Morning sunlight spilled through the shophouse windows, warming the wooden floorboards and casting soft glows on the walls. Hana was still curled up under the futon when Phuby returned from the bakery downstairs, balancing a tray of freshly baked pandan bread and two mugs of thick, sweet kopi tubruk.
He placed the tray on the small kotatsu and peeked inside the room. Her hair was a gentle mess of waves against the pillow, one hand sticking out from the covers. It made him smile.
"Hana," he whispered softly. "I brought breakfast."
A sleepy murmur escaped her lips, followed by a slow stretch. "Mmm... smells good," she mumbled, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
"You always say that," Phuby said with a chuckle.
"Because it's true," she replied, still in her oversized T-shirt with a sleepy smile. "Your mom's baking is like a love spell."
"She says you're part of the spell now," Phuby said, handing her a cup.
Hana held it carefully with both hands. "She's too sweet to me."
Phuby sat beside her and broke the bread in half. "She already called you anak Jepang-nya Wulan."
Hana laughed, cheeks flushing. "That's cute. I like that."
They ate quietly for a few minutes. Outside the window, motorbikes zipped past, the street vendors shouted their morning offers, and the scent of morning rain on pavement drifted in. It was all new to Hana, but she never once complained. In fact, she embraced the chaos of Indonesia as something to be savored.
After breakfast, they both headed downstairs to help with Toko Kue Palm Sari, which had recently reopened in the large three-floor shophouse they'd rented. The ground floor was the bakery, the second floor was their living space, and the third floor served as storage—with an open rooftop that had quickly become Phuby and Hana's favorite spot to talk late into the night.
Business had picked up slowly but steadily. The reopening of the store, originally founded in 2001 at Phuby's grandfather's house, had stirred curiosity in the neighborhood. Loyal old customers had returned, often surprised to see a Japanese girl smiling behind the display case or handing out samples with a perfect "selamat pagi!"
Mrs. Wulan was thrilled by Hana's help. She often declared that the girl's smile alone sold more bolu gulung than any Instagram ad.
As for Om Luky, he worked mostly behind the scenes—handling deliveries, checking the books, or quietly fixing the broken rice cooker like a shadow that kept the operation running.
After a busy morning at the store, Hana pulled Phuby aside.
"I have an idea," she said, wiping flour from her cheeks. "What if we livestream from the bakery?"
Phuby blinked. "Like, a cooking stream?"
"Exactly! You have your setup upstairs. We could do a casual segment—show how we make pastries, maybe take live orders."
He tilted his head, considering. "That's... actually brilliant."
"I know," Hana said with a playful wink. "I've been watching your streams, remember?"
That afternoon, they set up one of Phuby's backup webcams in the bakery kitchen. Phuby brought down his best gaming laptop and used his second phone for lighting. They adjusted angles, tested sound levels, and within two hours, went live with their first "Palm Sari Live Bakes!"
The response was better than expected. Viewers loved the spontaneous banter, the sizzling sounds of frying dough, and especially Hana's attempts to pronounce pastry names.
"Coba bilang 'kue sus,'" Phuby prompted.
"Koo-eh... soos?" Hana tried, squinting at the syllables.
"Not bad," he said, laughing. "Next time we'll try 'kue klepon.'"
"Kue... ka-le-pong?" she said, faking a dramatic chef's bow.
The comment section exploded.
> "HANA IS A NATIONAL TREASURE." "When's the next episode???" "Kue Ka-le-pong sounds like a new anime title."
Even better, orders started coming in—many from curious viewers who wanted to try what they saw on stream. Some even drove from the outskirts of town just to meet "the Japanese girl from the bakery."
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Later That Evening
That night, as the day slowed down and the storefront lights dimmed, Phuby and Hana took his motorbike for a quick ride around the neighborhood. Hana had taken a liking to the way the cool wind swept past them, even if she clung tightly to his waist the entire time.
"You ride better than I expected," she shouted over the wind.
"You were expecting me to crash into a cart, weren't you?" he shouted back, amused.
"Maybe," she teased. "I brought a helmet just in case!"
They stopped by a quiet lot near the edge of the city where the skyline met rice fields under a starlit sky. Phuby parked the motorbike and they sat by the edge of a canal, legs dangling just above the flowing water.
"You know," Hana began, brushing her hair behind one ear, "I didn't expect to feel this... comfortable here."
Phuby glanced at her. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "I mean, I was nervous. Traveling alone. Coming to a whole different country. Meeting you face-to-face. It could've gone horribly wrong."
"It didn't," he said simply.
"No," she smiled, "it didn't. In fact, it feels like I've been here much longer than a week."
There was a beat of silence. The only sound was the buzz of cicadas and distant hum of traffic.
"I'm glad you came," Phuby said quietly.
"Me too."
They sat like that for a while—no cameras, no audience, no jokes—just two people breathing in the same quiet night, side by side.
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