The night was calm above the city, the sky an endless sheet of navy velvet pierced with stars. Up on the open rooftop of the three-story shophouse, a soft breeze stirred the warm air, carrying with it the faint sounds of motorbikes, evening prayers, and distant laughter from a nearby warung.
Phuby stood alone at first, leaning against the metal railing, his phone tucked into his pocket, heart thudding. The cool air felt good against his skin, especially after the day's heat and the nervous energy simmering inside him.
He glanced down at the lanterns strung along the rooftop. He had put them up the night before, claiming it was just for decoration. But the real reason? This night.
Tonight, he wanted to tell Hana.
Tell her how every moment with her felt different, like time moved slower. How seeing her laugh with his mother, help Om Luky bring in a cake order from a neighbor, or quietly enjoy a plate of nasi lengko made him realize that her presence had quietly changed the rhythm of his days.
He heard footsteps.
Turning, he saw Hana climbing the last few stairs, wrapped in a light hoodie over her floral nightdress, her hair loose and swaying with the breeze.
"There you are," she said with a small smile. "Your mom said you were up here."
Phuby chuckled weakly. "Needed some air. And stars."
"I like stars." She joined him at the railing, hands resting lightly on the cool metal. "Japan's sky isn't this clear in the city."
For a moment, they just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, silence falling gently between them like the stars above.
Then Hana spoke.
"I almost didn't come, you know."
Phuby blinked. "What?"
She gave a soft laugh, eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Not because I didn't want to. I did. But I was afraid. What if we met and things weren't the same? What if we ran out of things to say? What if it ruined everything we built online?"
He was quiet. Her words mirrored his own fears.
"I get it," he finally said. "I was scared too. Scared that maybe… I'd disappoint you."
Hana turned to face him fully, her expression gentle. "You haven't."
Phuby swallowed, suddenly aware of the weight of what he wanted to say. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper.
"What's that?" she asked.
He opened it, revealing a roughly sketched version of the sign he'd held at the airport when he first met her. "I made a new one," he said shyly. "I didn't want the moment to pass."
Her eyes softened as she traced the hand-drawn heart. "You kept it?"
"I kept everything," he said. "Our first screenshot. The time you sent me that voice note singing off-key. The clip of you laughing when I fell off my chair mid-stream."
She giggled.
Phuby took a breath. "I guess… what I'm trying to say is—Hana, I really like you. Not just online-you, or anime-liking-you, or 'this girl is cute from Japan' you. But you—who helped my mom cook, who asked about my day, who made this shophouse feel like a home in just a week."
Hana's smile wavered, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Phuby…"
He panicked slightly. "I mean—you don't have to say anything back. I just needed you to know."
"No," she interrupted gently, her hand reaching for his. "I'm glad you said it. Because I… I feel the same."
He blinked. "You do?"
"I've liked you since the third week we talked," she said with a watery smile. "That time you tried speaking Japanese and ended up saying something about 'burning socks.' I realized then that you weren't pretending to be someone else. You were just you. Awkward, funny, sincere. And since coming here, seeing how you care for your family, how you set up my room, how you treat everyone with kindness… I knew I made the right choice."
The rooftop was silent again—but this time, it wasn't heavy. It was full. Brimming with unsaid emotions finally given voice.
Phuby exhaled shakily. "So… what now?"
Hana squeezed his hand. "We keep going. One day at a time. But now, we know it's real."
Their fingers intertwined, the night wrapped around them like a blanket. Somewhere below, the city pulsed on, unaware of the tiny miracle unfolding above its rooftops.
And just a few steps down the stairwell, out of sight behind the half-open door, Mrs. Wulan stood quietly, a hand pressed to her mouth, eyes glistening.
She had come up to tell Phuby that his tea was getting cold. But when she heard their voices—soft, trembling, filled with the tenderness of young love—she couldn't bring herself to interrupt.
In that moment, listening to her son express his feelings with raw honesty, and hearing Hana respond with warmth and clarity, something deep inside her eased.
So many nights she had worried—about Phuby's loneliness, his uncertain future, the digital life he buried himself in. But now she saw it: not all online connections were empty. Some led to real love, real growth.
Quietly, she turned back, stepping down the stairs, leaving the two alone in their starlit world.
As Phuby and Hana sat on a bean bag, sharing a bag of kacang rebus and talking about everything and nothing, Phuby couldn't help but feel it again—that rare, golden certainty:
No matter what the system gave him, this—Hana, beside him, heart open—was his truest reward.
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