At 8:15 sharp, my car was already parked in front of the yellow house gate at Jl. Belimbing Raya No. 15C. The engine was off, but I was still gripping the steering wheel as if I needed it to anchor myself. The quiet residential street was unusually calm for a Saturday morning. A few motorcycles passed by occasionally, the sound of their engines fading quickly into the distance. The mosque behind the row of houses was silent now, its early morning activity long finished. Everything felt still, suspended, as if the world itself was holding its breath along with me.
My phone rested in my palm, the screen glowing faintly. I stared at the message draft longer than necessary before finally typing: "I'm here out front, Tik. Take your time, I'll wait." Even after sending it, I didn't put the phone down immediately. My fingers trembled slightly, betraying the nervousness I was trying to suppress. This was ridiculous, I told myself. I had faced furious lecturers, impossible deadlines, even Akmal's rage without physically shaking like this. And yet, waiting in front of a yellow house for a girl to come down the stairs felt infinitely more terrifying.
Two minutes passed. Then three. My gaze kept drifting upward, toward the second floor. And then it happened—the blue door opened.
Cantika stepped out, framed by the doorway for just a second before moving forward. She was wearing tight jeans and a plain white T-shirt, nothing flashy, nothing complicated, yet the simplicity somehow made her stand out more. Her hair was tied neatly in a ponytail, exposing the curve of her neck. A sling bag rested on her shoulder. Her face looked fresh, clean, but her eyes… her eyes were slightly puffy. It was subtle, but I noticed. Had she cried? Or had she stayed up too late again?
She descended the stairs quickly, almost in a hurry, her sandals tapping softly against the concrete. When she reached the gate, she pushed it open and smiled at me, though I could see exhaustion hidden behind it. "Morning!" she greeted, waving lightly as she approached the car. "Ugh, sorry to keep you waiting. I had to rush to print the confidentiality letter." Her breath came out in short bursts, like she'd barely made it in time.
"It's okay," I replied as I got out briefly to open the door for her, a reflex I didn't even realize I had. "You look tired. Slept late or what?"
She slid into the back seat, setting her bag beside her, and leaned back for a moment before answering. "My group worked on an assignment until two a.m.," she said, closing her eyes briefly. "Super complicated. We were discussing the division of tasks for the data analysis. Nobody wanted to take responsibility for the hardest parts." Her voice sounded slightly hoarse, roughened by lack of sleep and too much talking.
I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to admit. Group work. Always the same story. I returned to the driver's seat, started the engine, and slowly pulled away from the curb. As the car moved forward, I glanced at her through the rearview mirror. She had opened her eyes again and was staring out the window, watching the houses pass by.
The drive to Bekasi usually took around thirty minutes, depending on traffic. That morning, the roads were relatively clear, yet the ride felt longer than usual. Or maybe it was shorter. Time felt strange, elastic. Silence settled between us—not awkward exactly, but thick, loaded. She shifted slightly, her body leaning just a little forward. One of her hands rested on the center console. Each time I changed gears, our hands brushed.
The first time it happened, it felt like a small electric shock. The second time, my heart skipped. By the third, I was acutely aware of every movement I made, every centimeter of space between us. Neither of us commented on it. We pretended not to notice, even though the tension was undeniable.
"Randi…" Her voice suddenly broke through the quiet, soft and close, almost too close. "I want to clarify something."
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I already knew what she meant. About what Akmal had said. About the things he'd thrown at me like weapons in the park. "You don't have to—" I began instinctively, the words rushing out before I could stop them.
"Listen first," she interrupted, her tone firmer than before, not angry, just determined. "I don't need the details." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I just want to say… what happened in the past doesn't define who you are now. I've seen it myself."
Her words settled over me slowly, like a warm wrap over a wound I'd been pretending wasn't there. I didn't answer right away. I couldn't. The tightness in my chest loosened just a bit, enough for me to breathe more deeply. For the first time since Akmal had shouted those accusations, I felt like I wasn't standing alone under them.
"Thank you," I said quietly, finally. It felt insufficient, but it was all I could manage.
When we arrived at PT. Bina Konstruksi's office, the sky had darkened again, heavy clouds threatening another downpour. Pak Andi greeted us with a nod and immediately handed over a thick folder, its weight noticeable even from where I stood. "This is the foundation data you asked for," he said. "Remember: academic use only."
Cantika bowed slightly, respectful. "Thank you so much, Sir! This is the confidentiality letter from campus." She handed him the document with both hands, her posture straight, her expression serious yet bright.
Pak Andi glanced through it, nodded approvingly, then smiled. "You two really work well together, huh?" he said casually. "Like real work partners."
For a moment, neither of us replied. We just looked at each other. Something unspoken passed between us—something that wasn't just about work anymore.
On the way back, the rain came down hard, drumming against the car roof. We stopped at a small soto stall by the roadside. The warm aroma of broth filled the air as we sat down. Cantika opened the data folder immediately, her exhaustion forgotten. Her fingers moved quickly, confidently, as she pointed at graphs and tables. "Look at this!" she said excitedly. "The SPT data is super detailed! We can compare Terzaghi's method with Meyerhof's!"
I stared at her, stunned. "You understand soil mechanics this deeply? This is sixth-semester material!"
She blushed, a shy smile forming. "I read my cousin's old books," she admitted quietly. "He works at a contractor." It was the first time she'd mentioned her family.
That afternoon at the campus library, we spread the data across the table. Papers everywhere. Laptops open. Our feet accidentally bumped under the table, and neither of us moved away.
"Randi…" She suddenly looked up, her eyes watery. "I… I have to be honest. I'm scared."
"Scared of what?" My heart raced.
"This project determines my group's grade. If it fails…" She bit her lip. "I can't handle it if my group has to repeat this course."
I wanted to reach out, to wipe her cheek, but I held myself back. "You can do it, Tik," I said firmly. "You're smart. I'll help until it's done. Promise."
She nodded, wiping her tears quickly. "Thank you. Really."
Saturday night, we worked overtime at a 24-hour internet café. At eleven p.m., the report was done. Cantika dropped her head onto the table. "Finallyyyy!"
I laughed. "Let's celebrate? I'll treat you to Padang satay."
The stall was quiet. We ate slowly.
"Randi," she said softly, her hand touching the back of mine. "I used to think engineering guys were stiff. Until I met you."
My heart pounded. "You're different too," I replied. "Engineering girls are usually fierce. You're… gentle."
Her eyes sparkled under the streetlight. Our faces moved closer. Breath warm. Lips almost touching—
BRRINGGG!
My phone vibrated violently: DEA – CALLING.
We jumped. Cantika sighed, pulling back. "Just answer it."
I picked up, irritated. "DEA! I'm busy—"
"RANDI PRANATA!" Dea yelled. "Do you know I just ran into Akmal—"
He was sitting all cozy with that Architecture girl, Vina? When I tried to talk to him, he said now he doesn't want to hang out with people who are fake and stab others in the back. HE WAS OBVIOUSLY TALKING ABOUT YOU!"
Her words hit like a punch.