Morning at Harapan Nusa High School begins with the sound of the iron gates opening, hurried footsteps, and conversations bubbling through the air like ripples in a pond. Students arrive in their imperfect uniforms—some ties crooked, some hair not yet fully dried, some laughter echoing before the first bell rings.
Amidst it all, Nayara Maheswari walks like a calm spot amidst the crowd.
Her steps are steady, her eyes fixed straight ahead, the notebook in her arms like an extension of her own body. She politely greets each teacher as she passes, receiving a smile in return: proud, yet a little wary.
Some students whisper as she passes, not because of gossip, but because of her unapproachable, "too-perfect" aura. They admire her, but are reluctant to approach.
The school hallways are filled with sunlight filtering through the long windows. The smell of markers and teenage perfume mingles with the scent of fresh paper from the administration room. The sound of shoes clicking against the floor forms a rhythm to the bustling morning, but within it, Nayara remains like a shadow, not running along.
In the eleventh grade science class, the desks were lined up in rows, the whiteboard still covered in yesterday's scribbled formulas. In the front row near the window, Nayara sat quietly, welcoming her deskmate, Annisa Rahmania Putri, who had arrived in a hurry.
Nisa was Nayara's polar opposite in almost every way. Her hair was wavy, tied back casually, with bangs that sometimes fell over her eyes. She had tan skin, a quick smile, and a spontaneous energy that always lit up the room whenever she spoke. She wasn't the most outstanding student, but she had a social intelligence that made everyone comfortable around her.
When Nisa entered, Nayara was writing something in a notebook with a light blue pen. As she sat down, Nisa exclaim in panic,
"Oh, Nay, I forgot to bring my math worksheet again!" Nisa complained to Nayara.
"You said that last week too, Nis," Nayara said with a small smile. "Maybe we should start praying together before every class."
Everyone who heard laughed, including Nayara, who chuckled—just a small sliver of happiness was enough for the day.
"Yes, yes, Miss Perfect. Never forgets, never makes mistakes. Sometimes I forget you're human too." Nisa laughed.
The joke was simple, but it had a hint of sarcasm in it. Nayara laughed along, amused and bitter. She was used to being perfect, because all eyes were on her. She was used to being the center of attention, but not because she enjoyed it, but because she couldn't avoid it. Therefore, one small mistake could ruin the reputation she'd built so far. And it was terrifying; even the thought of it made Nayara shudder.
Shortly after the bell rang, Mrs. Susi—the biology teacher known for being strict but compassionate—entered the classroom with a large folder in her hand. Her face was clean, her hair neatly tied back, and her steps were firm but not forceful. She walked to the teacher's desk, while the students took out their books and pens, ready for the first lesson.
Time passed until the bell rang again. Students scattered from all directions towards the hall. Today, the announcement of the science olympiad results was posted on the information board on the left of the schoolyard. A clamor began to rise: applause, exclamations of admiration, and Nayara's name being called repeatedly.
"Hey, Nayara won first place again!"
"It's like no one else is there, huh?"
"It's amazing, I swear."
Nayara stood in front of the board, reading her own name in first place. The letters were clearly printed: NAYARA MAHESWARI – 1ST PLACE IN NATIONAL CHEMISTRY OLYMPIAD.
She smiled slightly, not out of pride, but because she knew that was the expression expected of a winner.
Behind her, Nisa patted her on the back and her other classmates applauded. Even the principal passed by and congratulated her.
Everyone seemed happy.
Except her.
Every time my name was called as the winner, people applauded. But amidst the applause, I heard a very quiet echo, she thought.
Class resumed as usual. The teacher explained the new material in the front, while some students were busy copying, others were drawing in the margins of their notebooks.
Nayara wrote quickly and neatly, her handwriting looking like it had been printed by a machine. Beside her, Nisa drew a flower in the margin, then whispered,
"I really don't understand how you can focus so badly."
Nayara stared at the board, then answered without looking up, "If you stop focusing, you won't understand, Nisa."
"You sound like my dad," Nisa said, chuckling. "The difference is, I can argue my dad, but I can't bear to argue you."
Nayara glanced at her, then smiled. But her smile quickly disappeared. It was replaced by a serious look again. From outside the window, the laughter of students from the next class could be heard loudly, freely, and uncontrollably. Some even ran down the corridor, chased by their friends. Nisa turned and smiled at them.
"I'm going to have a heart attack if you're like them one day," she joked. "So un-Nayara Maheswari."
Nayara just stared for a long moment. They have no idea how much I want to join in their laughter like that, without fear of forgetting to be the best version of myself, she thought. But all that came out of her mouth was a flat sentence,
"Just keep dreaming. Who knows, maybe one day it'll actually happen."
Nisa rolled her eyes, then scribbled carelessly in her notebook. "Freak. Luckily, You're pretty."
Time passed without her realizing it. The sun rose higher, shining through the window and reflecting light onto Nayara's desk.
The classroom felt like a chaotic social laboratory: loud laughter, footsteps everywhere, and words flying around, who knew which ones to catch.
Amidst the commotion, Nayara sat with her back straight, scribbling notes in monotone black ink. In her calm eyes, there was a small shadow—like a line in water that slowly expanded.
She lifted her face to the window, staring at the faint blue sky. For a moment, she wanted to close her eyes and laugh as loudly as her friends. But in her head, her monologue rang out again:
One small mistake could tarnish the reputation you've built over the years.
And like a reflex, her hand resumed writing.
From the outside, Nayara appeared perfect. But inside, something was slowly realizing that perfection might not be life—just a neat system, where she was learning to restrain herself from losing control.