Monday morning arrived in a rush.
The sky hadn't fully brightened yet, but the halls of campus were already filled with honking horns and hurried footsteps.Students passed by—some truly in a rush, some just trying to look busy.
Andini stood in front of the bulletin board.Her eyes scanned the list of internship placements for the next semester.She didn't expect much—just wanted to see if her name still mattered enough to be printed there.
Fani showed up a few minutes later, slow as always, with a face already tired before the day even began.
"Did you get in?" Fani asked, half hopeful, half resigned.
Andini nodded. "Yeah. Small publishing house. Next town."
Fani smiled.
"That fits you."
"What about you?"
Fani shook her head. "Nope. Probably because… well, you know."
She didn't finish the sentence. But Andini understood too well.
Not far from them, Mrs. Nisa, the internship supervisor, walked past.Sharp eyes. Fast steps. Measured voice.
"Fani," she called out.
Fani turned, a little tense.
"You still haven't secured an internship?"
"No, ma'am." Her voice was calm, though her heart wasn't.
"You need to be realistic. Not every place can accommodate your needs. We can't force them to."
The words landed like small, folded knives—quiet, but they still cut.
Andini stepped forward, without thinking."But if someone gave her a chance, she could do it. She just needs a little more time."
Mrs. Nisa turned to her. "I'm not saying she's incapable. But the working world isn't built on sympathy."
And then she walked away.
Silence.
Fani didn't say anything. She just looked down, gathering the pieces of belief that had started to scatter.
"I'm okay," she said, eventually.
Andini knew she wasn't. But sometimes, you let someone lie to survive the day.
***
The next day, Fani didn't show up to campus. Andini waited in their usual corner of the library.The seat beside her stayed empty. Time passed, but the soft sound of wheels never came.
By evening, a message appeared on her phone:"Sorry I didn't come. Just needed time to rearrange my heart."
Andini replied with only one line:"When you're ready, I'll be in our corner. Like always."
***
Wednesday morning, Fani returned.She looked pale, but her eyes were clearer like someone who had walked through heavy rain and was still holding its memory.
"Sorry," she said.
Andini shook her head. "Don't be."
They sat. Not many words. But that day, the books didn't matter.Because in the spaces between silence, they were quietly stitching each other back together.
The conflict didn't magically resolve that day. Maybe it never would.
But from that day on, Andini knew—sometimes, what we need isn't a fairer world,but someone who's willing to sit beside us and say, "It's okay. I'm here.
And Fani knew—for the first time in her life, she didn't have to be strong alone.
***
Outside, it began to rain again. Softly, as usual.Fani stared at her laptop screen, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
Andini sat across from her, scribbling half-heartedly on a piece of paper with a blue pen that was running out of ink.
They were working on an assignment. But the silence wasn't heavy.It was a space to breathe.
"I got rejected by two more internships," Fani said suddenly, her voice almost a whisper.
Andini looked up. "Why?"
"They said… I don't fit the team's needs."
She laughed briefly—a laugh that died too quickly."It was just a content admin job."
Andini didn't answer right away. Sometimes, what someone needs isn't advice, but presence.
She finally said, quietly,"If they can't see your potential, that's not your fault."
Fani looked at her. And smiled.
"You know," she said, "sometimes your words sound like poetry that decided to live."
Andini blinked. "Huh?"
"I saw your writing on the bulletin board. About girls and rain."
Andini froze.
"That was you, right?"
She nodded, barely.
"Just a random piece," she muttered.
Fani shook her head. Still smiling."No. That wasn't random. That came from a wound you've learned to cherish."
And in that moment—between books, rain, and cold tea forgotten on the table—something inside Andini warmed.
Maybe this was what they called quiet recognition.The kind that tells you: You matter. Just as you are.
***
That night, they didn't go home together.
Fani was picked up.Andini walked through the garden path behind campus.The air was cold. But her thoughts were warm.
She stopped in front of the old bulletin board.A new paper was pinned there, slightly crooked:Short Story Competition — Theme: Healing Spaces.
She stared at it for a long time.Her fingers touched the paper, as if making sure it was real.
She didn't know if she would join.But for the first time, she felt she had something worth telling.Not about herself.
But about someone who sat quietly in the corners of life,making the world a little less lonely.
***
The campus was livelier than usual.Posters for the writing event were everywhere.A student's voice echoed from a small speaker:
"At three o'clock, we begin the reading of the selected stories in the hall!"
Andini walked as she always did quietly, slowly, as if indifferent.But in her hand was a crumpled brochure, folded one too many times.
Fani had said she couldn't come. Family matters.Still, Andini went.
Maybe out of curiosity. Maybe just to feel part of something.Even if she sat in the very last row.
The hall filled slowly. Warm lights fell on the small stage.
A student stepped up, holding a printed page.
"This next piece is one of the top three. Written by Fani Aulia."
Andini sat up straight. Looked left, right.Fani wasn't there.
The reader began.
"She sits quietly in corners, her eyes holding oceans only a few could navigate. Her name is Andini. But I call her friend."
Each line struck like a whisper that knew too much.
It was a story about her about the way she looked,about the way she stood up for Fani in class.About her fingers, warm and steady, holding trembling hands.
"I once felt invisible. But in her eyes, I wasn't a wheelchair. I was someone who existed."
Andini closed her eyes. The voice wasn't Fani's, but every word was something she had once lived.
When it ended, the room clapped. Loud and long.But Andini stayed in her seat.
Outside the hall, Fani was waiting.Or rather, sitting in her chair, a little nervous.
"You heard it?" she asked, softly.
Andini stared at her. "That… was about me?"
Fani nodded. "I just wanted you to know… you matter."
Silence.
This time, Andini spoke first."If you ever write a book, I'll be your first buyer."
They laughed. Not because it was funny, but because the world felt lighter when someone gets you.
And in that soft chaos of campus life and unspoken words,they stood—or sat—side by side.
Not as the quiet girl and the girl in the wheelchair.
But as friends, writing each other's stories without needing to say too much.