Pov Aisha's Life
Depok, Indonesia – 2026
The digital bulletin board in the faculty lobby had just been updated. Almost instantly, a crowd of students swarmed around it, jostling for a glimpse as if free concert tickets had been thrown into the mix. Aisha and Prilly pushed their way through, craning their necks to see over a sea of eager shoulders.
INTERNAL TRANSFER ANNOUNCEMENT
Target: Semester 2 & 3
Requirements: High GPA & Selection Test
Quota: Extremely Limited
Only four seats were up for grabs across three faculties. Aisha drew a long breath, feeling an unexpected weight settle on her chest.
Days later, when the final announcement went live, the lobby carried a different energy. Aisha and Prilly stood again before the glowing screen, but this time their hearts pounded not with anxiety, but with raw, explosive anticipation.
Prilly's lips trembled as she stared at the display. "Is this… really happening, Sha?"
Aisha leaned forward, her eyes sparkling as she scanned the list line by line. "See for yourself, Pril."
The screen radiated a blinding light that seemed to answer their silent prayers:
CONGRATULATIONS! INTERNAL TRANSFER APPLICATION APPROVED. 4 STUDENTS SELECTED: … PRILLY, RUQAYYAH …
A small, breathless laugh escaped them—a release so profound it felt like exhaling months of pent-up tension. But just as quickly, reality nudged back in.
"Wait—what about the scholarship? We need to check that now," Prilly said, snapping Aisha from her euphoria.
Aisha nodded with determination. "Right, let's check the faculty website or ask at the counter directly."
What followed felt like a mini-adventure. They dashed from the dorm to the Fasilkom administration counter, weaving through a corridor packed with new students. Their excitement made them oblivious to the crowd pressing in on all sides.
By the time they reached the counter, the line snaked longer than expected. The digital board overhead continued to flash the transfer announcement in glaring capital letters. Prilly, slightly out of breath, clutched a yellow folder containing meticulously organized documents.
Then, just five steps from the front, disaster struck.
Crash!
Aisha collided with something—or someone—so forceful it felt like running into a concrete wall.
A tall young man stood there, holding a black folder, his expression unreadable. His gaze swept over them with the detached precision of someone who had just witnessed the most absurd performance of the morning.
Ardan.
The legendary upperclassman of Fasilkom, known for his icy demeanor, genius-level intellect, and near-impossible-to-break social barrier. His jaw was sharp, brows slightly arched, and the faintest hint of amusement lingered in his eyes, though he wouldn't admit it.
The papers in their hands scattered across the floor. Ardan's voice was calm, almost clinical:
"Eyes work, right? Use them. Don't run if you can't see."
Aisha, already tense and stressed, snapped back reflexively. "Hey—you too! You just appeared out of nowhere!"
But when their eyes met, her irritation melted. There was something familiar about him. She paused, studying his face. Haven't I seen him before…?
[Ding! Host Alert: This is Ardan. Remember? He helped you on the bus back in 2024.]
The system's reminder hit her instantly. Oh… him? A faint smile tugged at her lips, guilt crawling in alongside relief.
Ardan's expression softened slightly, though subtly. "You… the girl from the bus?"
Aisha nodded quickly, a blush creeping across her cheeks. "Yeah… sorry about just now. Didn't mean to bump into you… or yell."
He studied her for a few seconds, cool and calculating, like analyzing a malfunctioning algorithm. Without a word, he bent down with quiet grace, retrieved his black folder, and straightened it. He didn't help pick up Prilly and Aisha's scattered documents.
Standing again, he let out a sharp, measured breath—neither angry nor amused, just… indifferent.
"Next time, don't run," he said, and that was it.
Without waiting for a response, Ardan turned and walked through the crowd, each step precise and cold, as if the collision had been nothing more than a minor glitch in the system.
Aisha froze. This was supposed to be a cute little reunion…
Prilly hurried to gather their papers. "Focus, Ruqayyah. Don't start trouble with an upperclassman. We've been officially Fasilkom students for two minutes. Don't get blacklisted already," she whispered, panic barely contained.
Later, in a more formal setting, the newly transferred students gathered in a circle for a short orientation. The atmosphere was stiff, a mixture of competition and nervous energy.
A tall senior with dark circles under his eyes stepped forward.
"Hello, everyone! Welcome to hell… I mean, Fasilkom. You've been accepted through internal transfer, which means congratulations and condolences all at once."
A faint, uneven laugh spread across the room.
"You'll study basic programming, algorithms, and eventually… AI. But the most important advice? Don't panic in your first semester."
After the session, they stepped out carrying thick course manuals that felt heavier than any backpack they'd carried. Prilly scanned her schedule. "Intro to Programming, Data Structures, Linear Algebra, Calculus… Sha, is this a class schedule or a headache incantation?"
The real adventure began when they entered their first class. Silence fell as the instructor walked in—a woman in her early thirties, hair neatly tied back, radiating a mix of warmth and authority.
"Good morning, everyone," she said as she set her laptop on the desk. "I'm Ms. Hana. Today, we won't dive straight into heavy coding. I want to start with a simple question: why are you learning programming?"
The students straightened instinctively. Even the drowsiest ones leaned in, suddenly attentive.
Ms. Hana clicked to the first slide. "Python is the language you'll use this semester. Why Python? Because the giants of the tech world run on it, every second."
She paced slowly in front of the class. "Google, Netflix, Tokopedia—even small startups—use Python for data analysis, building features, running their systems."
Aisha scribbled notes furiously. "Wow… this is cooler than I imagined," she muttered under her breath.
"Do you use Instagram, TikTok, or YouTube?" Ms. Hana continued. "Ever wonder how these apps know exactly what you want to watch?"
The class murmured quietly.
"Algorithms," she said. "Programs that learn your habits. And Python powers many of them."
Aisha stared at the screen. So the reason I watch cat videos instead of K-dramas… Python?
"Exactly," Ms. Hana replied, as if reading her mind. "Even in games—when your character jumps, shoots, or dodges—the computer interprets your input in microseconds. That's programming."
She closed the slide. "You see, this isn't abstract. You're learning the language that drives the world. Starting today, you'll learn to 'talk' to computers. You don't have to be a genius—just willing to try."
Prilly gave Aisha a small, excited smile. "I'm getting chills, Sha. This… this is amazing."
Aisha nodded. "First day, and I already feel… we belong here."
"Good," Ms. Hana said. "Now, open your laptops. Let's start with something simple."