaded.
The name Orwell appeared in the recipient column, carrying an intimidating aura that was, frankly, unmatched.
Faira stared at the screen for a few seconds longer, making sure nothing had gone wrong with the submission of her final thesis draft.
Then her body slowly sank back into the wooden chair, as if gravity had suddenly decided to work twice as hard—just for her.
"You looked a bit down there, young lady."
The low voice appeared so suddenly and so close that it felt like lightning striking beside her. The voice was familiar, and far too close to be coincidence.
Faira jolted.
Between the towering bookshelves and the gray shadows of afternoon light stood a man in a long black coat that fell neatly along his frame. His light-brown hair was slightly messy, as though he had just hurried past Radcliffe Camera. His sharp gaze looked calm, but there was something different about it today—more focused.
More certain.
"Hero?" Faira whispered, instinctively lowering her voice to obey the unspoken rules of the Bodleian.
The last time they had seen each other was at the New Year's party two weeks ago. A night of quiet sorrow that Faira had never expected to spend with a stranger who was supposed to be laughing with Angela. A man who had somehow slipped away from the chaos of the celebration just to keep her company on the balcony of Joseph's dormitory.
"What are you doing here?"
Hero smiled slowly. Warm, but not exaggerated.
"What? Is the Bodleian reserved exclusively for physics students having existential crises like you?"
Faira hissed softly. "An English Literature and Theater student like you usually come here only when you're memorizing Shakespeare," she muttered. Then she leaned forward slightly. "Or bringing girls into the corners of the shelves for some improvisational scenes."
Hero's mouth fell open in dramatic offense.
"Good Lord, Faira Adrianna. What kind of man do you think I am? Have you actually seen something like that happen here… or is that just a projection of your hidden desires?"
"Hero!" Faira glared at him, nearly throwing her beloved Parker pen if Hero hadn't burst into laughter first.
His bright laugh was immediately answered by a sharp shushing sound from a nearby table.
"Okay, enough with the jokes," Faira whispered, struggling to suppress a smile. "Did you just happen to pass by, or did you actually need something from me?"
Hero pretended to think. He remained standing, both hands gripping the back of the empty chair across from her as if restraining himself from acting too impulsively.
"Remember the advice you gave me two weeks ago? About chasing the girl I like? Well… I'm taking your advice today."
Faira's eyes widened dramatically. She covered her mouth in shock.
"Really? Oh my God, I thought those words went in one ear and out the other," she chuckled excitedly. "So she's here? You have a date with her?"
"I stopped by the Physics Department earlier, but she wasn't there. So I contacted one of her friends, and they said she was in the library. Turns out she really is here—hiding behind stacks of books."
"The Physics Department?" Faira frowned, "Wait… so the girl you're after is in my department? Oh my God, Campbell. Why didn't you tell me sooner? I might not know everyone in Physics, but if I knew her name I could at least help you figure out her schedule so you could plan a proper date."
She sighed happily, genuinely delighted for him.
"So what's her name?" Faira asked.
Hero looked at her for a long time. A silence suddenly formed between them—heavy, yet strangely sweet.
The playful grin on Hero's face slowly faded, replaced by something softer. Something far more sincere. More vulnerable.
"Do you really want to know her name?" he asked quietly.
Faira nodded eagerly, curiosity already reaching its peak. "You bet i am."
Hero gave a small nod, as if weighing something carefully.
"May I borrow a piece of paper and your pen?"
Faira snorted in amusement. "Geez, Hero. What is this, a guessing game? Is this girl a member of MI6 or something? Why can't you just say her name?"
Despite the complaint, Faira tore a small sheet from her notebook and handed it to him.
Hero wrote something with firm, deliberate strokes. Then he folded the paper once and slid it toward her with a half-smile.
Faira eagerly grabbed it and unfolded it slowly.
Her smile vanished the moment she read the name written there.
She looked up.
Her eyes met Hero's—and the teasing amusement that usually lived in them had disappeared.
In its place was something raw.
Something brave.
She lowered her gaze again, staring at the name on the paper once more, as if needing to confirm she had read it correctly.
The name written there was—
Faira Adrianna.
The mischievous smile that usually decorated Hero's face had vanished completely, replaced by a gaze so intense that Faira felt as if all the oxygen inside the Bodleian Library had suddenly disappeared.
"Hero… you're joking, right?" Faira placed the paper back on the table, forcing out a small laugh that sounded hollow and trembling. "It's a prank, isn't it?"
Hero didn't laugh.
Instead, he stepped forward and placed both hands on the old wooden table, closing the distance until Faira could smell the faint scent of sandalwood from his black coat.
"Unfortunately not, Fay. I've never been this serious in my life," he murmured steadily.
"Two weeks ago on that balcony, you told me life is too short to live in doubt. And chasing you is a decision I've never doubted for even a second. So I'm doing exactly what you suggested. I'm looking at the girl I'm willing to chase with everything I have—my crush, from the very first second I saw her at that New Year's party."
Faira's chest throbbed strangely.
A flutter rose inside her, refusing to disappear—but her logic immediately slammed on the emergency brakes.
She slowly shook her head, her hands beginning to pack her books into her bag with movements just a little too rough.
