The campus library was not the kind of place most freshmen voluntarily visited in their first year—at least not in the first few months. Yet for Ahmad Andra Pratama, it had become something of a second home, a refuge far gentler than any crowded dorm, noisy food court, or the eternal chaos of the student halls. If his small rented room was his sanctuary of sleep and solitude, then the library was a well-lit shrine where the world finally, mercifully, made sense.
When Andra pulled open the heavy glass door that morning, the smell of old paper and cold air conditioning washed over him like a soft wave. It was a scent he had known since childhood—libraries everywhere seemed to share the same soul. As a boy, he used to sneak into the district library after school, hiding between tall shelves while reading history books his friends would never even consider touching. Those days were quiet, uneventful, and often lonely… but comforting. Safe. Familiar.
Andra placed his hands in his pockets and exhaled softly.
"Here we go again," he muttered.
The campus library was spacious and modern—four floors, curved wooden stairs, endless rows of books, wide tables that caught morning light perfectly, and quiet corners where the hum of an air purifier could be heard if one listened closely. The very first time he had stepped inside a few months ago, he had nearly cried out of sheer relief. It was the only place in the entire campus where he didn't feel the pressure of status, fashion, or who was dating whom. No noisy cliques. No gossiping groups. No rich kids flashing new phones every other week.
Just books. Glorious, peaceful books.
Andra swiped his student card at the entrance scanner.
Beep.
The green light flashed. He stepped in.
Behind the information desk stood Miss Rara, a librarian in her late twenties with glasses and a bun too tight to be comfortable. She noticed him instantly.
"Good morning, Andra," she whispered, smiling politely.
There it was—that familiarity. That quiet recognition.
Andra nodded back. "Morning, Miss."
This exchange had already happened dozens of times. She remembered him because he always came alone, always came early, and always borrowed too many books at once. He liked that she didn't ask why.
He crossed the lobby, passing two chatting seniors who barely gave him a glance. Normally, being ignored would sting a little, but today he welcomed it. His entire mind was exhausted after the mess of the past two weeks—especially the incident with that girl.
Nafisa.
He winced internally.
No, no, no. Not today. He wouldn't think about her. He was here to escape.
Yet something in the silence made his thoughts drift there anyway.
Nafisa Elvaretta Kusuma, the brightest, prettiest, most effortlessly joyful girl in the business management department—and the same girl who had drunkenly clung to his arm two weeks ago and nearly died crossing the street if he hadn't yanked her back by instinct.
He had carried her to a hotel that night. Half-dead inside, half-ready to transcend this mortal plane after feeling her body pressed so innocently close—
Stop.
Andra slapped his cheeks lightly.
"Get a grip, you useless hormonal organism," he whispered under his breath.
A student nearby turned in confusion.
Andra straightened his posture pretentiously, pretending to examine a nearby shelf, then quickly walked away.
He reached his favorite aisle—Management and History. Odd mix, but fitting for him. He liked strategies. He liked stories. The world made sense when it was written in ink.
There it was: the same thick book he had been searching for yesterday, a volume about the business strategies of late-19th-century industrial expansion—something no one except him would find interesting.
He slid it off the shelf, feeling the familiar weight settle into his hands.
"Perfect," he murmured.
He walked to the far corner of the library—his usual spot. A small table tucked between a tall bookshelf and a window overlooking the courtyard. A small territory he quietly claimed.
He sat, placed his backpack on the floor, and opened the book.
Words flowed easily into his mind. The hum of the room faded into a gentle backdrop. For a few minutes, everything was peaceful.
Until, inevitably…
His thoughts drifted again.
Four months.
He'd been a college student for four months.
A new life in a prestigious university—a miracle he had fought desperately to earn after failing the previous year. And what had changed?
Nothing.
He was still alone. Still unnoticed. Still broke. Still the same Andra who never quite fit in.
Back in high school, he had comforted himself with the idea that college would be different—that girls would magically be interested in him simply because "campus life is full of opportunities," or something along those lines. His mother had told him that, actually, smiling mischievously as she cooked him fried rice the night before entrance exams.
"Girls like smart boys," she'd teased, mussing up his hair.
"In college, you'll be surrounded by plenty of them. I'm sure you'll be the one getting confessed to."
What a scam.
What a blatant, unforgivable scam.
Not even one girl had looked at him with romantic interest. Not one. Meanwhile, the prettiest girl in the whole department—who he had stupidly, silently vowed to marry on the very first day because he was dumb enough to be dazzled by her beauty from fifty meters away—turned out to be taken already.
Andra rolled his eyes at the memory.
Yes, he remembered that moment very clearly.
That dramatic moment of destiny—or delusion—when he had seen Nafisa standing near the campus map with sunlight hitting her hair like a cinematic blessing. He had stared, internally screaming, while his outer face remained expressionless like a bland NPC.
