Tuesday morning arrived not with the blare of an alarm, but with suffocating silence. Kay woke before her phone could ring, her eyes flying open to the dull ceiling above. There was no gentle transition from dreams to reality—she was thrust fully awake, the memory of those comments hitting her like an icy wave.
Robotic. Attention-seeking. Disgusting.
The words felt like physical bruises on her soul, throbbing with fresh pain.
She lay motionless for nearly twenty minutes, her body leaden, as if gravity in her room had doubled, pressing down on her chest until breathing became laborious. On her desk, her phone lay face-down like a tiny tombstone. Normally, it was the first thing she reached for—a portal of hope. This morning, it felt radioactive, a Pandora's box she didn't dare reopen. She was terrified of what she'd find inside—more poison, more judgment.
With what little strength she had left, she forced herself up. Her movements were slow, sluggish, as if she were wading through water. Her head pounded, her eyes swollen. In the mirror, she saw a girl with dark circles and an empty expression. This is the real me, she thought bitterly. Not the confident, winking girl in uniform from the video. They were right. It was all an act. And a bad one.
The walk to school felt like a parade of torture. Every person she passed in the alley—the gossiping mothers at the warung, the men fixing motorcycles, the children playing—seemed to stare at her. Of course they're not, she told herself. They had their own lives. But paranoia crawled under her skin, making her tug her collar higher and duck her head low. Every glance felt like scrutiny. Every laugh sounded like mockery.
At school, the feeling worsened. The hallways that had felt like a red carpet yesterday now felt like a battlefield she had to cross undetected. She walked quickly, eyes fixed on her shoes, trying to disappear back into the invisibility she'd once mastered. But it was too late. She'd already shown herself to the world.
Sarah and Dinda found her at her locker, their faces glowing.
"Kay! Oh my God, have you checked your phone this morning?" Sarah's voice was too loud, making Kay flinch. "Your video's about to hit a million views! A million!"
"The comments are insane. You're actually viral now," Dinda added, shaking Kay's arm excitedly. "How does it feel? You must be so happy!"
It was a conversation between two different worlds. Sarah and Dinda's world of staggering numbers and euphoria, and Kay's world of poisonous echoes.
Kay forced a thin smile. "Oh. That's... good," she mumbled, her voice flat even to her own ears.
Their enthusiasm dimmed. They exchanged glances. "What's wrong?" Sarah frowned. "You should be happy! You're famous now!"
"I'm just... tired. Didn't sleep well," Kay lied, the words flimsy as paper.
How could she explain? How could she tell them that among thousands of praises, it was the handful of cruel comments that felt the realest?
"Ugh, why? All you did was dance," Dinda joked, but the words unintentionally stomped on Kay's wound. All you did was dance. Dinda hadn't seen her struggle for an hour, hadn't seen her frustration, her desperate hope. She only saw the final product that looked effortless.
"I'm gonna head to class," Kay said abruptly, unable to keep pretending. She left Sarah and Dinda staring after her in confusion. The first crack in their friendship had formed—a rift created by an experience they couldn't share.
In the classroom, she took the corner seat, hoping to spend the rest of the day unnoticed. But when she glanced up, her eyes met Rafi's from across the room. He wasn't sneering this time. Instead, a small, triumphant smirk curled his lips, as if saying, I knew it. I knew you weren't that great. Then he turned to his friends, muttered something, and they all looked at Kay and laughed under their breaths.
There it was. The confirmation she'd feared.
The hate wasn't just anonymous echoes online anymore. It had a face. It was here, in real life, in her classroom, laughing at her.
Kay ducked her head, her face burning with shame. She spent the rest of the day on high alert—every whisper sounding like gossip about her, every laugh feeling aimed at her. School, once her escape from her silent home, had become a transparent prison.
She arrived home that afternoon exhausted—not physically, but mentally. The house was empty and quiet. The silence that usually comforted her now felt deafening, letting the voices in her head scream louder. She dropped her bag and collapsed onto her bed, staring at the stained ceiling.
Then, her phone buzzed violently—notifications from Geng Rusuh. Reluctantly, she grabbed it.
Geng Rusuh (3)
Dinda Lestari: Kay, seriously, are you okay? You were acting so weird today. You didn't even react when Mr. Tirtayasa called on you.
Sarah Adinda: Yeah, you were like a zombie. And your video's about to hit a million! Look at these comments—someone said you look like Jennie!
(Sarah Adinda forwarded a screenshot of positive comments)
Dinda Lestari: See? You should be happy. What's wrong? Talk to us.
Kay stared at the screen. Her fingers felt heavy. She wanted to spill everything, but where would she even start? How could she explain an invisible wound? She typed, deleted, typed again, then finally sent the safest reply:
Kaisya Anjani: I'm fine. Just tired, didn't sleep well.
Sarah Adinda: You've been "tired" since yesterday. You're lying, aren't you? Is this about the hate comments? Just ignore them, they're just jealous haters.
Kaisya Anjani: It's not that.
Kaisya Anjani: I need to rest.
Dinda Lestari: Ugh. Fine.
Kay turned off notifications for the group. Guilt prickled at her for being cold, but the need to be alone was stronger. Their attempts to cheer her up with positive comments only proved they didn't understand at all.
She couldn't escape the thoughts. She needed proof—proof that her pain was real, that she wasn't overreacting. In a morbid impulse she couldn't explain, a form of emotional self-harm, she grabbed her phone.
Her fingers opened the app. She ignored the likes and views—meaningless now. Instead, she scrolled rapidly through the comments, bypassing hundreds of praises without reading them. She knew what she was looking for.
Her finger stopped.
The negative thread.
She read them again, one by one, slowly, letting each word sink in.
Cringey.
Trying too hard.
"Dancing like a glitching robot. Acting all cutesy when you're actually a bitch at school. Trying too hard to get guys' attention? Disgusting."
She reread the last line over and over. Each word was acid on an open wound. The isolation, the paranoia at school, Rafi's mocking stare—it all made sense now.
This was what they saw.
This was the real her in the world's eyes.