That morning, Adrian woke earlier than usual. The sunlight had only just begun slipping through the curtains when he opened his eyes, yet his mind was already working faster than his body could catch up.
Bread.
He reached for the paper bag he'd bought the night before and placed it on the dining table. Two simple pieces of bread—nothing remarkable at first glance. And yet, for some reason, he treated them with more care than their price warranted. He took one for breakfast, leaving the other untouched inside the bag. His hand lingered on the paper longer than necessary.
The bread wasn't for him.
And since when did he start noticing small things like this?
Adrian rubbed his face, trying to sweep aside thoughts that were far too complicated for the early morning. As he sat down, lazy footsteps echoed from the hallway. Nathan appeared, dragging a blanket like some failed superhero cape. His hair stood in every direction, his eyes barely open—like he had just crawled out of a dungeon. He stopped when he spotted the bread bag. Then he grinned—a grin that instantly made Adrian regret every life decision that had brought him here.
"Wow," Nathan pointed at the bag with his chin. "Special breakfast, huh?"
"It's just bread," Adrian rolled his eyes. "Normal breakfast."
"Uh-huh."
Nathan sat, eyeing him with a clarity far too sharp for someone who had just woken up.
"Just bread. That you bought late at night. That you didn't eat. That you kept neatly like it's some national treasure."
Adrian said nothing.
Nathan raised an eyebrow, the way a detective did when he'd found a crucial clue.
"I think I know who that's for."
"Don't start," Adrian grabbed his coffee.
"Too late." Nathan held up a finger like a judge delivering a verdict.
"That… is for my sister-in-law."
Adrian almost choked.
"She's not—"
"Not yet," Nathan cut him off. "I'm simply manifesting a bright future."
"Stop talking."
"But the bread—"
"Nathan." Adrian's stare sharpened.
Nathan snickered triumphantly. "Fine, fine. I'll zip it. But I'm still right."
Adrian ruffled Nathan's hair, grabbed the bread bag, and left before his brother could come up with more nonsense. Still, he couldn't hide the small smile tugging at his lips. Nathan was annoying—but annoyingly accurate.
The moment he got into his car, silence wrapped around him. He started the engine—and without warning, his memory drifted back to a certain afternoon years ago.
The campus field was full of confused freshmen. The midday sun was scorching, but the seniors' tempers were even hotter. And there—standing with a clipboard in hand—was Arsyeela.
Her black hair tied tightly, her cold expression unreadable. Her gaze was sharp, as though assessing every freshman one by one.
Including Adrian.
He remembered himself clearly—long messy hair, black hoodie, a camera hanging from his neck, and an expression that screamed I don't want to be here—standing among hundreds of new students, sticking out like a sore thumb.
"Adrian Kusnadi!" Arsyeela's voice echoed—firm, impatient.
Adrian, who had been busy photographing a bird perched on an electric wire, turned casually.
"Yes, Kak."
Arsyeela's jaw tightened.
"I told you to gather your group in front of the faculty building five minutes ago. Why are you still here?"
Adrian pointed at his camera.
"The bird looks great, Kak. It rarely stays still."
Some freshmen stifled laughter.
Arsyeela did not. At all.
She walked closer, staring at him as if she were trying to figure out whether he was stupid or simply too relaxed.
"Do you think this is a photography club?"
Adrian shrugged.
"It's orientation, right? I'm… orienting myself with campus life."
That look—the "this kid is going to be a headache" look.
One silent second that felt far too long.
Then:
"You're ten minutes late. Run three laps. Now."
Adrian grinned slightly.
"Kak, I just—"
"Four laps."
…and for some reason, he obeyed.
It was the first time Adrian got extra punishment because of his mouth.
But he remembered a small detail everyone else probably missed: when he almost fainted from the heat, Arsyeela quietly placed a bottle of water on a bench and walked away without looking back.
That was when Adrian noticed something strange about her: she was strict. Firm. Even scary.
But not cruel.
He had never forgotten that.
