The morning sunlight slipped through the gaps in the leaves, creating bright spots that danced on the still damp asphalt of the road. In the distance, you could hear the faint chirping of birds accompanied by the crisp laughter of small children who were chasing a ball at the end of the alley. In the midst of the calm, a boy stood still. His slender fingers moved nimbly over the worn DSLR camera body, turning the dial wheel with precision, adjusting the configuration of the light entering the sensor.

Alcel Meyer adjusted the position of the bag on his shoulder. His eyes remained glued to the small LCD screen behind his camera. For a moment, a faint smile appeared—so faint and brief, as if only he and the camera knew that a moment had been frozen perfectly.

"Morning, Alcel," a hoarse but warm voice broke the silence. In a neat yard, an old woman was swinging a broomstick over a pile of dry leaves. His movements stopped just as Alcel lowered his camera.

Alcel turned his head, his facial expression returned to calm and neutral. "Good morning too, madam," he answered.

He stepped closer, past the wooden fence whose paint was peeling slightly. Without many words, Alcel turned the camera and showed the screen in front of the old woman. "What do you think, madam?"

The screen shows the figure of an old woman sweeping, but from a different perspective. The morning sun shone on her shoulders, giving a golden outline that made her silhouette look graceful amidst the simple routine. The photo has no dramatic filters, no forced angles. He just tells a narrative as it is, without reducing or exaggerating.

The old woman stopped sweeping, her eyes narrowed as she took in the picture, then slowly a small laugh escaped her lips. "Thank you, the photos you take are always beautiful. By the way, I cooked extra food for you, you can take it as school lunch if you want."

Alcel was silent for a moment, looked at the open door of the house, then looked back at the woman in front of him. "I will accept it if madam doesn't mind. Thank you very much, madam."

The old woman nodded enthusiastically, then rushed into the house. Not long after, he returned with a package wrapped in a clean checkered cloth. The aroma of warm rice and freshly cooked side dishes wafted faintly from the package—a provision that had clearly been prepared with a sincerity that was unusual for the word "extra".

"By the way, it's your first day of high school, isn't it?" asked the woman while handing over the supplies.

"Madam is right."

The old woman remained standing there, holding the broom handle, her eyes staring at Alcel as if waiting for the next line—perhaps about her nervousness, or about hopes at a new school. However, Alcel just stood still, accepting the provisions politely. Silence hung between them, not because it was awkward, but because for Alcel, the facts had already been stated and there was nothing more to add.

"Well, good luck always, okay, son," said the woman finally, realizing that this conversation had reached its final point. "Thank you, Madam. I'll go first."

Alcel turned around, put the provisions into his bag carefully, then walked back down the alley. In his hand, the old camera was raised again, ready to shoot other fragments of life that he would encounter along the road to Eternal Hope State High School.

***

The journey to Eternal Hope State High School takes about twenty minutes on foot, a route that is quite long for some people, but for Alcel, that is the span of observation time.

His shoes stepped steadily along the sidewalk which was starting to get busy. Along the way, his camera lens captured fragments of the morning that busy people often ignore. He aimed at a puff of white smoke from a breakfast vendor's cart that was being swept away by the morning wind. At a red light intersection, he stopped for a moment to photograph the silhouette of a patrol policeman directing traffic, perfectly framed between the street lamp and the shadow of a banyan tree.

His steps stopped again near a concrete electricity pole. A PLN employee in a blue uniform with a yellow safety helmet has just come down from an aluminum ladder. The middle-aged man wiped the sweat from his forehead while tidying up the cable roll. Above it, an electric transformer against the blue morning sky creates bold geometric lines.

Alcel raised his camera. Click. The distinctive shutter sound made the employee turn around. Alcel didn't shy away or pretend he was photographing something else. He walked over to the man, lowered the camera to his chest, and turned the LCD screen so he could see.

The man wiped his dirty hands on his cloth trousers before leaning over to look at the screen. His eyes widened slightly. On the screen, his figure didn't look like a tired worker, but like the main subject in a documentary—focused, real, and at one with the tangle of wires above him.

