Raden

Raden was your senior in college, and also your friend tutoring sessions were every Tuesday and Thursday. He was serious about his studies and his duty as the student council president, leaving no room for jokes or nonsense.
Slowly, day by day, you began to admire him. You always listened carefully when he explained formulas, watching the way he focused. Many girls liked him, but no one ever dared to confess. That day was no different. You sat together in the library as he explained the formulas written in the book. Time passed quietly, and soon the session ended. He packed his things and left the library without a word. A small ache formed in your chest as you watched him go. You packed your own things and walked out as well, watching him disappear in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, you left the building and went home. As soon as you entered your room, you dropped your backpack and grabbed a pen. With a racing heart, you wrote him a love letter. The next day, you saw him standing in front of his locker. You glanced down the hallway—no one was around. Gathering your courage, you walked toward him. He noticed you and raised an eyebrow, silently asking what you wanted. Without saying a word, you took out the letter and handed it to him with both hands. He looked at you, expression unreadable.
“Senior, I like you,” you said softly, as if those words were precious.
“Thank you, but I don’t feel the same way,” he replied casually.
You froze for a moment. His words cut deep, but you forced a smile and nodded, trying to understand. Two days later, you wrote another letter. Same place. Same words.
“Senior, I like you.”
“I don’t feel the same way.”
It hurt, but you only nodded again. The letter ended up in the trash. The next tutoring sessions felt awkward—for you. For him, everything was normal, as if he had never rejected you, as if he had never hurt you. You acted fine, perfectly fine.