I nodded, understanding, even though the word itself felt thin the moment it formed in my mind. "Yeah. It was nice." As soon as I said it, I knew how insufficient it sounded, how badly it failed to capture what had actually happened that afternoon, what had unfolded between the rain, the chaos, the fear, and the quiet moments in between. Nice was a word people used for safe things, for pleasant but forgettable experiences, for moments that didn't leave a mark. This wasn't that. But I wasn't brave enough to say more. Not yet. I didn't trust my voice to carry anything heavier without cracking. "I'm happy too. Especially that we succeeded." That part was true, undeniably true. The relief alone was enough to make my shoulders feel lighter. I paused, staring at the thin steam rising from my glass of tea, watching it curl upward and disappear into the damp air. "But more than successfully getting the data… I'm happy I got to work together with you, Tik."
The words hung between us, suspended like the rainwater clinging to the edge of the stall's plastic roof, ready to fall but not quite letting go. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The rain outside had grown heavier again, no longer a gentle drizzle but a steady downpour that drowned out the distant traffic and wrapped the world in a muffled hush. The coffee stall felt like a small island, isolated from everything else—Akmal, the campus gossip, the humiliation, the tension that had followed me since yesterday.
Cantika didn't respond immediately. She looked down at her tea, at the surface trembling slightly with each drop of rain hitting the tarp above us. Her fingers tightened around the glass, as if she needed the warmth to ground herself. I could see the faint tension in her shoulders, the subtle inhale she took, slow and deliberate. Then, gradually, her lips curved upward. Not a wide smile, not the kind she used when joking or teasing, but something softer, something more careful. The faint redness on her cheeks deepened, spreading in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the drink anymore. She lifted her gaze and nodded once, slowly, as if confirming something to herself before sharing it with me. "Same."
That single word landed harder than a long confession ever could. It didn't rush. It didn't demand anything. It simply existed, solid and undeniable. I felt it settle in my chest, easing a tightness I hadn't fully realized was there. For the first time since the incident in the park, my thoughts stopped racing. I wasn't replaying Akmal's words. I wasn't imagining tomorrow's awkward encounters on campus. I was just there, sitting across from her, breathing, listening to the rain.
My phone buzzed suddenly against the plastic table, the vibration sharp and intrusive, pulling me out of the fragile calm. The screen lit up, Dea's name flashing across it like a reminder that the world outside this moment still existed. I glanced down and read the message, the familiar mix of irritation and affection forming instantly.
"Typical Randi, you liar! Maya is seriously disappointed, you know! But I told her you really do have a big problem going on. Next time you're treating me to DOUBLE CHEESE martabak! Don't forget! And tell me what actually happened! ;)"
I let out a quiet laugh before I could stop myself, shaking my head as I locked the screen and slid the phone back into my pocket. The absurdity of it all hit me at once—how life could pile things on so carelessly. One moment I was being cornered and humiliated by my closest friend, the next I was skipping a blind date, and now I was sitting in a roadside coffee stall feeling lighter than I had in days.
Cantika noticed immediately. Her eyes flicked to my pocket, then back to my face. "Problem?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, genuine curiosity in her tone rather than judgment.
I hesitated. Old habits urged me to deflect, to joke, to minimize. I could have said it was nothing, brushed it off as Dea being dramatic. But something about the way Cantika looked at me—open, attentive, patient—made dishonesty feel heavier than the truth. I exhaled slowly. "Dea set me up on a blind date last night," I said. "With her friend from Psychology. Maya." I paused, choosing my words carefully, feeling the weight of them settle. "Yesterday was already chaotic, but I said yes anyway. I didn't want to think. I just… agreed." I pulled my phone out again and showed her the message. "After what happened at the park, I didn't go. That's why Dea's angry."
Cantika read the message quietly, her eyes moving across the screen before she handed the phone back to me. Then she laughed—a soft, clear sound that cut through the lingering heaviness. "Kak Dea really does love teasing people," she said, shaking her head. The humor faded slightly as she looked back at me, her expression turning more thoughtful. "But you… why didn't you go?" The question was simple, but it carried space, invitation rather than interrogation.
I met her gaze. In the dim light of the stall, her eyes seemed darker, deeper, reflecting more than just curiosity. The sounds around us—the rain, the distant engines, the clink of cups—blurred into the background. "Because I can't pretend, Tik," I said quietly. "Not after everything that happened. Not after yesterday." I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. "And especially not before meeting you today." I paused, feeling the truth press forward. "It felt wrong. Like I'd be lying to myself just to avoid being alone." I took a breath. "I'd rather focus on what actually matters right now."
I didn't say you. I didn't need to. The silence that followed spoke loudly enough. Cantika lowered her gaze, her fingers curling slightly around her glass again. The blush on her cheeks deepened, and when she smiled, it was restrained, careful, but unmistakably genuine. She lifted her tea and took a slow sip before answering. "You're right," she said softly, nodding toward the damp proposal documents tucked inside her bag. "This is more important." But the warmth in her voice suggested she meant more than just the assignment.
We stayed there for a while after that, finishing our tea slowly. Conversation flowed without effort, shifting naturally from one topic to another. We talked about tomorrow—about what time we should arrive, what questions to ask Pak Andi, how to divide tasks so we wouldn't look clueless or disorganized. Then, gradually, the conversation drifted. She mentioned a Korean drama episode she'd watched recently, and somehow My Sassy Girl came up again, becoming our familiar anchor. We laughed about it, about how certain stories stuck with you for years. We complained about Jakarta—the traffic, the noise, the exhaustion—and admitted, almost reluctantly, that it was also full of opportunity. It felt easy. Comfortable. As if we weren't two people brought together by chaos, but friends who had known each other far longer than we actually had.
When the rain finally eased, it felt like a quiet signal that the day was drawing to a close. We stood, paid for our drinks, and stepped back into the cool, damp air. The bus ride back felt shorter, the tension from earlier completely gone. When we reached the campus stop, the sky was painted orange, the wet pavement reflecting the fading light.
"Well, here we are," Cantika said softly. "Tomorrow at ten, at Pak Andi's office, okay?"
"Yeah," I replied without hesitation. "I'll pick you up at your boarding house at eight thirty. So we won't be late." The words escaped before I had time to overthink them, but I didn't regret saying them.
She smiled and nodded. "Okay." She reached for her phone. "I'll send the full address via SMS, alright? So it's clear." Her eyes sparkled in a way that made my chest feel tight.
"Absolutely," I said quickly, trying—and failing—to hide my excitement. "Just send it later."
"Thanks again for today, Randi," she said softly. "For… everything."
"You're welcome, Tik," I replied. "See you tomorrow."
She waved once and turned, walking down the damp road toward her boarding house. I stood there longer than necessary, watching until her figure disappeared.
My phone vibrated.
From: Cantika"My boarding house address: Jl. Belimbing Raya No. 15C (Behind the mosque, yellow house, second floor, blue door). Tomorrow at 8:30, okay? :)"
Another message followed.
"I'm happy we could succeed together today. Sleep well, Randi."
I read the messages again and again. The address. The smiley. The word together. My heart pounded harder than it had all day. Harder than when Akmal had yelled. Harder than when Pak Andi had hesitated. From the ruins of friendship and embarrassment, something fragile but real was beginning to grow.
I looked up at the darkening sky. Akmal's words were still there, lingering like shadows. But the light from my phone felt brighter. Tomorrow would come. And at 8:30 a.m., I would be standing at Jl. Belimbing Raya No. 15C. Exactly as promised.