Saturday morning, Isabella stood in front of the boarding house gate with a crossbody bag containing a notebook, a voice recorder, and a neatly organized list of interview questions she had put together the night before. Christian was already waiting across the street, casually leaning against his scooter in a plain T-shirt and lightweight jacket, looking nothing like the polished guy she usually saw in class.
"You're seriously planning to ride a motorcycle?" Isabella asked as she approached, eyeing the scooter doubtfully.
"The shop's in a narrow alley. A car can't get in," Christian replied, holding out a spare helmet. "Relax. I ride more carefully than I talk in class."
Isabella stared at the helmet for a moment, wavering before finally accepting it reluctantly. "If you drive recklessly, I'll get off in the middle of the road."
"Duly noted," Christian replied with a grin as he lifted the scooter off its kickstand.
The trip to the craft shop Christian had mentioned took about twenty minutes, passing through narrow streets Isabella had never traveled before. She sat stiffly on the back seat, gripping its edge tightly and trying to keep a safe distance, even though the potholes made her nearly lose her balance several times.
"You can hold on," Christian called, half-shouting over the wind without looking back. "I won't tell anyone."
Isabella snorted but didn't answer, though she eventually chose to grip the back of Christian's jacket—just a little, only enough to feel safer without having to admit she needed something to hold on to.
The shop Christian had mentioned turned out to be smaller than Isabella had imagined, tucked between two houses in a narrow alley. A simple sign reading "Kriya Bu Marni" hung out front, its paint already beginning to fade. Inside, all kinds of rattan crafts and woven-fabric goods were neatly arranged on wooden shelves, though the shop looked short on customers.
A middle-aged woman emerged from behind a curtain, her face brightening the moment she saw Christian.
"Christian! It's been so long since you've stopped by," she said warmly.
"Bu Marni used to make me free coffee whenever I hung out here last semester," Christian explained to Isabella with a smile. "Bu, this is Isabella, my group partner. We wanted to interview you about your business for our assignment, if you don't mind."
Bu Marni nodded enthusiastically and immediately invited them to sit in two small wooden chairs in the corner of the shop. Over the next hour, Isabella wrote down every detail Bu Marni shared—how the shop used to be busy before online stores started popping up, how her children kept encouraging her to sell online even though she didn't know how, and how she worried that the business she had built over the past twenty years would close down soon.
Isabella, who usually dealt only with data and numbers in supplemental journal articles, felt something shift as she heard the story directly from the person living it. This wasn't merely a case study on paper. It was someone's real life, someone struggling to keep going.
Every now and then, she glanced at Christian, watching the way he spoke with Bu Marni—easygoing and warm, occasionally tossing out a small joke that made the woman laugh freely. It was completely different from the way Christian debated with her in class. There was another side to Christian that Isabella had never seen before, and it made her even more curious about him.
After the interview ended and they said their goodbyes, Christian asked Isabella to stop for a moment at a small coffee stall near the shop before they headed back to campus.
"You look surprised," Christian said as he took a sip of his iced coffee.
"I didn't realize you knew Bu Marni that well," Isabella replied, still processing everything she'd just heard.
"Last semester, I came here a lot to work on assignments. Sometimes I just needed to escape my noisy boarding house," Christian explained. "Over time, I got to know her story. So when you said we needed a real-life case study, her shop immediately came to mind."
Isabella stared at her drink, twirling the straw without actually taking a sip. "I always thought it was better to choose a safe topic. But earlier... I realized that the data I've collected all this time has never had a face this clear."
Christian smiled—not his usual teasing smile this time, but something deeper, as if he was glad to hear her say that. "That's what I like about field research. Data matters, but the people behind it matter more."
For a moment, they both fell silent, enjoying a quiet that no longer felt as awkward as their previous meetings. Isabella watched Christian gaze toward the street, his face calmer than usual, far removed from the competitive figure who was always trying to come out on top in class.
"Why have you never told anyone in class about this side of you?" Isabella asked suddenly, curiosity getting the better of her.
Christian turned to her and gave a casual shrug. "People only look at the grades on the announcement board. No one asks about things like this."
"I'm asking now," Isabella said softly.
Christian held her gaze for a long moment, as if weighing something, before finally giving her a faint smile. "Then maybe you're the first person who's really asked."
The words hung in the late-afternoon air, simple yet heavy with meaning for Isabella. For the first time since meeting Christian, she didn't feel like she was competing with anyone. She was just sitting at a small coffee stall, listening to the story of someone who was slowly starting to feel like more than just the rival who had taken her place on the campus announcement board.
They returned to campus as the sun began to slant westward, the sky turning a pale orange that made the streets feel calmer than usual. This time, without being asked, Isabella held on to Christian's jacket more tightly as the scooter sped over the potholes, no longer holding herself back like she had on the way there.
When they reached the boarding house, Isabella got off and handed back the helmet while Christian remained seated on the scooter, waiting until Isabella was safely standing on the sidewalk.
"Thanks for taking me there," Isabella said, a little awkwardly because she wasn't used to expressing gratitude in such a genuinely sincere tone.
"Thanks for being willing to listen," Christian replied, smiling before finally starting the scooter. "See you at the next meeting, group leader."
Isabella stood in front of the boarding house, watching Christian's scooter disappear at the end of the street. Her mind was still full of Bu Marni's story, Christian's laughter that sounded so different from usual, and one new feeling quietly taking root—a feeling she wasn't ready to name yet.