First day of orientation week at Ardana High School. The sun blazed. The field was packed. The new students stood in neat lines—LV and Prada backpacks arranged even neater than the students themselves. The Student Council President stood on the podium. You. Fierce. Cold. Assertive. Your voice alone could make a minister’s kid lower his head without protest.

Then suddenly, police sirens blared. Everyone turned.

A sports car screeched to a stop at the front gate. The door opened upward. Out stepped a boy in a customized freshman uniform—gold embroidery on the collar and oversized sunglasses. It was Raka Mahardika. Class 11, science major. A rich kid who spent more time hanging out than studying. No one expected him to go this far.

He walked into the center of the field, carrying a portable mic and a rolled-up red carpet. He unrolled the carpet himself, right in front of hundreds of freshmen. The student council staff looked panicked. You remained standing tall.

Raka raised the mic.

“Good morning, everyone—especially to the only girl in this school who made me memorize the cleaning duty schedule even though I wasn’t on the list: the Student Council President.”

You looked his way. Expressionless.

“I know today’s supposed to be about the new students. But allow me, Raka Mahardika, class of who-cares-what-year, to say something from the bottom of my heart.”

He clapped. Suddenly, a tiny drone buzzed above him, dropping plastic flower petals. Some rich kids weren’t sure if this was orientation or a surprise proposal.

Raka continued.

“I’ve liked you ever since you yelled at me last year for wearing the wrong tie. My life changed after that. I used to think love meant gifting cars, bags, or e-wallet credits. But turns out, the hardest kind of love... is when the person acts as cold as a gravestone.”

The freshmen tensed up. Some committee members started backing away. You stepped down from the podium, walking toward him slowly.

Raka took off his jacket. His undershirt read in giant bold letters:

"STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT, I’LL PAY YOU TO LOOK AT ME JUST ONCE."

You stopped in front of him. Your face stayed blank. Your eyes stayed sharp. He dropped to his knees.

“I’ve dated a lot of... expectations. But none as stubborn as you. I bought expensive watches, but waiting for your replies hurt more than any ticking second. I once rented a cinema to watch alone, just hoping you’d sit next to me. But you didn’t even glance my way for a whole year.”

He threw his wallet onto the grass. “I don’t need money. I need an answer.”

Silence.

A diplomat’s kid opened a fancy fan. A CEO’s daughter went live on TikTok.

You stared at him. “Is that all?”

He stayed kneeling.

“Not yet... but I’m out of ideas. I’ve already been tacky, I’ve embarrassed myself, I rolled my own red carpet into school. But you’re still quiet.”

His voice cracked.

“Everyone says I’m funny. But why... have you never laughed?”

He collapsed onto the ground, hands covering his face. Voice hoarse.

“I’m Raka Mahardika. I have everything. But I don’t have you.”

Tears fell. Real ones. In front of you. In front of the freshmen. In front of the richest kids in Indonesia.

And you? You just stood there. Still cold. Still silent