Zemiro jolted. His shoulders stiffened, as if he had just been struck by a cold realization. He turned his body, yet his joints suddenly locked halfway. His neck recoiled in jagged, halting movements; he tilted his chin away to avoid something that burned.
The distance between them froze, creating a suffocating void while the heat from Nazma's hand began to creep, piercing through the fibers of his uniform until it stung his skin.
Despite his neck flinching away, his shoulder remained frozen. He allowed Nazma's hand to rest there. No rejection ever came.
Nazma's hand remained landed there. The dim classroom lights made her skin appear starkly white against the fabric of Zemiro's uniform.
The grip of Nazma's fingers loosened; now they merely rested there in surrender, carrying an uncontrollable, fine tremor. Her fingernails sank slowly into the weave of the fabric, as if searching for a grip in the midst of a storm only she could feel.
That petite hand stood in contrast atop Zemiro's broad shoulder; a still point that froze the seconds between them.
The blue mask wrapped tightly around his face, leaving only a pair of dark irises that now dilated. The fabric hid every expression, save for the gaze fixed upon Nazma's hand on his shoulder.
"Startled," Zemiro murmured, his voice brushing the air near Nazma's ear, triggering a shiver that instantly prickled the nape of her neck.
Her nervous system exploded; the electric current surged rapidly, striking right at the pit of her stomach, leaving behind an alien vibration.
That strange vibration lingered there, settling with an intensity that was new to Nazma. Once, Simon's touch could bring a garden of flowers into bloom in her chest, but now all those petals had withered into grey; their colors utterly defeated by the electric sting from Zemiro's shoulder.
Zemiro's touch offered something more.
Gravity seemed to release Nazma; her body weight evaporated, leaving her adrift in a silent void. She drifted through a cluster of dimly pulsing stars, letting her every joint unravel without burden. The euphoria pulled her higher still, silencing the classroom clamor until the surrounding sounds were nothing but murmurs from behind still water.
Nazma let her feet hang freely in the void; she surrendered her entire weight to the sweetness besieging her from every direction.
However, the heavy pull of Zemiro's breath beneath her hand became an anchor that jerked Nazma back to earth. The pink bubble in her head burst instantly.
On the outside, Nazma put on an Oscar-worthy performance. She controlled her flushing face with all her might. She cleared her throat softly, steadying her heartbeat that was still trailing in the clouds.
"Oh, sorry. It's just that you kept staring blankly like a welcome statue," Nazma said.
A victory dance played out in her head. Nazma withdrew her hand with a slow, deliberate motion, then locked both arms across her chest. She stood taller, casting a gaze that seemed to place Zemiro right at her feet.
Giant fireworks exploded repeatedly, forming the words "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!" in blinding, colorful fonts. She felt as though she had just won a trillion-rupiah lottery.
The hallucination ended.
Nazma pulled her hand away casually, then folded her arms over her chest. "I just wanted to ask about yesterday's Science assignment. You've done the part on the classification of living things, right?"
Her words flowed like a waterfall. In reality, within her imagination, Nazma was wearing a gold crown while standing on a victory podium, fictional spectators cheering her name. She felt incredibly cool. Incredibly powerful. Incredibly slay.
***