Just as that pink petal brushed her shoulder, Nazma's consciousness seemed to peel away from the arid reality of the Cilegon asphalt.
In her head, the world suddenly shifted into a soft-focus palette of gentle pastels. She was no longer the pitiful Nazma who had just been handed a sentence of separation. She was the female lead in the final episode of a romance anime.
Nazma was running along a lush green river embankment, beneath a clear blue sky free of pollution.
The wind blew strongly, exactly like the fantasy she craved. Her blonde hair no longer looked dull, but fluttered beautifully and wildly in the breeze, shimmering as it caught the golden afternoon sunlight. She ran with light steps, as if gravity no longer applied to her blossoming heart.
Nazma's face was damp with the sweat of joy. She laughed gaily, her laughter sounding crystal clear, echoing in the fresh air. Beside her, Simon ran in stride. There was no distance. No anxiety about DB Academy.
In that hallucination, Simon turned to her, laughing freely, then gripped her hand tightly. "We'll always be together, Nazma!" Simon shouted amidst the gust of wind, his voice sounding manly and reassuring. Nazma nodded enthusiastically, quickening her pace as if they were heading toward a cliché and perfect eternal happiness.
Sakura petals continued to fall, carpeting the streets in a magical coat of pink. A sight impossible under this tropical climate, yet feeling so real in Nazma's mind as she rejected reality.
Freeze frame. Nazma smiled broadly in her daydream, complete with a background of fluttering petals and sunlight forming lens flare patterns all around them.
However, all that beauty was merely a sandcastle she had built herself.
The reality was, there were no sakura trees lining this road. There was only road dust, the beginning of honking horns, and Simon's back growing more distant—carrying away every bit of sanity left in Nazma's head.
The petals were just an imagination, a sweet escape before she truly had to face the bitterness of loss.
Instantly, the joyful laughter in her head cut out like a tape being forcibly pulled. Nazma blinked rapidly. There was no clear river, no green embankment, and certainly no sakura petals falling illegally in Cilegon.
There was only the smell of sun-scorched asphalt and the loud honk of a motorcycle taxi overtaking her from the side.
Nazma felt her blonde hair, which turned out not to be aesthetically shimmering, but limp from sweat and road dust. She stared at Simon's back, now several meters ahead of her. That back was real, stiff, and was not turning around to shout promises of loyalty like in her anime just now.
Nazma whispered to herself while tapping her cheek gently. She stepped forward again, dragging her shoes which felt increasingly heavy.
Apparently, being the main character in one's own life drama was far more exhausting than being an anime character. Because here, there is no fast-forward button to skip the heartbreak.
Nazma finally surrendered to the fatigue clinging to her legs. She pulled over, then sat on a low road divider made of coarse asphalt that was beginning to cool as the sun dimmed further. She ignored the dust that might stick to her school skirt, because both her body and soul felt equally weary.
She inhaled the afternoon air slowly, letting the blend of earth, thinning vehicle exhaust, and the day's lingering heat fill her lungs. The air was ordinary, the same color as her messy feelings.
Slowly, Nazma looked up. Her eyes, the color of the twilight sky, stared straight up at the expanse of the sky as it gradually changed from bright blue to purplish-orange.
Thin clouds drifted slowly, as if accompanying the departure of her hopes with Simon.
Her honey-blonde hair was slightly messy, tousled by the breeze, framing her face which looked weary yet unable to hide her innate gentleness.
Under the dimming glow of the afternoon light, Nazma simply looked like a schoolgirl lost in a heartbroken daydream. She was completely unaware of how breathtakingly beautiful she was at that moment.
The reddening afternoon sunlight seemed to find its best canvas in the strands of Nazma's hair. The erratic street wind made her honey-blonde hair dance wildly, occasionally veiling part of her face before being swept away again, creating a shifting golden shimmer.
Each strand seemed alive, falling randomly over her shoulders in a way that looked highly artistic, like a perfect brushstroke.
However, her strongest allure lay in her gaze.
Those eyes, the color of the twilight sky, stared straight up, vacant yet laden with meaning. There was a universe collapsing inside those pupils, a depth that could make anyone who happened to catch her eye feel as if they were being pulled into a silent vortex of longing.
Her gaze did not ask for pity; it simply looked very distant, as if her soul had flown ahead of her body, seeking answers among the darkening clouds.
Her silhouette, sitting pensively with hair continuously teased by the wind and a gaze locked onto the sky, was truly a sight too painful to miss. She looked like a masterpiece crafted from pure sadness.
Unfortunately, Nazma did not realize that at that second, she was the center of gravity for the very street she stood upon.
I'm not beautiful, I always lose in matters of love, how could anyone possibly like me, she thought.
***