The afternoon sun spilled through the classroom windows, painting golden stripes across the desks. Arka leaned back in his chair, laughing at something someone had said, the sound light, effortless, as if nothing had changed. But Rani, sitting quietly in the corner, noticed the subtle cracks: the notebook on his desk lay closed, untouched. No scribbles. No half-formed worlds spilling out in frantic ink.
Across the courtyard, Bayu walked with Ayunda, her hand resting casually in his. He smiled, nodded at her jokes, laughed at her teasing, but the sparkle, the heat of genuine connection, wasn't there. Bayu himself felt it, an emptiness he couldn't quite name, a dull ache at the pit of his chest.
Arka watched them from across the room, tilting his head, a faint, imperceptible shadow crossing his eyes before he returned to laughter. It was a practiced mask, one he wore with perfection. No one noticed the tightness in his chest, the way he stared at the empty notebook beside him, the weight of unspoken words pressing like lead.
Rani finally whispered, quietly enough for only herself to hear, "He stopped writing… since Bayu chose her."
Arka's laugh echoed again, sharp, hollow, a perfectly pitched sound that concealed everything he refused to let anyone see.
Some stories end because the words weren't written. Some connections break because they were never allowed to be spoken about.
And Arka… kept smiling.