But

There are times where we had our private assembly without a brofist greeting; and that is when we both are clear that neither of us are in the mood. He grazes my right shoulder with his, pulling me out of my daze. I gave no gesture to acknowledge his late arrival while he didn't open salutation either. But we still walk front, through the glass door and found a canteen table to share. No conversation was initiated, no words were uttered. I glance at him engrossed in whatever was on his iPhone. I clicked on the whatsapp group chats with pop ups from weeks ago; there was no interest at all. He plucked each side of the earpiece from his ears slowly, resting his cochlea for once. It wasn't creepy to just watch him for minutes until he stared right straight into my eyes flipping through the pages of my secrets, staring at my list of fears and noted my mistakes. The noise of the crowd faded as my pupils concealed him from reaching my heart. Instead, I zoomed through his eyes and arrived in his uneven brain. It felt wrong, yet felt stronger that it was only fair that we both visited each others insides. In my attempt to unmask his secrets, fears and mistakes, I was defeated. My fear of exposition reflected in my eyeballs. Weakness of my eyes made it easy for him to guard what's behind those black universe. 

I snapped back to reality. 

I stood up to queue for food. 

The fear of conspiration, pistanthrophobia, reoccurring events were not familiar. It was very foreign because it wasn't mine. He had only looked through his own reflection while I locked myself from me. 

It's the fear of disappointing myself. 

I ordered bubur hitam and went on with my day, like I always do.