The afternoon sky began to fade over Harapan Nusa High School. The previously dazzling sunlight had turned a calm golden hue, filtering in through the lattice windows of the 11th grade science class.
The sound of chairs being shuffled and the laughter of students had long since faded, leaving only a soft echo in the hallway. The school was nearly empty.
Nayara remained in her seat, tidying up newly submitted notebooks and assignments. Her movements were neat and orderly, as if second nature. Her fingertips brushed across the clean surface of the desk before stopping at the small letters "Nayara M" in the right corner. She seemed to have written it unconsciously.
From outside, the sound of a basketball bouncing softly could be heard, followed by laughter and shouts, typical of boys.
Nayara glanced toward the window. From where she sat, she could see orange lights illuminating the court. Someone was dribbling the ball, dribbled past an opponent, and then shot with a swift motion. The sound of the ball going through the hoop could be heard all the way to the classroom.
Basketball boys. Still practicing, she thought.
The afternoon light reflected her face in the windowpane. She looked at her reflection as if she were seeing someone else.
It's funny, isn't it, she thought. I like seeing them laugh over trivial things. It feels warm and simple, uncomplicated like my life.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard footsteps coming from the corridor.
"Still here?"
The voice was familiar.
Nayara turned. Jovan Collins stood in the doorway. His hair was messy from being combed by hand, his uniform slightly wrinkled. His eyes were dark brown like his Javanese mother, but his skin was light, typical of his Caucasian ancestry, inherited from his American father. He carried a bottle of mineral water and a black shoulder bag.
Jovan had been with Nayara since junior high—a classmate, a debate competition buddy, and even once served as an "emergency pick-up" when it suddenly rained.
"Are you compiling notes?" he asked as he entered and sat in the chair across from Nayara.
"Hmm. So I won't forget it tomorrow," Nayara replied without looking up.
Jovan's gaze swept over Nayara's desk. "Your desk is like your head, I suppose."
"Do you mean empty?" Nayara frowned.
Jovan immediately laughed. "No. Clean. Neat. Except for this." He pointed to the words "Nayara M."
Nayara smiled slightly. "Maybe because both of them can get messy if they're not neat."
Jovan laughed again. "You can still joke around, apparently."
They were silent for a moment. The only sound came from the old ceiling fan. The afternoon light touched Jovan's face, and Nayara saw a soft, admiring gaze, one that hadn't changed since then.
Nayara knew what that gaze meant. Back in 8th grade, Jovan had once cryptically confessed his feelings.
"Nay, if I told you I liked you… would you be angry?"
"No."
"So?"
"I'm just afraid you'd expect something I can't give you, Jo."
Jovan paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I understand. But can we still be friends?"
"Of course," Nayara replied with a small, serene smile.
A similar conversation recurred one afternoon as they waited for the rain to subside in front of the school hall.
"Nay, if one day you get tired, can I take care of you?" Jovan asked softly, almost drowned out by the sound of the rain.
Nayara stared at him for a long moment before answering, "I don't need to be taken care of, Jo. Just keep me company. So I can keep going."
Jovan and Nayara both knew each other's feelings and respected each other. Jovan didn't force them, and Nayara didn't pull away. They were side by side, didn't cross the line.
To others, they might have looked like a couple who had known each other for a long time. Their way of speaking was also different—always gentle.
Nayara looked up. "Why aren't you home yet?"
"Waiting for Dimas. He said he was going to give books to the student council members."
"Dimas, the basketball player?"
"Hmm," Jovan replied, looking out the window. "They're still practicing."
Nayara followed his gaze. The figure in question was clearly visible there, moving quickly and confidently.
"They look alive, huh," Nayara said quietly.
Jovan smiled faintly. "You can too, if you want."
Nayara just shrugged. She knew what Jovan meant, but she wasn't going to take the bait.
Jovan stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. "I'll go first, okay? Don't stay here too long. It's deserted this afternoon."
Nayara smiled faintly, returning to looking out the window. "Yes. Just a moment."
As soon as Jovan left, the room fell silent again. Only the orange light lingered, falling softly onto Nayara's desk.