The school garden was quiet in the late afternoon, shadows stretching long across the cobblestones. Lanterns strung from the trees cast a soft glow, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze.
Lestari and Citra crouched behind one of the flowerbeds, sharing a hidden corner of the festival aftermath. Citra fed Lestari a small piece of mochi, leaning close so Lestari could taste it first. Their fingers brushed, lingering just enough for a spark, and Lestari's face bloomed crimson.
"You're ridiculous," Lestari whispered, but there was a smile in her voice.
"You love it," Citra teased, eyes glinting. "Admit it."
"I—maybe…" Lestari trailed off, caught in the warmth of the moment, the thrill of secrecy that made everything sharper, more alive.
A small, stolen kiss followed—brief, gentle, hidden beneath the shade of the lanterns. The world felt impossibly wide, impossibly theirs.
Across the garden, Bayu leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching from a distance. Yun had wandered off after their group chat broke up, leaving him alone. But what really caught his attention was Lestari and Citra, laughing softly, exchanging shy glances, completely immersed in each other.
His chest tightened in a way he hadn't expected. Love could be quiet, subtle, hidden, and it could be effortless. It wasn't messy like his own heart, full of unspoken words and awkward half-steps.
Bayu turned his gaze, catching Arka leaning lazily against the stone wall of the building opposite. Arka's expression was unreadable, almost casual, but his eyes were fixed on the same scene. He didn't step closer, didn't intervene. Instead, he let the moment linger, untouchable, like he'd always known it would happen this way.
And then Arka thought:
"Look at them. Quiet, patient, fearless in the small moments. Love doesn't always need the world to see it; it just exists because it wants to. And maybe that's the trick. Maybe the world never teaches us how to hold someone without demanding an audience. We think chaos is a measure of passion, noise is proof of depth… but it's just a distraction.
I can craft worlds, summon storms, bend every story to my whim, but even I can't write the ease of a stolen glance that doesn't need permission. That's power I don't have. Not yet.
Maybe that's why it's unbearable sometimes. To watch the soft, secret moments that come naturally. To see a heart trusted without conditions. To be reminded of what I hide behind every joke, every noise, every shadow of myself. I am loud, unending, a storm no one can anchor… and still, I envy it. Not for myself, but because it exists. Because it's real."
Bayu shifted under the weight of looking in his eyes, understanding it in a way that stung. He wanted to approach, to ask Arka to step closer, to break the distance, but words failed him, and Arka's monologue wasn't for him anyway.
Lestari leaned closer to Citra, unaware of the quiet storm of emotion unfolding just yards away.
And in the shadows, both Bayu and Arka felt the sharp contrast between what could be and what was, the soft, effortless love that survived secrecy, and the fragile, crumbling bond they refused to mend.