"Hero, listen. This—us—is absolutely not happening."
"Why? Give me one good reason why we can't be together," Hero challenged, his voice still gentle but demanding an answer.
Faira stopped moving.
She looked up at him, forcing her expression into the coldest one she could manage.
"One? Hero, I have three perfectly reasonable reasons. First, I didn't come to Oxford to find a boyfriend. I didn't come here to get trapped in some impulsive romantic drama. My focus is graduating as soon as possible and going back to Jakarta to take care of my mother. That's it."
Hero tried to interrupt, but Faira raised her hand.
"Second, Angela. You know she's my best friend, right? The reason I can't even go back to my dorm right now—despite finally finishing my thesis—is because my room has turned into a karaoke war zone. Angela's screaming her heart out because she's heartbroken. And she's heartbroken because you haven't given her any clarity for the past two weeks. How could I possibly do that to her?"
Faira inhaled deeply, and this time genuine sadness flickered across her eyes.
"And lastly… you should be with someone who matches you, Hero. Someone just as beautiful, someone whose life is full of color, someone who isn't so consumed by ambition that they forget how to enjoy life. Not someone like me. My world revolves around numbers, raw data, and the dust of library shelves."
Faira lowered her gaze to the tips of her shoes, damp from melting snow.
It wasn't that she didn't want happiness. She simply didn't know how to be interesting.
To her, being a good partner felt like a variable she had never studied in quantum mechanics. Her ambition to graduate quickly and return to Jakarta had long buried her curiosity about things like affection.
Faira had just begun to turn away when Hero caught her arm.
The touch wasn't rough—but it was firm enough to stop her in the dimly lit corridor.
"You're completely wrong, Faira."
His voice sounded deeper now. Steadier.
His blue eyes shone as he looked at her, as though dissecting every layer of defense she had built.
"You say you're not interesting? Do you know what made me fall for you that night?" Hero stepped closer, shortening the distance until Faira could again smell sandalwood and the cold evening clinging to his coat. "It's exactly because you have no idea you're everything you just described. You don't realize that in my eyes, you're incredibly beautiful. You're fascinating precisely because you're not trying to be."
Hero smiled faintly—a smile so sincere it could crack even the strongest logic.
"That night, I couldn't take my eyes off you. I watched you laughing with your friends, saw how your laughter warmed my heart even when you were completely absorbed in your own world. You're a light to the people around you, Fay. Your funny nature, the way you turn simple conversations into something alive… I can't find that in anyone else."
Hero leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper beside her ear.
"These past two weeks have been torture. I kept trying to convince myself it was just an impulsive feeling. But every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was the way you talked about gravity with the brightest eyes I've ever seen. I don't need a girl whose world is colorful if that color doesn't come from you."
Faira stood frozen.
For the first time in her life, she felt like a particle that had lost its trajectory. The physics she believed in offered no explanation for the pounding inside her chest.
Between the cold corridor walls and the warmth of Hero's confession, Faira began to realize that some things in life were not meant to be calculated—only felt.
Faira exhaled slowly and turned her face away, refusing to drown in the depth of Hero's ocean-like gaze.
"I have to go," she whispered.
And she walked away, leaving Hero standing there, watching her retreating figure without once looking back.
💫💫💫💫💫
Three days after the emotionally exhausting incident in the Bodleian corridor, their dormitory was suddenly thrown into chaos by the arrival of a courier.
A large bouquet of blue irises—so deeply blue they resembled the night sky Faira often observed through a telescope—was placed on the living room table.
"Faira! Take a look! There's a mysterious sender who somehow knows you love irises!" Sarah shouted.
Faira stepped out of her room, her heart dropping as if she'd just finished a marathon.
She froze.
Blue irises.
Her favorite flowers—something very few people knew, except those who paid attention to the smallest details in conversation.
"Sarah… who sent this?" Faira asked carefully.
"No idea. There's no name on the card. It only says 'To Dr. Faira Adrianna,'" Angela replied, gently touching the petals with admiration.
Faira forced a weak laugh. But deep inside her chest, a storm had already begun.
Later, alone in her room, she finally found the small folded note hidden among the stems.
Hero's neat handwriting greeted her eyes.
Dear Faira,
I may only be a theatre student who knows nothing about the fundamental laws governing the universe.
But I do know that in physics, gravity is the force that pulls two masses toward each other. It's unavoidable, constant, and keeps the universe in place.
Yet meeting you made me realize there is a force far stronger—one that doesn't even follow Newton's laws.
You are my singularity, Fay.
The point where all my logic collapses and every atom in my body wants to move toward you.
Even if you try to walk away, remember this: the greater the distance between us, the stronger the pull I feel.
— H
Faira pressed the letter against her chest, feeling the rough texture of the paper against the frantic rhythm of her heart.
Her guilt toward Angela still lingered like heavy clouds.
But the warmth spreading through her fingertips could no longer be denied.
Under the soft yellow glow of her desk lamp, for the first time, Faira stopped resisting the feeling she had been trying so hard to suppress.
Holding the letter tightly, a smile she had been holding back slowly appeared on her lips.
"Hero… what have you done to my heart?" she whispered softly.