The morning sky wasn't quite blue, as if it was too lazy to greet the first day. The campus gate, with its fading paint, stood like an old guardian tired of seeing students come and go.
This was where it all began, in a place that was supposed to witness the growth of dreams.
Andini sat in the back row of lecture hall 3B, the favorite spot for those who wished to blend in with the shadows.
Her eyes were fixed on a poetry anthology by Sapardi Djoko Damono, but every now and then, she peeked from the edge of the page.
The room was noisy, yet not a single voice called for her attention. The world, to her, was more beautiful in silence.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the classroom, voices began to rise slowly, sharp like unseen thorns.
A girl in glasses, sitting in a wheelchair in the far left corner. Her name was Fani Arika Putri. Her face was calm, but her eyes often searched for something in the air, as if hoping someone would meet her gaze with kindness. But there was none. What came instead were whispers and cynical laughter.
"Ugh, can't even walk, why bother studying here?"
"Probably just looking for attention…"
"Seriously, poor thing… but what's the point of forcing it?"
The voices weren't loud, but they were sharp enough to leave a wound. And the most painful part wasn't the words themselves, but the fact that no one tried to stop them.
Not even the lecturer, who walked in with a batik jacket and a tired face, only to take the attendance and assign a long paper without looking in Fani's direction.
Andini stole a glance. Her heart stirred, but her mouth remained shut. She didn't know Fani yet, didn't even know her full name.
But the sound of those cynical laughs felt too familiar, like the voice of her own childhood, the voice that always made her want to disappear.
The day ended like an unresolved beginning. There were no dramatic events. No heroic rescues.
Only silence, creeping into the spaces of two souls, different yet wounded by the same world.
And there, in the back row, Andini closed her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, this semester wouldn't be as lonely as she thought.
***
Andini walked out of the classroom with a light step, but with a certain direction in mind—toward the library.
Not because she wanted to read, but because that was where she could breathe. Outside, the world was too crowded, too harsh to understand in one sitting.
As she walked, she glanced toward the back corridor. There, Fani was struggling to move her wheelchair down an uneven floor.
Some students passed by without a second glance, some even avoided her, as if afraid to touch her.
Andini didn't approach. Not yet.
But her pace slowed.
She stopped in front of the poetry section, letting her fingers trail over the names of poets as if touching an unfinished story.
In the corner of the shelf, hidden like a little secret, she found a thin book titled Words That Never End.
The book was old, some pages even yellowing, but that was where she felt the most alive.
Andini sat in her favorite corner by the large window, where the afternoon light touched the tiles like a beautiful broken-heart painting.
She opened to the middle of the page, and there, as if the universe was playing a joke on her, was a line that warmed her chest:
"Some wounds don't need to be healed, they just need company."
She didn't know why, but suddenly Fani's face appeared in her mind.
Fani, with her wheelchair, her vacant stare, and the cruel laughter that had filled the classroom earlier.
Andini wasn't a spontaneous person. She always thought twice, even about little things like borrowing a book.
But for some reason, that afternoon, something felt like it was about to change. Or at least, it would.
***
Meanwhile, in the back parking lot, Fani sat alone, waiting for her older brother, who said he'd be there "soon," but it had already been almost an hour.
She looked down, letting her long hair cover her face.
In her lap was a classic literature book—The Expanding Screen—but her eyes weren't really reading. She was just waiting, like someone used to being forgotten.
From a distance, two students walked by, laughing softly.
"What's she doing here still?"
"Probably waiting for her confidence to come back."
Fani pretended not to hear. She had become an expert in that art.
But still, something in her chest tightened. Like a rubber band stretched too long.
And for the first time that day, she looked up at the afternoon sky, slowly turning orange.
In the silence, she imagined someone coming, sitting beside her, without many words.
Just silence, but not alone.
She didn't know, that not far away, there was another girl closing her book in the library, with the same line echoing in her mind.
"Some wounds don't need to be healed, they just need company."
***
The next morning, the classroom 3B was filled again with sounds, none of them particularly humane.
Laughter, whispers, and fake indifference greeted the day like thin fog that was too lazy to leave.
Andini came as usual—quiet, with a book, and sat in the same spot.
Fani arrived five minutes later, pushed by her older brother, who seemed rushed and reluctant.
Her wheelchair wheels squeaked softly as they rolled across the uneven floor. Some students pretended not to see.
The rest simply didn't care.
The day began like every other day, until one tall male student, wearing a grey hoodie, and with a mouth that couldn't stay shut—acted up again.
As Fani tried to pick up a book that had fallen from her bag, the guy passed by and pretended to bump into her wheelchair.
"Oops, sorry… hey, you didn't fall, right?"
His friends laughed.
"Seriously, they should have a special parking spot for this kind of thing."
Fani only looked down. Not angry. Not protesting.
As if all of this was normal. As if her imperfect body made her unworthy of anger.
Andini, from the back row, closed her book. This time, silence wasn't enough.
She stood up, walked slowly toward Fani, still bent down picking up the book.
She crouched down, picked up the book—Literature and Social Wounds—and handed it to her without a word.
Fani looked at her, surprised, confused.
Andini spoke softly, "Not everyone understands how to be human."
The hoodie guy and his two friends fell silent.
Their laughter no longer made a sound.
The lecturer's voice entering saved the situation, forcing everyone to sit down and pretend to be good students.
Fani placed her book on her lap. She glanced slightly behind, at Andini, who returned to her seat—flat, expressionless.
But from that moment, Fani's world shifted, just a little. But enough to make that day feel different.