The heavy rain from last night had left the morning air cold and damp, wrapping Nusantara High School in a thin veil of mist. The mango leaves in the courtyard swayed gently, shedding drops of water that glimmered like shards of glass as they fell. The scent of petrichor drifted through the corridors, a mixture of earth and calm, that made Sinta feel as though she were walking inside a living painting.
Her footsteps were light as she made her way to Class 12 Social Two. Her uniform was neat, her hair tied in a simple ponytail. She always came early, not out of discipline, but because she loved the silence of morning. There was something sacred about the stillness before the day began, a quiet that felt like prayer. Yet lately, that quiet felt different, ever since Mr. Armand arrived.
Her seat was in the same place as always: near the window, second row from the back. From there, she could see the glistening trees outside and the shy sunlight hiding behind the clouds. She took out her blue journal from her bag, the one that secretly kept the pulse of her heart, and began to write.
"The morning is cold and quiet, but I like it. I don't know why, but since meeting Mr. Armand, mornings feel different. It's as if there's a reason to come early."
The bell rang. Sinta quickly closed her journal. As if the universe conspired with her thoughts, she heard the footsteps she had come to recognize so easily.
"Good morning, class," came the calm, warm voice, like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
Mr. Armand stood before the room, his white shirt neatly pressed, sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. A navy-blue tie hung loosely at his collar, the same shade as Sinta's journal cover. His gaze was steady and kind, his voice clear and measured. Nothing about him was excessive, yet that was exactly what made him captivating.
"Good morning, Sir!" the students chorused.
Sinta joined in softly. Her eyes stayed on the blackboard, but her mind had already wandered elsewhere. She watched his handwriting, slightly slanted, neat, each stroke confident. It felt like his words carried something more than grammar or meaning; they carried soul.
That day, the lesson was Descriptive Text. Mr. Armand asked each group to describe their favorite object. Sinta sat with Nina, her cheerful deskmate, but her thoughts floated away every time Mr. Armand passed between the rows.
When he stopped by their table, the faint scent of coffee and soap lingered in the air. The world seemed to shrink to the space between them.
"So," he said with a small smile, "what have you chosen to describe?"
"My diary, Sir!" Nina answered quickly.
"Oh?" His smile deepened, the corners of his mouth curving with gentle amusement. "A diary can be a mirror of the heart, don't you think?"
For a fleeting moment, his gaze brushed against Sinta's. It lasted only a second, but it was enough to make her cheeks flush with warmth. The words felt like they were meant for her alone, like a knock on the door she was trying so hard to keep closed.
Nina leaned closer, grinning. "Hey, why's your face red, Sin?" she whispered.
"It's not," Sinta replied quickly, looking down.
Nina chuckled softly. "Don't tell me you're writing about him in your diary?"
"Ssst! Nina!" Sinta hissed, her voice trembling more than she wanted.
"Relax, I'm kidding." Nina covered her mouth, still amused. "But the way you looked at him just now... hmm. I don't need a magnifying glass to read your heart."
Sinta pretended not to hear, her pen moving across the page though her hand trembled slightly.
The recess bell rang, loud and liberating. Students burst from the classroom like waves crashing onto shore. Sinta began packing her books, but Nina caught her arm.
"Wait, Sin."
"I'm hungry, Nin."
"Just a second. Be honest with me, do you have feelings for Mr. Armand?"
Sinta laughed, trying to make light of it, but her voice betrayed her. "You're being ridiculous. He's our teacher."
Nina studied her carefully. "If there's really nothing, why are you getting defensive?"
Sinta lowered her head, fingers gripping the strap of her bag. "I just like English class, that's all."
Nina smiled faintly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Sin, I won't tell anyone. But if there is something… be careful, okay? School can be cruel to girls who are honest about their hearts."
The words pierced through her chest. Sinta said nothing. There was comfort in being understood, but also fear. If Nina could read her so easily, what about everyone else?
At the canteen, the air was thick with the smell of fried noodles and sambal. The noise of laughter and clattering plates filled the space. Sinta sat in the corner, pushing her fried rice around her plate without appetite.
"Eat something, Sin," Nina said. "You'll get sick."
"I'm not hungry," she murmured.
Nina watched her for a moment, then said softly, "You've changed, you know. You've been daydreaming a lot. And during English class, your face... it lights up. I'm serious."
"Don't say that here, someone might hear," Sinta whispered.
Nina laughed under her breath, then leaned closer. "You're in love, aren't you?"
The spoon froze in Sinta's hand. Her cheeks burned. "I... I don't know."
This time, Nina didn't tease. Her eyes softened. "I understand, Sin. But promise me one thing, don't keep it all to yourself. If you ever need to talk, I'm here."
Sinta nodded faintly. Around them, the canteen buzzed with noise and laughter, but between the two girls, there was a quietness, an unspoken confession that hung tenderly in the air, born from the courage to face one's own heart.
That evening, Sinta sat by her window, watching the rain return. Drops slid down the glass like moving stars. She opened her journal again.
~~"Nina guessed it. Maybe she's right. Maybe I do feel something. But what do you call this feeling when it both warms and scares you?"~~
She hesitated, then wrote again.
_"Sometimes I think of his voice when it rains. It sounds the same, calm, steady, and far away."_
She closed the journal and pressed it to her chest. The rain outside grew heavier, a whisper of comfort and warning. Somewhere inside her, she knew she was standing on the edge of something beautiful and dangerous.
The next morning came with clearer skies, but the air still smelled of rain. As she entered the classroom, Sinta felt her pulse quicken. Mr. Armand was already there, arranging papers on his desk. He looked up and smiled.
"Good morning, Sinta. You're early again."
She nodded, trying to keep her voice even. "Good morning, Sir."
"You like the quiet mornings, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir. It feels... peaceful."
He smiled, almost knowingly. "Peaceful is good. It's when the mind is most alive."
He turned back to his papers, and Sinta sat down quickly, her heart drumming in her ears. Did he know? she wondered. Could he sense what I feel?
The rest of the day passed in fragments, his voice reading examples, her pen moving automatically, Nina's whispering jokes she barely heard. The world outside the window gleamed, washed clean by rain. Yet inside her chest, something restless stirred.
During the break, Sinta walked down the hall toward the canteen again. She saw him through the glass door of the teachers' room, standing by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. He looked thoughtful, almost lonely. The light fell softly on his face.
He looks human, she thought. Not a teacher, not someone untouchable, just someone who carries his own silence.
For the first time, she wondered what he wrote in his notebooks, what he dreamed of, what sadness lay behind his calm eyes.
That question would linger with her for days, soft, persistent, like the aftertaste of rain.
That night, she wrote only one line:
"Maybe love begins when you stop seeing someone as perfect, and start seeing the quiet in their soul."