Andra's POV
The first thing Andra realized after stepping into the hotel lobby was that his arm had gone numb.
Completely numb.
Because—of course—Nafisa Elvaretta Kusuma, kampus' goddess, wanita tercantik yang pernah ia lihat dalam hidupnya, had been leaning all her weight on him for nearly twenty minutes straight.
His shoulder was seconds away from dislocating.
His soul was seconds away from ascending.
His sanity was seconds away from dissolving.
"Please," he muttered to himself as he dragged her into the elevator, "please don't let me die like this. My mother would never believe this story."
Her hair brushed lightly against his neck.
Soft. Wangi. Tidak manusiawi.
Andra stiffened like a board.
Not even a board—more like a petrified fossil.
He swallowed hard, eyes glued to the elevator numbers changing above the door.
7… 8… 9…
She shifted slightly, her arm tightening around his shoulders, her breath brushing the side of his jaw.
He almost passed out.
Not because of romance.
Not because of lust.
But because he was this close to collapsing out of sheer panic.
When the elevator finally reached the floor, the ding sounded like a holy choir descending from the heavens.
Andra nearly cried.
He managed to drag her halfway down the hallway before his legs rebelled and demanded an immediate strike.
"Why do rich people always choose hotels with hallways this long?" he hissed under his breath.
"Can someone explain? Why? Why is everything so far away?"
Nafisa mumbled something incoherent.
He ignored it.
Mostly because he didn't understand it.
Partly because if he listened too closely, he might combust.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached the door.
Andra fumbled with the keycard.
No, "fumbled" was too elegant a word.
He was fighting the door like it was his mortal enemy.
Beep. Red light.
Beep. Red light again.
"PLEASE—" he growled at the card slot, "—JUST LET ME IN. I AM BEGGING YOU AS A SON OF A SINGLE MOTHER."
On the fourth attempt:
Beep. Green light.
He stumbled inside with Nafisa still clinging to him like a pretty, helpless, drunken koala.
Laying her down on the bed was…
No.
No phrase could ever truly capture the torment.
He tried lowering her gently.
Tried.
But Nafisa decided to flop like a corpse mid-way.
She dragged him down with her.
Their faces ended up too close.
Too close.
Dangerously close.
Andra froze.
Not breathing.
Not blinking.
Not living.
Her eyelashes brushed his cheek.
His heart detonated.
"No," he whispered, inching away like a terrified squirrel.
"No, Andra. Don't you dare. You're a good man. A good man! This is a test! A ujian kampus! A ujian iman!"
He somehow, somehow untangled himself and allowed her to settle on the bed.
Her cheek pressed against the pillow, hair tousled, a faint flush on her face from the alcohol.
Beautiful.
Unreachable.
And absolutely dangerous.
Andra wiped sweat from his forehead.
Then his neck.
Then his entire face.
How was he sweating this much in an air-conditioned room?!
He stumbled back until his calves hit the couch.
Then he slid down to the floor and sat there in silence for a full minute.
Breathing.
Processing.
Regretting every decision that led him to this moment.
"Okay," he whispered shakily.
"You survived. Somehow."
He grabbed an extra blanket from the closet.
Then pointed at the floor like he was claiming his deathbed.
"I sleep here."
He nodded firmly.
Like an honorable warrior.
Then immediately regretted everything.
The floor was cold.
Hard.
Unfriendly.
Exactly like the future he imagined for himself.
He lay down.
Closed his eyes.
Opened them two seconds later.
Closed them again.
Failed again.
Because above him—
Right above him—
On the luxuriously soft bed—
Lay a woman who could ruin his entire academic career just by breathing near him.
He turned to face the carpet.
He forced himself to think about unsexy things.
Mathematics.
Taxes.
Skripsi.
The cafeteria chicken that gave him diarrhea last month.
Nothing worked.
He tossed.
He turned.
He reorganized his blanket 14 times.
At one point he prayed.
Sincerely.
"God, please just make me pass out. I beg you. I'll study hard next semester. I swear."
But no divine mercy came.
Instead, he heard her shift in the bed.
Rustle.
His eyes widened.
Rustle. Rustle.
He held his breath.
Then—
"…mmn…"
A soft, sleepy sigh escaped her lips.
It was over for him.
He buried his face in the blanket.
"I AM GOING TO DIE."
Time: 3:12 AM
Andra sat up abruptly.
Eyes bloodshot.
Sanity gone.
Hope extinct.
He hadn't slept a single second.
He looked at the ceiling like he wanted to negotiate with it.
"Please. One minute. One second. Just let me rest."
The ceiling did not respond.
The ceiling did not care.
He stood, pacing the room like a stressed single father with three children.
He checked the clock every three minutes.
He tried meditating.
Failed.
Tried breathing exercises.
Failed.
Tried slapping his own face.
Worked a little, but not enough.
He stole one more glance at Nafisa.
Peaceful.
Calm.
Dead asleep.
He felt both grateful and betrayed.
Time: 5:41 AM
He finally snapped.
"I'm leaving," he whispered to himself.
"I HAVE to leave. Before she wakes up and thinks I'm some kind of pervert hiding in her hotel room."
He spotted the notepad on the desk.
He hesitated.
Then grabbed it and started writing.
Not a love letter.
Not a confession.
Not a dramatic poem about destiny.
Just a note.
A sincere one. A gentle one. A responsible one.
His Note:
You drank too much last night.
You almost crossed the street on red.
You should be more careful.
The world is not always safe for someone like you.
You dropped your phone twice and forgot your bag,
but don't worry—I placed everything beside the bed.
Drink water.
Eat something light.
And go home safely.
I'm not sure you'll remember me,
but that's okay.
Ahmad Andra Pratama.
He read it again.
Winced.
Then nodded.
"Good enough. Not creepy."
He placed it neatly on the table beside the lamp.
Took one last look at Nafisa, ensuring she was still asleep.
Then he slipped out of the room quietly, locking the door from outside with shaking hands.
And at exactly 5:41 AM, Ahmad Andra Pratama walked down the hotel hallway with the dignity of a man who had seen too much.
The morning sun had just begun to rise.
Andra's soul had just begun to crumble.
And his life—completely unknowingly—
had just changed forever.