Chandra sat in the library chair, leg bouncing to the rhythm of her heart that was beating fast inside of her chest. 

She was sitting on the second floor of the university library, fingers fidgeting with the book that she held in her hands. She jolted as a group of students joked loudly as they passed, placing her palm on her chest to calm herself.

She was, in fact, nervous. 

Nadira had told her that the anthropology grad students were going to gather in the research section of the library, a corner that they claimed when they didn’t meet at the canteen. It was a tidy space, sheltered from the direct blast of the AC but still cool enough to escape the afternoon humidity. 

Chandra glanced at the book in front of her, its maroon cover seemingly giving her a knowing look in return. The book on anthropology and dance. It was as worn as ever, somehow withstanding Chandra’s nerves as she toyed with its edges. 

It was the book that carried the handwriting of the person she was nervous to see. 

She looked around to see if anyone was watching before hesitantly opening the back cover. The two sticky notes, to her surprise, were still inside undisturbed.

I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are.

She looked at this note written with her own handwriting, the emotions that had compelled her to write it slowly seeping back inside of her chest. They sat there, beside the myriad other emotions she hadn’t dared to revisit in the past several years, even as they carried a softness that felt familiar and warm.

Her eyes moved towards the yellow sticky note pasted right next to it, written by the person who these emotions were for: 

You still read this book?

Chandra’s mouth slowly curved into a smile. She could hear the playfulness of the other person from their handwriting—a playfulness that she had actually missed. She paused, slightly surprised at this revelation. Why then had she run away at the canteen if there was something to miss?

Yet deep down, in the farthest corner of her heart, she knew that she already had the answer.

The sound of laughter reached her ears, and she looked up, seeing Nadira and the other grad students walk towards the table where she was sitting. She quietly closed the book.

“Kak Chandra!” Nadira waved as she slowly jogged over, greeting her the way she would a senior. The color of her hijab matched her cuffed jeans that were folded over her socks.

“Hey, Nadira,” Chandra smiled as Nadira neared the table. “You know, you don’t have to call me ‘Kak’ anymore. I’m technically no longer your senior.”

“Aw, I guess so,” Nadira laughed, setting her bag down next to her. She took the seat in front of Chandra. “It’s just a habit at this point!”

“Hi, Chandra,” greeted Kang Joni, one of the older students of the group, as he smiled and sat at the table. “Good to see you again.”

“Good to see you too, Kang,” Chandra smiled in return. “Your beard looks exceptionally well-trimmed today.” 

Kang Joni beamed with pride and patted his beard. “Why, thank you! It’s nearing Christmas and I’m trying to look as sharp as possible for the holiday photos.”

“Ooo!” Nadira chimed in, taking out her notebook and pen. “Are you still thinking of getting your partner that embroidery kit you showed me?”

Chandra greeted the familiar faces that began sitting at the table as Nadira and Kang Joni continued to chat. She recognized all of the students that arrived, even if it took her a few seconds to remember their names. She noticed there was still one face in particular that she had yet to see.

“Chandra!” Egles smiled. The long earrings that she wore complimented the silk bandana that covered her tightly wound curls. “I was snooping around the anthro archives the other day and took a look at your undergrad thesis. Just as Nadira said, it's good stuff.” 

"Oh my god," Chandra laughed, embarrassed. "I can't believe you actually read it."

Egles praised her undergrad writing as more grad students came to sit at the table. They all laughed when Alice, who wore the same oversized hoodie when Chandra had first met her, spilled herself over the table and pretended to sleep. 

Chandra forgot how much she loved being around anthropology students. The way they joked and spoke of things that they were passionate about, made her feel as if she had truly returned home. It was a comforting and nostalgic space that she cherished.

And just as Chandra was beginning to feel her nerves at ease, the moment that she had anticipated finally arrived.

“Hi, everyone!”

Chandra turned her head. In a similar way that had occurred at the canteen, her heart chose to stop in the insides of her chest.

Kyra was making her way towards the group, her straight hair tied in a very long braid. She carried a couple of books in one arm and held the strap of her bag in the other, flowy pants swirling around her ankles as she made her way towards the table.

Everyone greeted Kyra cheerfully as she stopped to stand before them, standing so close to Chandra that she could faintly smell her perfume. Their eyes, after many years of not greeting one another, finally met. And it took every ounce of energy that Chandra had not to look away.

The bond that they had shared, the friendship that they had shared—whatever it was—began crashing back into her chest with an intensity that knocked the air out of her lungs. Layers upon layers of unnamed emotions flooded inside of her chest, filling it to the brim with memories of past encounters and all the accompanying confusions and questions that came with them.

She saw Kyra glance down at the book with the maroon cover. She swore that a ghost of a knowing smile flitted past her lips before it was replaced with one that was amiable and polite.

“Hi, Chandra,” came the greeting, as warm as if Chandra hadn’t avoided her before. 

Chandra found herself needing to clear her throat before her vocal cords rose to return the greeting, vocalizing a name that hadn’t passed her lips for the past five years.

“Hey, Kyra.”