"Thank you for the photo, Alcel. Can I save this photo? My daughter will definitely like it," said the PLN employee with a big smile, calling Alcel's name familiarly. Apparently this is not their first meeting.

Alcel took his cell phone out of his pocket, connected it to the camera via wireless connection in a few efficient taps, and sent the file to the number already in his contacts.

"You're welcome, of course you can keep it," answered Alcel flatly. The man reached into his pocket for his cellphone, looked at the incoming notification, then looked at Alcel with a face full of appreciation. "Thank you very much, I really appreciate it." He leaned his body against the pillar, his expression turning a little curious. "By the way, what makes you always take pictures here every morning every day? I almost never see you absent from this."

People always like narratives. They always think that daily dedication like Alcel's must be driven by big ambitions—whether it's to become a professional photographer, take part in competitions, or document social projects.

Alcel put his cell phone back into his trouser pocket.

"Just my hobby."

The man chuckled, as if the answer was merely humility covering greater ambition. "There's no particular reason?" the fishing rod again, looking for a deeper meaning.

Alcel's expression remained neutral. Her eyes stared directly at him, conveying a radical honesty that often felt too simple for the world to accept. "Nothing, I just do it as a hobby, that's all."

The PLN man was silent for a moment, trying to look for lies or embarrassment on the teenager's face, but found nothing. He finally nodded slowly, surrendering to the simplicity of the answer.

Alcel gave a brief nod of goodbye, slung his camera back around, and continued walking along the sidewalk. Behind him, the man returned to work, carrying a new photo on his cellphone, while Alcel walked away without leaving a trace of ego in that place.

***

The main gate of Eternal Hope State High School towered high, welcoming the waves of students in white and gray uniforms who were setting foot there for the first time. The schoolyard was filled with the euphoria of youth. The kids gathered in a circle, some busy swapping social media accounts, while others laughed loudly to set the stage for the perfect first impression.

In the midst of the sea of excited people, Alcel walked with a slow and regular rhythm. He ignored the commotion around him. The focus is instead on the geometric pattern of the shadows from the classroom windows falling onto the corridor floor. He raised his camera, aimed at a quiet corner of the corridor, and pressed the shutter.

Occasionally, the flash of the lens and the clicking sound of his camera made several passing students turn their heads. They looked at Alcel with appraising eyes, surprised to see someone who was more interested in photographing the school walls and pillars than making new acquaintances on the first day. However, Alcel didn't return the gaze, he just lowered his camera and walked calmly again.

Before long, the sound of the school bell rang loudly, cutting through the commotion in the yard. The students scattered to find their respective classrooms, starting a new chapter in their social hierarchy.

Inside one of the classrooms, morning sunlight streamed in through a row of glass windows, illuminating the fine dust dancing in the air. The noisy atmosphere slowly subsided when a middle-aged female teacher stepped in with firm steps and a wide smile.

"Good Morning Kids!" he said in a loud and energetic voice. "First of all, I would like to congratulate you because you have successfully passed and been accepted into this favorite state school. An achievement that you should be proud of."

The teacher put his attendance book on the teacher's desk, looking at the rest of the class who were still awkward. "Let me introduce myself, my name is Farra Johara, your homeroom teacher for the next year. On this occasion, before we start selecting class administrators, I want you to get to know each other. We will start introducing ourselves from the front row on the right. Please, you are the first."

Mrs. Farra's index finger pointed straight at the front seat near the door.

Alcel, who happened to be sitting on the bench, stood up without wasting any time. He didn't straighten his uniform which was slightly wrinkled at the collar, didn't clear his throat, and didn't look at his classmates for sympathy. His body faces the front of the class with a relaxed posture.

"Let me introduce myself, my name is Alcel Meyer. Thank you so much," he said.

His tone was flat, without nervous or enthusiastic intonation. As soon as the last point of his sentence was finished, he immediately pulled out his chair and sat back down, ending the session before the class even had time to process what had just happened.

