About forty minutes later, the bus slowed down and came to a stop near the elevated toll road project site. Cantika and I stood up almost at the same time, our movements synchronized by shared anticipation. As we stepped down from the bus, the humid air immediately wrapped around us.
The rain had eased into a light drizzle, no longer aggressive but persistent, as if refusing to fully let go. Fine droplets clung to our jackets and hair, cool against the skin. The wide project area stretched out before us, chaotic and overwhelming in scale. Tall concrete pillars rose from the ground like unfinished monuments, their surfaces still rough and stained with dampness. Yellow caution tape fluttered weakly in the wind, marking off restricted zones.
The sound of heavy machinery dominated the space—metal clanging against metal, the low growl of engines, the sharp beeping of reversing vehicles. Somewhere in the distance, a drill roared to life, vibrating faintly beneath my feet. The smell of hot asphalt mixed with wet soil and concrete dust, thick enough to coat the back of my throat when I breathed too deeply.
At the far end of the access road, slightly elevated on wooden blocks, stood a row of white portacabin offices. Their surfaces were streaked with rainwater and mud splashes. One sign, slightly tilted but clearly visible, read: PT. Bina Konstruksi.
There it was.
The place that would determine whether the past two days of anxiety, conflict, and hope would amount to something—or collapse into another disappointment.
"I'm a bit nervous," Cantika whispered beside me.
Her voice was soft, almost swallowed by the noise of the site, but I heard it clearly. She stood still, staring at the portacabin as if it might suddenly disappear if she looked away. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers interlaced tightly.
"Me too," I admitted honestly.
There was no point pretending otherwise. My chest felt tight, my heartbeat loud in my ears. "But we've brought photocopies of the lecturer's recommendation letter, a clear proposal, and…" I paused, then turned slightly to face her. "We have a good idea. And we work as a team."
I offered her a small smile—not overly confident, but sincere. Encouragement, more than bravado.
She looked at me for a moment, studying my face, then nodded. Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
"A team," she repeated firmly, as if anchoring the word inside herself. Her lips curved into a smile, this one more confident than before. "Let's go!"
We walked together toward the site entrance, carefully navigating around puddles and uneven ground. Our shoes sank slightly into the muddy surface with each step. As we approached the security post, a small shack near the gate, the first real obstacle revealed itself.
The security guard was an older man with a deeply furrowed brow and a perpetually irritated expression. He barely glanced up from his chair as we approached.
"Where are you going?" he asked flatly.
I explained our purpose, showing him the recommendation letter and our student IDs. He frowned, scrutinizing the documents longer than necessary, then sighed heavily.
"Students again," he muttered under his breath. "Always coming, asking questions, getting in the way."
We exchanged a brief glance but said nothing. Arguing would only make things worse.
After several tense minutes and a radio call we couldn't hear the other end of, he finally waved us through with clear reluctance.
"Reception's over there," he said. "Wait until someone calls you."
Inside the portacabin reception area, the air was thick and stale. The small room felt cramped, its walls lined with faded posters about safety regulations and construction timelines. A single fan rotated lazily in the corner, doing little to relieve the humidity.
We sat on plastic chairs, waiting.
Minutes passed. Then more minutes.
The sounds of the construction site seeped in through the thin walls, a constant reminder that this was an active project—one that didn't have time for students with academic ambitions.
Finally, a man stepped into the room.
He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, wearing a white safety helmet tucked under one arm and a reflective vest over his shirt. His expression was neutral but edged with skepticism.
"I'm Andi," he said. "Engineering staff."
We stood up quickly.
"Students looking for data again?" Pak Andi asked, glancing down at our proposal, which was still slightly damp from the rain. He flipped through the pages without much enthusiasm. "Usually it's not easy for us to give that out. Especially for an active project."
He leaned back against the desk, arms crossed.
"There's a risk of data leaks," he continued. "Interference with field work. Misinterpretation of unfinished calculations…"
My stomach tightened.
This was exactly what I had feared.
But before I could say anything, Cantika stepped forward.
Her posture changed instantly. Her back straightened, her shoulders squared—not aggressively, but confidently. When she spoke, her voice was calm, clear, and steady.
"We understand those concerns, Pak," she said respectfully. "That's why our research scope is very specific."
She explained our idea again, but this time in sharper focus. We would concentrate on foundation calculation methods tailored to Bekasi's soil conditions. She emphasized that the data needed would be general, non-sensitive, and purely for academic analysis.