He had sworn, in the privacy of his heart:
"I will marry that girl someday."
He shuddered.
"What was I thinking…" he muttered.
And then two weeks ago—
She hadn't even recognized him when he saved her life.
Of course she didn't.
Why would she?
A random average guy was invisible to someone like her.
He flipped another page aggressively.
It wasn't that Andra hated his life. He had food. A room. Friends—even if they were idiots. He was doing well academically. He had hobbies. He had dreams.
But even so…
Sometimes, when he watched couples walking together on campus, laughing, holding hands, sharing earbuds, he felt a tiny sting inside. A quiet envy that burrowed into his chest, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.
When exactly… did I start wanting more?
When exactly did that feeling appear?
When exactly did I stop being satisfied with books and my own company?
He sighed.
He didn't know.
Maybe it was seeing his friends tease each other about crushes. Maybe it was the loneliness of living away from home. Maybe it was the stupid influence of movies. Or maybe it was simply human nature—wanting connection.
Whatever the reason, it had begun to bother him lately.
The longing.
The ache.
The feeling of wanting someone—not romantically at first, but simply someone who understood him.
Someone who would listen to him ramble about history and business strategies without judging him.
Someone who would sit beside him in the library, quietly reading her own book.
Someone who would smile at him not because of pity, but because she genuinely enjoyed being around him.
He rubbed his face.
"Ugh. Stop being poetic. This is embarrassing."
He returned to his book, forcing his eyes to focus.
He read one paragraph.
Then reread the same paragraph because he'd spaced out.
Then reread it again because he realized he hadn't absorbed anything at all.
His brain was too loud today.
---
Over the last two weeks, Andra's trips to the library had increased dramatically. If he wasn't in class or eating, he was here. Miss Rara had even begun preparing a seat tag for him as a joke, placing a sticky note labeled "Reserved for Andra" one morning. He removed it immediately, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Budi and Udin, of course, misunderstood everything.
The moment Andra told them the first time, "I'm going to the library," the two idiots had shared a look of divine understanding, as if witnessing a miracle.
Later, Andra caught them whispering to each other behind the vending machine.
"He's going," Udin whispered dramatically.
"Yes… he's finally going," Budi whispered back.
"That's our boy…"
"He's grown up…"
"We saved him…"
"We did God's work…"
Andra had simply walked away.
Today, the library was emptier than usual. A perfect condition for reading—yet his mind remained annoyingly restless.
He tried again.
Read.
Read.
Read.
But then—
A voice echoed in his mind:
"Where's your house?"
"Let's just stay at a hotel."
"…Eh?"
"…WAIT WHAT?!"
Andra slammed the book shut.
"Nope. This is impossible."
He leaned back in his chair, glaring at the ceiling as if the universe was mocking him.
"Why am I remembering THAT of all things?"
His brain offered no answer.
Instead, it replayed the moment when Nafisa had grabbed his wrist drunkenly. The softness of her voice blending with the chaos of traffic. Her weight leaning on him as he guided her through the street. The warmth of her breath when she mumbled something incoherent in his ear.
Andra covered his face with both hands.
"I am officially dying."
Footsteps approached.
A student walked past him, glanced at his table with curiosity, then moved on. Probably wondered why he looked like a man mourning his own existence.
He reopened his book.
Focus.
Focus.
FOCUS.
After a few minutes, the words finally began to settle. The rhythm of reading returned. The library's silence wrapped around him like a warm blanket.
He immersed himself in the past—industrial revolutions, supply chains, factory evolutions—until the modern world blurred away.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
He turned another page.
Then another.
Then another.
Only when he subconsciously reached for his water bottle and found it empty did he blink and realize:
"Oh. I've been here for three hours."
He stretched his arms. His back cracked loudly. A librarian glared at him.
"Sorry," Andra mouthed.
He stood and walked toward the water dispenser. As he waited for his bottle to fill, he noticed his reflection in the glass wall—eyebags, messy hair, slightly slouched posture.
A sigh escaped him.
"I look like someone who hasn't slept in a month."
Well… considering the chaos of the last few days, maybe that wasn't too far off.
He returned to his seat and reopened the book again—
But this time, something changed.
Something small.
Subtle.
Barely noticeable.
But he felt it.
A faint shift in the air.
A slight discomfort.
And the tiniest hint of being watched.
He paused.
Looked around slowly.
No one was near.
No one was even on this side of the floor.
He frowned.
"…Weird."
Shrugging it off, he continued reading.
But the sensation lingered.
A strange feeling in his chest, as if something—or someone—would soon disrupt the predictable, safe routine he had built for himself. He didn't know why. He didn't know how.
All he knew was. Today felt different.
He just couldn't tell yet whether that was good…
or very, very bad.