Break time was always bustling. Students were scattered everywhere. Some were in the cafeteria, on the field, in the park, in the library, in the prayer room, and some had even returned to class. In a semi-shaded corner of the basketball court, the sound of the ball bouncing rhythmically resembled another version of time—not hurried, not slow, just right.
Raka Aditya Pramudya stood at the three-point line. His uniform was lying on the sidelines, while he wore a plain white t-shirt. His black hair was messy in the wind. He was tall and sturdy, but his movements were not rough. There was a calmness in every step and shot, like someone who always knew where to stop. As the ball sailed through the hoop, his smile widened, full of satisfaction. The cheers of his teammates signaled their victory that afternoon.
Dimas Aryasatya patted him on the shoulder. "Are you playing basketball or meditating, Ka?" he teased, chuckling as he sat on the sidelines, his breath still ragged.
Raka sat down with a faint smile. "I don't play to win."
Dimas raised an eyebrow. "Then what? To keep you healthy? Lame," he joked. "You threw four times and they all went in. Crazy, man."
"The team's the crazy one, not me."
Nathan—another of their friends—arrived shortly after. He was carrying two bottles of water and tossed them lightly at Raka and Dimas. His black bangs was a bit long, slightly covering his eyes.
"And that's why everyone likes you," he said, sitting down with Raka and Dimas.
"Because he act humble?" Dimas mocked again. He lightly punched Raka in the shoulder. "They don't even know it, this kid is as mischievous as I am—he just hid behind his calm demeanor. That's why the girls are so smitten with him."
Raka chuckled. "And you just talk too much."
It wasn't an exaggeration. Raka was indeed popular, not only among the girls, but also among the boys and teachers. Raka was known as a polite, calm student with an elegant sense of humor that made him easy to like. His teachers liked him because he never really broke the rules, but often tested the limits with witty humor.
His physique stood out: fair skin for a boy, 178 cm tall, athletic, and with sharp but calm eyes. He rarely stared at someone for long, but when he did, it felt like he was being understanding. His hair was jet black, slightly wavy at the ends, often left messy in a way that only added to his charm.
Dimas opened his water bottle. He was slightly shorter than Raka, with short, crew-cut hair and tanned skin from basketball practice. His voice was slightly shrill and he spoke quickly, as if his mouth was always two steps ahead of his brain. He was a spontaneous thinker, a counterbalance to Nathan's logic.
Nathan Elvano was a more rigid version of Raka. He was rational, somewhat mysterious, observant, and not very talkative, but his every word was sharp and meaningful. It was understandable, considering he was the only child of a diplomat who frequently moved around the country. Despite his financial stability, he was a little lonely emotionally. Nathan's physical good looks weren't inferior to Raka's, but his aloof nature made him less popular.
The opposing team waved, signaling that they were going to the cafeteria.
Dimas called out, "Don't forget the bet. Tomorrow, you'll treat us to Mr. Udin's meatballs."
Yes, today, Raka and his friends were playing a 3-on-3 basketball game, with the loser betting on Mr. Udin's legendary meatballs, just for fun, even though it was a death move since Raka and Dimas were core players who often represented their school in basketball competitions.
"Do you realize," Dimas said again, "that we've been friends since junior high, but your life as a guy is boring. You never fight, never make a fuss about things. It's not fun, you know?"
Raka thought for a moment. "Why fight over things? What's mine is mine. No need to fight."
Nathan leaned against the iron pole at the edge of the court, laughing softly. "You can say that now, but you'll see. When there's something you really like, you can't just keep calm."
"Like a girl, you mean?" Dimas asked meaningfully. He playfully poked Raka's shoulder.
Raka just shook his head and sighed. "You're starting to go wild."
Suddenly, a mischievous idea occurred to him. He quickly sprayed water from his bottle onto Dimas' face. "Here, wash your face first."
For a moment, Dimas was shocked, but soon he growled in annoyance. Raka, seeing signs of retaliation from Dimas, immediately ran as fast as he could. His laughter erupted, followed by the screams of Dimas chasing after him.