"We're not asking for detailed structural drawings or proprietary methods," she continued. "Only calculation approaches and general parameters that can help us understand how engineers adapt to local soil characteristics."
She mentioned the course we were taking, our supervising lecturer—Pak Dani—and his reputation. Her tone remained respectful but confident, and she didn't rush her words.
"We're also willing to sign a confidentiality agreement," she added. "And to follow any restrictions you think are necessary."
I watched Pak Andi's expression carefully.
The skepticism didn't disappear immediately—but it softened.
When Cantika finished, I added more technical points, expanding on how foundation challenges in Bekasi required careful consideration of settlement risks and load distribution. I spoke about soil variability and construction sequencing, making sure my points showed genuine understanding, not memorized theory.
Pak Andi began to nod.
He asked follow-up questions—deeper ones. Questions that tested whether we truly knew what we were talking about.
We answered together, filling in gaps for each other naturally.
Finally, he looked at us again.
"Which Civil Engineering program are you from?" he asked.
"Universitas Indonesia, Sir," I replied.
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"UI?" he repeated. Then, unexpectedly, a small smile appeared. "That's my alma mater too."
Something shifted in the room.
"I remember panicking over data like this back then," he said, flipping through our proposal once more. His tone was noticeably lighter now. "Alright. I can help."
Relief surged through me, sharp and overwhelming.
"But," he added, raising a finger, "only general data for the foundation section you're asking for. And you must use a confidentiality letter."
We nodded eagerly.
"Come back tomorrow at 10 a.m.," he continued. "I'll prepare the documents. Bring the original recommendation letter from Pak Dani."
"Yes, Pak. Absolutely," we said almost in unison.
"Thank you so much, Pak Andi!" we added, our smiles wide and unrestrained.
He waved it off with a chuckle. "I know how stressful this can be. Just don't waste the data."
As we stepped out of the portacabin, the sky was still heavy with clouds, but somehow it felt brighter. The drizzle continued, lightly misting our faces, but we didn't feel wet anymore.
We looked at each other—and then both broke into grins.
"WE DID IT, RANDI!" Cantika shouted suddenly, unable to contain her excitement.
Her voice cut through the noise of the project site, filled with pure joy. Her eyes sparkled, her face glowing with triumph. Without realizing it, she grabbed my arm for a brief moment, her fingers tightening instinctively.
"Did you see that?" she exclaimed. "He's willing to help!"
"YOU'RE THE AMAZING ONE, TIK!" I replied, laughter bubbling out of me as the euphoria took over. "The way you explained everything to him—that was solid!"
I raised my thumb in a clear thumbs-up gesture.
She laughed too, the sound bright and unrestrained. The nervousness, the fear, the lingering tension from yesterday—all of it evaporated, replaced by pride and a shared sense of achievement.
In the middle of this messy project site, under the cloudy Bekasi sky, it genuinely felt like we could conquer anything.
"Come on," I said after a moment, glancing upward as the clouds darkened again. "Let's quickly find some shelter. The rain's getting heavier."
As if on cue, the drizzle intensified, droplets falling faster and harder.
We jogged along the muddy project road, careful not to slip, laughing as our shoes splashed through shallow puddles. After a short run, we spotted a small roadside coffee stall just outside the project fence.
We ducked inside just as the rain began pouring again.
The stall was simple—wooden beams, a plastic tarp roof, a few plastic stools and a small counter. We ordered two hot teas and sat down, steam rising from the cups as the warmth seeped into our chilled hands.
Our clothes were damp, our hair slightly messy, but neither of us cared.
"I can't believe we can get the data tomorrow," Cantika said, still sounding half-disbelieving. "My group will be so happy."
"Me too," I replied. "This is a real lifesaver. Thanks to your idea."
I looked at her, really looked at her.
"Seriously, Tik," I said. "You're different. Not just smart, but also brave. And you know how to speak in front of people."
She blushed immediately, lowering her gaze and taking a sip of her tea to hide it.
"Ah, you're exaggerating," she said softly. "You were the one who added the technical points."
She paused, fingers wrapped around the warm cup.
"But…" she continued slowly, "…it is nice to work together like this."
Her voice grew quieter.
"It feels… productive," she said, searching for the right word. "And…"
She stopped.
"And?" I asked gently.
She looked up again, a small, honest smile forming.
"And… fun."
Her eyes met mine, steady and sincere.
"Even though…" she added softly, "…everything was a mess yesterday."
She was referring to Akmal. To the conflict. To the fracture that still hadn't healed.
But sitting there, with rain pouring outside and warmth between us, the mess felt just a little less overwhelming.