If there was one thing Kiki hated more than a misprinted math problem, it was sudden change.
That morning, as usual, Kiki arrived at 6:45, set her bag on the front-row seat in the left corner—the seat that had been hers since 10th grade—then pulled four colored pens from her pencil case: black for notes, blue for formulas, red for important things, and green for... she didn't know. There just had to be a green one.
"Class, may I have your attention!" Ms. Retno came in carrying a laminated sheet.
"Starting today, we're going to randomize the seating so you won't keep hanging out with the same people."
The whole class erupted. Kiki silently prayed that she wouldn't end up sitting with anyone noisy.
Her prayer was not answered.
"Kirana Ayu... will share a desk with... Bara Aditya," Ms. Retno announced.
The class immediately erupted like someone had just scored a goal in the soccer final.
Della, sitting behind her, hurriedly poked Kiki in the back. "KIKI. BARA. The BAND KID. HIM," Della exclaimed excitedly.
Kiki turned toward the door, where Bara had just entered the classroom—his hair mussed by the wind, his bag hanging from one shoulder, and a smile that looked like it was already used to being idolized by the underclassmen.
"Uh, who am I sitting with?" Bara looked around at the seating chart up front.
"Me," Kiki answered flatly, pointing to the empty seat beside her.
Bara paused, looking Kiki up and down, all the way to the pencil case holding four colored pens, then grinned.
"Whoa. The class president. This seat is kind of intimidating," he said with a chuckle.
"If you aren't noisy, it won't be intimidating," Kiki replied, her eyes still on her notebook.
"Noted." Bara sat down and set the mini guitar he carried everywhere beside the desk. "By the way, I'm Bara," he said, trying to introduce himself.
"I... uh... know. Everyone knows you," Kiki said, still focused on her notebook.
"See? I really am famous." Bara grinned again.
Kiki only sighed, but secretly she noticed one strange thing: Bara talked so lightly, as if he didn't have a care in the world.
He was completely different from Kiki, who spent every night wondering whether tomorrow's assignment was neat enough yet.
The first lesson that morning was Physics—and as usual, Mr. Handoko started with a pop quiz question on the board.
Kiki automatically began writing the formula in her notebook, while Bara busied himself drawing a little cartoon in the corner of her book.
"Hey," Kiki nudged Bara's elbow. "This is my book," she said, snatching it back in annoyance.
"Yeah, I know. That's why I drew in it, so it wouldn't be boring." Bara pointed to a stick figure crying in front of the physics formula. "This is me during finals last semester," he said, putting on a sad face.
Kiki tried to hold back her laughter—and failed.
A small "pfft" escaped her mouth before she could stop it.
Bara immediately turned to her, startled and delighted at the same time. "Whoa. The class president laughed. I just made you laugh—this belongs in the history books," Bara said with a grin. "I belong in the record books," he added.
"Shut up." Kiki quickly covered her mouth, her face starting to feel warm. "Focus on the lesson," she said, her voice flat again.
But throughout the period, for some reason, Kiki glanced at the little stick figure in the corner of her notebook several times. And every time she did, she tried her hardest not to laugh again.
This was going to be a long semester, Kiki thought. And definitely full of distractions from the guy sitting next to me.
She wasn't wrong. She just didn't know yet that "long" would mean something far more complicated than simply trying not to laugh.
A week passed, and Kiki began—very reluctantly—to get used to the sound of Bara quietly strumming his mini guitar during every free period, as well as the smell of melon-flavored gum that, for some reason, was always around her desk.
Until Mr. Handoko made an announcement that nearly stopped Kiki's heart.
"Group project, two people, desk mates. Build a model demonstrating Newton's laws. It's due in two weeks," Mr. Handoko announced firmly.
Della, sitting behind them, immediately whispered excitedly, "Kiki. YOU. SIT. WITH. BARA. Aaaahhh..." The scream Della had been holding back finally burst out.
"I know, Del," Kiki replied, trying to keep her expression flat, even though she'd already started putting together a crisis schedule in her head.
Bara grinned at Kiki. "Relax, Class President. I guarantee we'll get a good grade," he said confidently.
"How can you guarantee that? You didn't even turn in yesterday's homework," Kiki shot back.
"That's a different story. That was homework with boring problems. This is building something! There's an artistic side to it." Bara was fired up, his eyes shining like he'd just come up with an idea for a new song. "I'm really good at making stuff like this," he assured Kiki.
Kiki didn't believe him one hundred percent, but since they had no other choice, they arranged to meet at Kiki's house on Saturday.
And as it turned out, Bara was right.
While Kiki was still busy reading theory online, Bara had already cut up some old cardboard, assembled it into a miniature track, and attached toy wheels. Within an hour, their model was half-finished.
"How are you this fast?" Kiki asked, holding a screwdriver she hadn't ended up using.
"I used to help my dad fix motorcycles," Bara answered briefly, without any joking in his voice this time. "Before he... well, before he got busy working out of town." His voice sounded bitter.
A brief silence fell.
Kiki caught something different in Bara's voice—not his usual annoyingly carefree tone, but something a little... distant.
"Do you see your dad often?" Kiki asked carefully.
"Sometimes, I only see him at Eid." Bara shrugged and smiled again, but this time his smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's why I keep myself busy with the band, so the house doesn't feel quite so empty—like a graveyard." He sounded a little dramatic, but it was true.
Kiki was silent for a moment.
This was the first time she realized that behind all the jokes and silly stick-figure drawings, there was another side of Bara—one that might only be visible to people willing to look a little deeper.
"Sorry... I didn't know about that," Kiki said softly.
"Well, nobody does. If I told serious stories, I wouldn't be funny anymore, right?" Bara grinned again, quickly changing the subject. "Come on, help me put the wheels on. It'll be sunset soon," he said, hurriedly steering the conversation elsewhere.
Kiki nodded, but secretly stored that moment away in her mind.
It turned out that the person who looked least in need of pity was sometimes the one who most needed someone to listen.
That night, after Bara had gone home, Kiki sat at her study desk, staring at their finished model. Neat, creative—the result of teamwork between two people who had once seemed as incompatible as oil and water.
She smiled to herself. Then she quickly shook her head.
It's just a group project, Ki. Don't start catching feelings.
Too late. She already had. FEELINGS...