The Indigo Love Story

Part 8's

But fortunately, admiring someone is all the same. Both created beings are nothing when compared to the power of God.

"It turns out you're coming too?" Someone was occupying an empty bench next to me.

"I'm late, luckily there's still a bench left." He continued speaking before I looked. It turns out Aldo, the son of the donor.

"Why are you following him? Wouldn't you rather enjoy some alone time?" Apparently this guy's mouth can't stop. I haven't said anything he's said a few things and asked me something about my privacy.

"I just want to try something new." I answered her question flatly, expressionlessly, and without looking at her.

"Literature is fun, we can express our feelings through writing, with a series of soft words." His mouth started to chatter again. I didn't listen too much, my eyes were fixed to the front. Seniors who explain about literature and drama, explain the plans that will be carried out in this community, about theater performances, about learning to write poetry, fiction and other scripts.

Sounds fun, even though all this time my soul is in the exact field, I have no talent in writing. But it doesn't hurt me to use my right brain and try my imagination.

****

"How is your writing today?" Fariz was sipping his milk coffee in the living room.

"Too many students are coming." I feel not excited, today I did not get a nap ration.

"Initially it was. Just look at the next 3 weeks, surely the fans have reduced drastically. Stay with that activity." Fariz was like an old man, reading a newspaper on the couch accompanied by his coffee. His style of speech mimics papa's a little.

"I'm tired. Where's mama?" I switched the conversation so that the discussion about literature was not continued.

"They're gone." Fariz was still acting like that.

"Where?"

"Where do I know, they didn't say where to go." Fariz spoke without looking at his sister.

Sucks.

I continued my steps, to leave the living room, and left Fariz.

"Why don't you ask to buy me a personal motorbike, a kind of motor matic for example."

"Why indeed?" I looked at him.

"So you don't have to go back and forth on that bus anymore" Fariz said.

"Partially I like to take the bus, accidentally there we meet people we don't know before, and accidentally there's a relationship that intertwines, isn't that a good thing?" i protest.

"But taking the bus is also a risk. Like a robbery." Apparently Fariz was worried about me.

"I'll be fine, brother." Then I smiled reassuringly.

*****

This was the first time I was 15 minutes late than usual. Some students came first. I opened the door that was still closed, the door that was under a thin piece of board that read XI IPA 3. That's my class, the class at the very end with its light blue paint.

This chair is always comfortable to sit in, from here I can learn calmly even though the class conditions are usually noisy. I don't know why I feel like it's just me and this seat is also his desk.

I took off my backpack, put it on the bottom of the table.

There was a noise, under my desk. When I put down my backpack, a noise of some kind of thin plastic. I looked down at the table to make sure something was white. I'm picking it. A white tulip flower is wrapped in plastic along with a piece of pink paper. I took him out from under the table, looking at him in wonder. I love tulips, and white is my favorite color.

Who put it here, and this piece of paper, what does it mean? Just a piece of paper, some kind of paperboard, no writing or omens of the like. Is there anyone who accidentally missed the item here, or is there someone who deliberately put it?

*****

I heard cheers from the next class. It sounds crowded, there may be a fun lesson or something that catches their attention. We are discussing lessons on civic education, on the soul of nationalism and patrionalism.

Indeed, in this all-practical and sophisticated era, the love of the homeland in the young generation gradually eroded plus external influences that are not in accordance with our culture, without us knowing this country has been subtly colonized.

I don't know, but that's just my mind. I rarely speak, because I speak only in logic, the output device is a little problematic, not the tool, but someone does not press the button.

I look around me, my classmates. They are noisy, some are busy talking, some are seen to pay attention but actually do not listen because it restrains drowsiness.

A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door again from outside. At most OSIS managers who ask for donations or extracurricular management like yesterday. Mr. Safwan came out for a while and was heard talking to some people. The atmosphere in the classroom had started to fuss, while I was just silent alone no one spoke. Just talking to myself, in the heart.

I was not seen in this class. They think I don't fit them. Unless there is a sudden mathematical repetition, those who are lazy learn to scramble occupy Clara's seat. With a reason to easily cheat on me.

And with my weakness, I was easily used by them, and again my weakness, I found it hard to say no.

A number of adults entered our class, there were 2 men wearing shirts with ties that looked expensive on his collar. While beside her, the woman wore glasses, her appearance was like a doctor. Wearing a white blazer, she was about 30-something and above. In my mind maybe they are health workers sort of going to socialize about new diseases and how to prevent them. Mr. Safwan stood beside the teacher's desk and invited the group of adults.

"Kids.he-he is an expert reader of aura. Now it's your turn to class" Safwan explained, making us all quiet. This was the first time that such an expert had held such an activity that people rarely did.

"Good day everyone." One of them started a conversation.

"Jiang." We answered with a friendly and excited.

"Previously introduce my name Eko, then these are my colleagues Sandy and Katrin." Speak the language is clear and clear. Guess he was a very good guy.

"Just go ahead to shorten the time. Ehem..." The man cleared his throat. "Before you've heard, what is an aura?" He gave us a chance to answer.

Everyone was silent, maybe no one knew, or anyone knew but did not dare to answer.

"Aura is the color that emanates from a person. How the mind of a person will radiate through the aura. That is why we can know the nature or character of a person. You interested?" he asked again,

"Interested." said my classmates simultaneously, unless I answer someone's question enough from the heart if my mouth is not willing to talk.

An expert who called himself Eko was busy talking to us, while his other friend was busy putting tools such as sensors and monitors on the table that had been provided in front. My fear appeared.

"Just go ahead, we will call you one by one to know the color of your aura. Next I will tell the meaning of the colors," he explained then seized the attention in this class make sleepy my friends look scum.

They read the aura. It's critical. Don't let them know my aura color. It's hazardous. If they find out, I will definitely be stamped as a freak in this school and will be completely bullied. A school dominated by women who are busy with social affairs and gossiping tendencies.