THORNY LOVE

The library of SMA Harapan Bangsa was Rania’s sanctuary. A silent, orderly kingdom where the Dewey Decimal System was law and the rustle of a turning page was the most violent sound. As Student Council President, she considered it her personal duty to maintain this peace. A peace that was, at this very moment, being flagrantly violated. There, in the history section, sprawled across two chairs with his head pillowed on a thick World History textbook, was Bima Satria. To Rania, Bima wasn't a student; he was a natural disaster in a slightly-too-small school uniform. His white shirt was untucked, the top button was undone, and his black hair fell over his closed eyes in a way that was probably meant to look rebellious and effortless. To Rania, it just looked messy. He was the school's resident troublemaker, the king of cutting class, and the living personification of a headache. And he was asleep. In her library. Her lips thinned into a straight, determined line. She marched over, her sensible black shoes making no sound on the polished linoleum. She stood over him, a silent, judging presence. He didn’t stir. The sunlight streaming through the window highlighted the dust motes dancing in the air and the relaxed line of his jaw. For a fleeting second, she noticed he looked… peaceful. Almost innocent. She immediately crushed the thought. "Ahem." Nothing. "Bima." Her voice was sharp, cutting through the library’s silence like a scalpel. One of his eyes cracked open. A lazy, dark brown iris focused on her, followed by the other. A slow, infuriating smile spread across his face. "Well, well. If it isn't Princess Rania, descending from her ivory tower to grace us commoners with her presence," he said, his voice thick with sleep. He didn't move to sit up. "This is a library, not your personal bedroom," she stated, crossing her arms. "There are rules. Rule number seven: No sleeping." Bima yawned, a theatrical, jaw-stretching affair. "I wasn't sleeping. I was deeply meditating on the socio-economic impact of the Spice Trade on 16th-century Indonesia. It's exhausting work." A few students at a nearby table stifled their giggles. Rania’s cheeks burned. He always did this—turned every confrontation into a performance, with her as the humorless villain. "Get up, Bima. Your 'meditation' is over. Go to class." "I would," he said, finally swinging his long legs off the second chair and sitting up, "but I find the quality of my education is much higher when I'm not actually in the classroom. Fewer distractions." He looked pointedly at her. "I am not a distraction. I am the Student Council President." "Right. And I'm just a humble scholar seeking knowledge." He patted the history book. "This book gets me. It doesn't nag." That was it. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Skipping classes, disrespecting the rules, treating this entire school like it's a joke." His smile faltered for a fraction of a second, so quickly she almost missed it. The playful light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something harder, something weary. "Maybe it is a joke," he said, his voice suddenly quiet. "Or maybe some of us just need a quiet place to escape." The shift in tone caught her off guard. It was the first time she’d ever heard anything from him that didn’t sound like a sarcastic retort. He stood up, stretching like a cat. He was taller than she was, and she had to tilt her head back slightly to meet his gaze. "Whatever," she snapped, recovering her composure. "Just stay out of my library." "Your library? Did your dad buy the school and forget to tell the rest of us?" He smirked, the old Bima back in place. Without another word, he grabbed his worn-out backpack from the floor, slung it over one shoulder, and ambled away, whistling a tuneless song. Rania watched him go, her heart pounding with a frustrating mix of anger and... something else. Something she refused to name. She hated him. She hated his arrogance, his disregard for everything she worked so hard to uphold. So why did his quiet words—a quiet place to escape—echo in her mind long after he had disappeared? The school gate was a chaotic mess of motorbikes, cars, and chattering students. Bima navigated it with ease, a grin plastered on his face as he joked with his friends. He was loud, laughing, and carefree. He was the Bima everyone knew. But the moment he turned the corner onto his own street, the smile vanished. His shoulders slumped. The light in his eyes went out, as if a switch had been flipped. His house stood at the end of the quiet, tree-lined street. It was a nice house—large, with a well-kept garden and a new car in the driveway. From the outside, it was a picture of perfect suburban life. A home. Bima knew it was just a building. He pushed the gate open. The usual silence greeted him. It was a heavy, suffocating silence, thick with unspoken words and resentment. His father was probably in his study, and his mother was probably in her room. Two planets in the same solar system, locked in orbits that would never cross. He dropped his backpack by the door with a thud that echoed through the empty foyer. The noise of school, the laughter, Rania's indignant, fiery face—it all felt a million miles away. Here, there were no rules to break, only fragile, invisible lines he had to walk. He trudged up the stairs to his room. At school, he was the troublemaker, the dragon. Here, he was just a ghost, haunting the halls of a broken home. And in the suffocating quiet, the library didn't seem like such a bad place to be after all. Maybe, he thought with a bitter smile, the princess was right. It was a good place to sleep. It was a good place to hide.