The car stopped as Adrian reached the office basement. He took a long breath, pulling himself back to the present. The bread bag sat on the seat beside him—a small reminder of why he came earlier today.
On the office floor, Nina greeted him right away.
"Morning, Mas Adrian! There's a meeting with the Cendana project team at ten."
"Alright. Is Ms. Arsyeela in yet?"
Nina shook her head. "She stepped out for a moment. Maybe getting some air."
Adrian glanced toward Arsyeela's half-open office door—empty, quiet.
A small, restless tug pulled at him—not panic, but an urge to check. He gripped the bread bag a little tighter.
He walked down the hallway, searching. And somehow, his steps stopped in front of a frosted door with no nameplate.
Room 3B.
He knocked once—softly—then opened the door.
Arsyeela sat on the worn sofa, eyes closed, her breathing heavy yet steady. The soft glow from the window made her look… tired. Fragile. So different from the composed figure everyone always saw.
Something in Adrian's chest tightened. Not pity—more like realization.
All this time, he had misjudged her. The strict senior from his freshman orientation, the woman he once thought was a cold, flawless machine—was actually human. A person carrying far too much.
When Arsyeela opened her eyes and saw him, the surprise flickered briefly before she masked it with a faint, controlled smile. After a short exchange and the bread passing into her hands, she left the room first.
The door closed. Silence returned.
Adrian sat on the same sofa, resting his hand where hers had been—as if trying to catch the warmth she'd left behind.
"If the world were a little kinder…" he murmured,
"someone like you wouldn't have to carry everything alone."
For the first time, the image of Arsyeela in his memory shifted. No longer the strict senior with a black sling bag. No longer the face that scolded him for being late. Now he saw a woman who had been running her whole life without ever being given a chance to stop.
The meeting began exactly at ten. Adrian sat two seats away from her, and even without looking directly, he felt her presence like a pull of gravity. Arsyeela had returned to her professional self—calm, neat, focused. No trace of the exhaustion from Room 3B, at least not to anyone else.
But Adrian saw it.
Even her old habit resurfaced—the subtle curling of her fingers whenever she was about to speak about something important. A detail he had once noticed amidst the chaos of their past.
When the topic of onboarding came up, Adrian made a casual remark laced with light nostalgia.
"The early version of the system was… pretty intense, yeah. I remember some of the rules were really something."
Arsyeela's pen paused mid-stroke.
But Adrian kept his eyes on his laptop.
A few minutes later, it was his turn to present. He spoke casually, slipping in a line that sounded like an ordinary workplace joke.
"This part reminds me of the days I got yelled at a lot for not paying attention. Funny now, I guess."
Arsyeela glanced at him—quick, instinctive.
Adrian didn't meet her gaze. Just smiled faintly at the screen.
The presentation continued. While clicking to change the slide, he added lightly, as if making a random comment,
"This kind of task can give you a headache. Someone once even told me I was their headache. Maybe they were right."
Softer. Subtler. No context.
But enough to make someone stop.
Arsyeela straightened without realizing it. A faint crease formed between her brows—like something had brushed an old memory she hadn't checked in years.
The meeting went on until the end. People packed up and left slowly, the room emptying until only two people remained.
"Adrian," Arsyeela called.
He stopped and turned.
She stood beside the table, posture firm but her eyes less composed. The look of someone trying to connect dots.
"There's something… about the way you talked today," she said quietly.
"For some reason it feels familiar."
Adrian waited.
"I feel like…" she rubbed her temples. "I've seen you before. A long time ago. But the place… ah, maybe I'm mistaken."
She shook her head slowly, frustrated at the elusive memory.
"It was loud. Hot. Very crowded."
Almost.
Arsyeela opened her mouth, as though the final piece was about to fall into place—
when her phone vibrated loudly. Her expression shifted instantly.
"Sorry. I need to take this."
Adrian nodded.
Before she left, Arsyeela looked at him again—longer than necessary.
Like someone who had almost found the answer,
but was still one step away.