For two full seconds, an awkward silence hung in the air. Mrs. Farra blinked several times, her smile slightly suppressed, her hand which was still holding the marker slightly hanging in the air. He clearly hopes for at least school, hobbies or aspirations.

The silence slowly broke, replaced by faint whispers from the middle and back rows of the class.

"Seriously, is that all?" whispered a student while elbowing his seatmate.

"It seems like he's the social type, huh," said the girl behind him, half-whispering but loud enough to ring in the air.

"I think he's a bit like that, yeah... strange."

"Even though this is a first impression moment, you know. At least make small talk, grandpa, talk about grandpa's hobbies."

The whispers spread like ripples on water, building their first assumptions and stereotypes about the figure in the front seat. Meanwhile, Alcel, who was the center of dozens of judgmental gazes, was not at all bothered. He just stared at the empty blackboard, waiting for the next person's turn, peaceful in his own silence.

***

The recess bell rang, freeing the students from the tension of the first period. In less than half an hour, a classroom ecosystem was formed automatically. Tables were pushed together, chairs were turned around, and groups of friends began to form as chatter and laughter echoed throughout the room.

In the midst of the social hustle and bustle, there were three children who were still sitting alone in their respective seats. Alcel is one of them.

Two other children appeared to block out the classroom noise in their own ways; One child looks seriously flipping through a thick book with an ambitious look on his face, while the other looks down and focuses on staring at the cell phone screen, his fingers nimbly playing a game with earphones plugged into his ears. They are both isolated in their own bubbles. For Alcel, this was not something strange. He doesn't care about his social status at all. Break time is not a time to make friends, but a functional break.

He took out his old DSLR camera from his bag. His eyes swept around the room, and his movements stopped on a group of female students who were chatting casually by the window. The midday sun filters through the glass, highlighting their hair and laughter in a perfectly natural composition.

Alcel raised his camera. Click. The sound of the mechanical shutter was loud enough to interrupt their chatter. One of the girls from the group turned around, her eyebrows furrowed when she saw the camera lens trained on them. There was an expression of discomfort and discomfort that immediately appeared on his face.

Instead of feeling guilty or looking away, Alcel actually got up from his chair. He walked casually over to their table, lowered the camera, and immediately thrust the LCD screen in front of the still confused girls.

One of them pointed at Alcel's face with a look of realization.

"Oh, aren't you the kid who took a picture of the broken flower pot near the infirmary door this morning, huh?" said the girl.

The friend next to him nodded. "Ehh, that camera kid, huh? Your name is Alcel, right?" "Ah yes, by the way, what do you think about this photo I took?"

The group of girls fell silent for a moment. One of them—a girl with the most confident disposition—snorted in amusement at this radical honesty.

"You don't like small talk, huh. My name is Nadila Rosalia, make sure you remember that, okay?" He then looked at the camera screen. "The photo is really nice, isn't it?" he asked his friend.

His friend looked at the photo. "But this photo isn't very ordinary, is it?"

"Yeah, really. Nothing special, except for a very ordinary candid."

"Ah yes, where did I send this photo? I want to quickly eat and take more photos," interrupted Alcel to the girls who were busy chatting.

The three girls were slightly taken aback by such blunt urgency. Nadila chuckled, shaking her head.

"I'm really in a hurry, okay, save my number and send it to me later, thank you," said Nadila to Alcel while showing her contact number.

"Okay, you're welcome."

After typing the number, Alcel immediately turned around, deeming the functional interaction to be complete.

"Hey, wait a minute," said Nadila when she saw Alcel turning away. "You want to eat, right? You don't have any friends, right? Just eat with us."

Alcel stopped in his tracks, turned his head slightly. "But I already have supplies. I'm not going to the canteen."

Nadila shrugged her shoulders, not offended. "Okay, it's up to you then, bye bye."

Alcel left the classroom, carrying his bag and camera down the corridor. He headed towards the quiet school park. There, on the grass under a shady tree, he saw a boy wearing glasses sitting eating alone.

