"So, what kind of person is Kawaya Wahyudin?" Najam asked as the three of us walked through the school hallway.
"Hmm, how do I explain this… From what I remember, he has quite an eccentric personality," I replied, trying to recall.
"Eccentric?" Najam repeated.
"Yeah. He always says bizarre things like he's a descendant of both angels and evil, the reincarnation of fear, and calls himself 'Kawaya, the Darkness of the Night.'"
"Oh… okay," Najam responded, sounding a bit concerned.
"He also has pets he calls 'the Four Pillars of Destruction,'" I added.
"What the heck? Is he a weaboo or an otaku or something? I mean, only those types come up with embarrassing names like that. They think it sounds cool, but honestly, it's just cringe. Please, someone tell them it's not," Najam said dismissively.
Suddenly, I noticed someone behind Najam—a young man with medium-length brown hair, softly curled at the ends, neatly cut bangs, and round glasses—looking visibly annoyed. It was Darmaji. What a coincidence, running into him here.
"Your comment cannot go unchallenged, Ijam. It reeks of lowbrow intellect—typical of someone who only relies on brute strength," Darmaji said irritably.
Startled, Najam turned around.
"Hey! You scared me!" Najam exclaimed.
"Yeah, sorry. And screw you, normie," Darmaji shot back.
"Hello, Darmaji," Betania greeted.
"Hi, Miss Betania," Darmaji replied politely.
"What are you doing here?" Najam asked curiously.
"Not your business. I go where I please, so you don't need to know," Darmaji snapped.
"Are you heading to the lab?" I asked.
"Indeed, Sahabi, my friend. Your guess is spot on," he said warmly.
"What business do you have with the lab?" Najam asked again.
"Ugh, how many times do I have to say it—it's none of your business. Typical normie, always nosy," Darmaji replied mockingly.
"We're heading there too. Want to come with us?" Betania offered.
"With pleasure, Miss. It would be an honor to accompany you all," Darmaji replied politely.
Najam shot me a glare.
"Hey, can I punch this guy?" he asked angrily, pointing at Darmaji.
"Calm down," I said, trying to soothe him.
Darmaji then joined us as we walked toward the lab.
Darmaji Manullang was someone deeply passionate about anime and fanfiction. He was so dedicated that he dreamed of writing a story powerful enough to inspire others to create their own.
"So what brings you all to the lab?" he asked.
"We want to meet our senior from Class 95—Kawaya," I replied.
"Oh, what a coincidence. I want to see him too," Darmaji said.
"Really? What for?" Najam asked, casually throwing an arm around Darmaji's shoulder.
"Get your hands off me... khuu…" Darmaji grumbled, trying to push Najam's arm away.
"Hey, hey—I said I'm sorry, okay?" Najam replied, still forcing his arm around.
"Yeah, yeah, just get your hands off me," Darmaji snapped, still pushing his arm off.
"By the way, that manga you lent me yesterday was really good. Do you have the next volume?" Najam asked.
"Of course I do. What kind of collector would I be if I didn't own such a masterpiece?" Darmaji responded proudly.
They went on chatting as if nothing had happened. Watching them walk side by side, laughing and talking, I couldn't help but smile. Their steps weren't in sync, but their rhythm matched—like even silence had its own harmony between them. Darmaji talked with his hands, animated and expressive, while Najam nodded and responded with short quips and smirks. You could tell they'd been through a lot—not just fun stuff, but difficult things too.
As I listened to their banter—sometimes dumb, sometimes insulting—it somehow sounded like the best thing in the world. There was a deep comfort in their way of speaking, a sense of unspoken safety in knowing the person beside you gets you. It made me wonder—what kind of experiences had shaped a friendship like that?
I smiled, relieved, watching the two of them. Not long after, Betania came up beside me.
"You look relieved," she said with a smile.
"Um… yeah. I thought they'd just keep fighting," I replied.
"Don't worry. That's just how they are. They bicker, but in the end, they'll laugh it off together," she said reassuringly.
"Huh… okay."
I smiled again and looked off into the distance. In moments like this, I often found myself daydreaming—wondering which part of myself I had lost without realizing it.
I was just a few steps behind them, watching them talk and laugh like they'd done it a thousand times before—as if there was a rhythm I used to know, but now couldn't find. Every word they shared felt like a thread from a shared history I'd somehow missed. The more I listened, the more I wondered where I was supposed to fit.
I wanted to say something—to jump in like I used to—but what if I got it wrong? What if I said something that revealed I didn't remember the jokes, the stories, the little things that made us us?
I kept rehearsing lines in my head, trying to sound natural, but it all felt off—too practiced or not enough.
So I just kept walking behind them, smiling when they smiled, nodding as if I was part of it… even though deep down, I was still searching for the version of me who knew how to belong again.
"Sahabi," Betania called.
Before I could respond, she reached out and gently turned my face toward hers. I hadn't expected it—one moment we were talking, and the next, her hand was calmly but firmly guiding my face to look at her. My thoughts froze.
It wasn't dramatic or forceful—just something quiet and intent, like she needed me to really see her. As if whatever she was about to say wouldn't work unless our eyes met. In that silent moment, everything else faded: the noise around us, the pressure on my chest, the blur of whatever thoughts I'd been drowning in. Her touch was warm, steady, and her expression carried something raw—honesty, maybe fear, or perhaps both.
I didn't know what to say. I just stared back, my heart pounding, wondering how long she'd needed me to really listen with more than just my ears.
"You're overthinking again," she said, serious.
I was stunned. Not just because she looked me in the eye—but because her words struck at exactly what I'd been feeling.
"You're not like that. Trust your instincts and feelings, okay?" she said gently, then released her hand from my face.
She gave me a small push on the shoulder, urging me to catch up to Darmaji and Najam.
I glanced back at her, and she responded with a soft smile, as if to say, It's going to be okay.