I started noticing his absence before I ever admitted that his presence mattered.
It happened on a Tuesday.
No footsteps behind me. No voice cutting into my thoughts. No ridiculous comments about my expression or the way I walked too fast when I was irritated.
Just… space.
I told myself it was a relief.
"Finally," I muttered under my breath as I crossed the campus courtyard, hugging my books closer than necessary. "Peace and quiet."
But the word peace didn't feel right. It felt hollow.
By noon, I had checked the cafeteria twice. Not intentionally. At least, that's what I told myself.
"Looking for someone?"
I turned to see Rina watching me with a knowing smile.
"I'm not," I said quickly, sitting down across from her.
"Right," she replied, stirring her drink. "You just suddenly like this place more than usual?"
"I always sit here."
"Not this often."
I avoided her gaze, unwrapping my food. "Maybe I just don't feel like going anywhere else."
Rina leaned forward slightly. "Or maybe someone's not here today."
I let out a small scoff. "If you're talking about him, I don't care."
"Gilang?"
"I didn't say his name."
"You didn't have to."
I sighed, annoyed at myself more than at her. "He's just… not around. That's all."
"And that bothers you?"
"No." Too fast.
Rina raised an eyebrow. "Lusiana."
"What?"
"You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Pretending you don't feel something when you clearly do."
I paused. Her words landed closer than I wanted.
"I just got used to him being there," I said finally, quieter this time. "That's different."
"Is it?"
I didn't answer. Because I wasn't sure.
He didn't show up the next day either. Or the day after that.
By the fourth day, I was irritated in a way I couldn't explain. Not because I missed him—I refused to call it that—but because something felt unfinished. Like a sentence stopped in the middle.
I found him on Friday afternoon.
Not at the cafeteria. Not near my class. Behind the campus building, sitting on a low concrete ledge, sleeves rolled up, arguing over the phone.
"I already told you, I'm not doing it that way." His voice was sharper than I had ever heard.
"No, that's your way. Not mine."
There was a pause. His jaw tightened.
"I don't care if it's easier. It's wrong."
Another pause.
"Then find someone else."
He ended the call abruptly and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like he had been holding his breath for too long.
For a moment, I just stood there. Watching.
This version of him felt different. Not teasing. Not careless. Firm. Unyielding. Alone.
"Still being difficult, I see." The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
He looked up. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by something softer.
"Lusiana."
I crossed my arms, leaning lightly against the wall. "You disappeared."
"I didn't think you'd notice."
"I didn't," I replied. "I just got used to the noise."
He let out a quiet laugh. "So I'm noise now?"
"You've always been noise."
"That's harsh."
"You deserve it."
A brief silence followed, but it didn't feel awkward. It felt… careful.
"You've been avoiding me," I said, studying him.
"Maybe."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Thought I'd give you what you wanted."
"And what's that?"
"Space."
I frowned. "I never asked for that."
"You told me to stop following you."
"I said stop being annoying."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not."
He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to understand something more complicated than it sounded.
"Then explain it to me," he said.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. How do you explain something you don't fully understand yourself?
"I just…" I hesitated, searching for words. "I don't like being pushed."
"I wasn't pushing you."
"You were everywhere."
"That's not pushing. That's trying."
His answer came too quickly. Too certain. It irritated me.
"Trying what?" I asked.
"To get to know you."
"You don't need to follow someone home to do that."
His expression shifted slightly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"But you did."
"I know."
The way he said it caught me off guard. No excuses. No jokes. Just… acceptance.
I looked away for a second, then back at him. "You're really stubborn, you know that?"
"I've heard."
"It's not a compliment."
"I didn't take it as one."
"Then why don't you change it?"
He held my gaze, steady and calm, making my chest tighten. "Why should I?"
The question lingered.
"Because not everything has to be a fight. Because people don't always want to deal with that."
"Are you people?" he asked.
I froze.
"That's not the point."
"It is to me."
I exhaled slowly. "Gilang, you can't just force your way into someone's life and expect them to like you."
"I'm not forcing anything."
"It feels like it."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softer this time, "Do you hate me?"
The question came out of nowhere. Or maybe it had been there all along.
I blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"Do you hate me?"
"No." The answer was immediate. Too honest.
"Then what?" he asked.
I hesitated. "Sometimes you're… exhausting. You don't listen. You do whatever you want. You make things harder than they need to be."
He nodded slowly, like he was taking it in.
"And?"
"And…" I looked down at my hands, then back at him. "You don't give up."
"That's a problem?"
"For you?" I swallowed.
"Yes."
He studied my face, like he was searching for something I hadn't said.
"And if I stop?" he asked quietly.
The question felt heavier than it should. I imagined it for a second. No more footsteps. No interruptions. No him. The same empty space I had felt all week.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
He let out a slow breath, looking away briefly before meeting my eyes again.
"I'm not good at this," he admitted.
"At what?"
"Doing things halfway."
I almost smiled. "Yeah," I said softly. "I noticed."
Another silence settled between us. But this one felt different. Less sharp. More… uncertain.
"I'm not asking you to change everything," I said after a moment. "Just… don't make me feel like I don't have a choice."
"You do have a choice."
"Do I?"
"Yes."
"How?"
He straightened slightly, his voice steadier. "Walk away."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"And you'd let me?" I asked.
He didn't answer immediately. For the first time since I met him, he looked unsure.
"I'd have to," he said finally.
"Even if you don't want to?"
He nodded once. "Yeah."
Something shifted. Not in him. In me.
Because for the first time, it didn't feel like he was chasing. It felt like he was standing still. Waiting.
And somehow, that made everything more complicated.
"I don't hate you," I said quietly.
"I know."
"But I don't fully like you either."
"That's fair."
"And I don't know what you want from me."
He met my gaze, something unguarded flickering in his eyes.
"I think you do."
I shook my head. "No. I don't."
"Then I'll wait," he said.
"For what?"
"For you to figure it out."
I let out a small breath, somewhere between a laugh and something else I couldn't name.
"You're impossible."
"I've been told."
I turned away, taking a few steps before stopping.
"Gilang."
"Yeah?"
"Don't play with people's feelings."
"I'm not."
"Make sure you never do."
There was a pause. Then, quietly, "I won't."
I nodded, even though he couldn't see my face.
"Good."
I walked away before I could say anything else. Before I could ask questions I wasn't ready to hear answers to. Before I could admit that somewhere between irritation and resistance, something had already begun.
Not love. Not yet. Something quieter. More dangerous. The kind that doesn't ask for permission before it stays.