Check! The sound of the camera portrait can be heard clearly. The bespectacled boy looked up, but Alcel didn't waste any time. He approached the place and immediately sat cross-legged next to the child without saying anything.

The child ate silently and didn't say anything, Alcel was the same. The two of them just ate without saying anything, finding absolute peace in the silence.

***

Day after day has passed. In the midst of a class ecosystem that is increasingly noisy with gossip, the formation of friendship camps, and image competition, Alcel always carries out his routine without worrying about being disturbed by anything. Even now, Alcel and three other children in the class remain isolated from the main social group.

However, Alcel's routine of always walking around with a camera, taking pictures of trivial things, and having a flat expression actually made his classmates start to feel uncomfortable. A transparent attitude that is too pure is often misinterpreted as strangeness. Rumors started to spread.

This collective feeling of discomfort finally provoked intervention from a figure who positioned himself as the "center of gravity" of the class. A boy with a charismatic demeanor, neat uniform, and always smiling—the strongest candidate to become class president—walked over to Alcel's desk. He felt responsible for bringing order to this "anomaly."

"What are you actually doing, anyway?" asked the boy. His tone sounded friendly, but there was a layer of gentle interrogation beneath it, the typical way a class leader would reprimand his members.

Alcel was leaning towards the glass window. The camera was focused on a row of black ants marching across the aluminum frame.

"Photographing ants," answered Alcel.

The prospective class president folded his arms across his chest, letting out a slightly dramatized sigh of concern. "You do this every day, it's no wonder they talk bad things about you behind your back," he replied, gesturing towards the group of students in the corner of the classroom with his eyes. He tries to use the "social pressure" card to get Alcel to act more normal.

Alcel lowered his camera from the window. He pressed a few buttons on his worn body, then turned the screen towards the dignified boy.

"Ah yes, I forgot to show you this," said Alcel casually.

On the LCD screen, a photo of the candidate for class president was displayed. However, instead of showing the formal pose he usually uses to attract sympathy, the photo was a candid portrait of him laughing out loud while leaning against the door frame yesterday. There is no image of a rigid leader there, just an ordinary teenager caught being himself.

The boy's eyes widened slightly. His authority wavered for a moment when he saw the portrait. "You took my photo? This is yesterday's photo, right?" Alcel just seemed to nod.

The human touch of the photo made the prospective class president forget his initial intention to lecture Alcel. His ego and image are validated in a very aesthetic way.

"Well, thanks, can I keep this photo? Just keep my phone number," he said, changing his tone to a more cooperative one as he handed over his expensive cell phone so Alcel could write down the number.

While Alcel typed the number into his cell phone to send a photo file, the future class president remembered his position. He stared at Alcel closely, still not understanding. "By the way, you don't care about what they say to you?"

Alcel's hands moved efficiently to operate his cellphone. He remained silent while sending the photo to the boy's phone number, showing no signs that the social bullying bothered him.

"Hey, answer me, don't just be silent," urged the boy again, feeling that his authority was being ignored.

A successful delivery notification appeared on the Alcel cellphone screen. He put the rectangular object back into his pocket, then looked at the future class president with unreadable eyes—an empty space that absorbed all assumptions.

"I will continue taking photos as usual because this is my hobby," answered Alcel after being silent for a moment. An absolute confirmation that people's words, reputation, or class hierarchy have no functional value in changing routines.

The boy who was used to controlling the dynamics of the class was silent for a moment. He realized that in front of him stood a person who could not be threatened with social isolation, let alone bribed with popularity. His efforts were in vain.

"Ah, okay then, I want to go first," he said, choosing to retreat respectfully before running out of words.

"Okay, thank you for your time."

"Bye!" the boy replied, waving with his trademark political smile, then turned back to his group, taking his new photo with him.

Meanwhile, Alcel turned his body again to face the window. Undeterred by attempts at intervention from the top of the class hierarchy, he raised his camera again, photographing the same line of ants again, letting his lonely life continue on its own path.