The midday sun hung lazily over the school, illuminating the field floor. In a corner, several students sat on long concrete benches, passing the break time in conversation that involved more laughter than content.
Raka sat among them, holding a brown guitar whose edges were starting to fade. His fingers plucked the strings slowly, producing a soft twang that was immediately greeted by Dimas' whistling on his right. Dimas tapped out a rhythm on his thigh, like an impromptu drummer.
"Bro, is it Peterpan again?" Dimas asked, feigning a bored yawn.
"Just something simple, so everyone can sing along," Raka replied with a smile.
He began strumming the intro to his song. "Semua Tentang Kita" (All About Us) was always a favorite among many students. It seemed perfect for the break atmosphere: relaxed, intimate, and easy to sing. His friends sang along half-jokingly, imitating the lyrics, most of which they knew only from the chorus.
Their voices mingled with the wind passing through the flamboyant leaves near the field.
From a distance, Nayara appeared with calm steps. She carried a thick book across her chest and walked past the edge of the field toward the small garden behind. Compared to the bustling break, her calm presence was a stark contrast.
When she saw Raka's group, her steps slowed slightly. Just a little.
She recognized the melody. It was familiar. Soft but not lilting.
Nayara chose to sit on a bench far away on the other side of the field. Far enough to be invisible, but close enough to hear clearly. She opened her book, though her gaze often returned to the source of the sound.
Raka's guitar strumming was clear, but her voice was even clearer.
Nayara wished time would stop for a moment. It felt nice to sit and enjoy the day without rushing.
On the other side, Dimas patted Raka on the shoulder. "Why did you stop? Not continuing?"
Raka smiled slightly. "Tired. That's enough."
He wasn't actually tired. He stopped because he knew someone on the other side of the field was listening.
Edo, their friend, glanced over slowly. "Hey, is that Nayara sitting there?"
Everyone immediately turned except Raka. He stared straight ahead, then pretended to tune his guitar.
"Yo, that's Nayara," Dimas whispered, his tone clearly teasing.
"Just leave it alone," Raka replied quietly.
His friends began discussing Nayara in low voices, afraid of being overheard. Some talked about her beautiful face, some talked about her impressive achievements, and others bragged about being friends with Nayara.
"She's a really nice person, bro. Calm, but caring."
"If you guys want to get close to Nayara, join the student council or a committee."
"I don't want to bother. I'd rather go over and pretend to ask about the lesson I don't understand."
"Yeah… you're not pretending. You really don't understand, right?" another said, laughing.
Raka smiled, amused.
"But seriously, Nayara is a really good teacher. No matter how stupid you are, you'll understand if she explains it."
"That's a good tactic. I'll try it sometime."
Dimas looked at Raka with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, "You have a lot of competitor."
Raka, starting to feel uncomfortable, tried to change the subject. "Okay, okay. Are we singing again?"
"You said you were tired?" Dimas teased.
"I've recharged the batteries," Raka replied casually.
He strummed a long note that echoed toward where Nayara was sitting.
Before he could continue, the bell rang, long and somewhat hoarse as usual. All the students stood and began moving toward class.
Raka patted Dimas on the shoulder and stood up as well.
On the other side of the field, Nayara also stood. She patted her skirt, closed her book, and walked away.
Before leaving the field, Raka glanced back briefly.
All he saw was Nayara's back, walking toward the next building. He sighed lightly, staring at the guitar in his hands. Sometimes the unplanned moments are the most memorable.