“Where are we going again?” Wyn asked, glancing at me.
“You’ll see,” I said, grinning. “Just trust me.”
Wyn raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.
The aquarium loomed ahead, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the brilliant Jakarta sun. Inside, the chaos of the city faded away, replaced by the cool hush of water and the soft glow of light filtered through enormous tanks.
The first gallery was like stepping into another world. Schools of fish swirled in shimmering silver patterns, their movements as fluid as a dance, while the gentle hum of life underwater filled the air. Soleh pressed his face to the glass immediately, his breath fogging up the surface as he pointed excitedly at the creatures gliding past.
“Look at that one!” he exclaimed, his finger following the path of a fish with long, flowing fins. “It looks like it’s wearing a ballgown.”
Cahya stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, though I could see the faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s a betta fish,” he said. “They’re common in home aquariums.”
Soleh whipped around. “Why do you have to ruin everything with facts?”
“I refuse to be shamed for my intelligence. I’m merelyenhancingthe experience,” Cahya replied dryly.
I laughed, slipping my hand into Wyn’s as we wandered further into the gallery. His gaze was fixed on the tanks. It was indeed romantic seeing my home with him and seeing him make such an effort to comprehend the depths of my being.
“This is incredible,” he murmured, stopping in front of a jellyfish exhibit, pressing his forehead to the tank, and I giggled, snapping a photograph. It was adorable seeing someone way over six foot act like a kid in a candy store. Maybe it wasn’t only me that was being taken back to my youth here in Jakarta. It was magical.
“Dia terlihat seperti keluar dari sebuah drama…”He looks like he came out of a drama,I heard a girl whisper to her friend.
“Bukankah dia seorang bintang olahraga terkenal?”Isn’t he some famous sports star, her friend responded in awe, nearly walking into a wall.
I laughed, I couldn’t blame them.
The tank glowed with an otherworldly light, the jellyfish pulsing like tiny lanterns floating through the dark water. Their translucent bodies shimmered with iridescent hues, each movement slow and deliberate, as if time itself had slowed to match their rhythm.
“They look like they’re glowing,” Wyn said, his voice quiet.
“They’re hypnotic,” I replied, leaning closer to the glass. “But don’t get too close. They sting.”
He glanced at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sounds familiar.”
“Gag, isn’t it bad enough that you somehow fell for my baby sister and now you’re ruining my sacred aquarium trip by acting like the two of you are inHigh School MusicalorWhen I Fly Towards You?” Cahya disapproved, and Wyn rolled his eyes wrapping an arm around my brother’s shoulder.
“Cheer up, she’s the light of both our lives,” he professed. “And by the way, if we were in any drama it’d beHidden Love.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling back.
Soleh, of course, was busy narrating his own version of events. “And here we have the fearsome predator of the deep,” he said, pointing his phone at a hammerhead shark. “Known for its—AH!” He yelped as a stingray suddenly swooped close to the glass, and everyone around us burst into laughter.
“Karma.” Cahya laughed.
After the calm of the aquarium, the market hit us like a tidal wave of sensation. It was alive in every sense of the word; a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and smells that flooded the senses and left no room for anything else.
Rows of stalls lined the narrow streets, their canopies fluttering in the warm breeze. Vendors called out to passersby, their voices competing with the sizzling of woks and the clinking of metal utensils. The air was thick with the aroma of spices like turmeric, cumin, and coriander mingling with the smoky scent of grilled meat and the sweetness of frying bananas.
“This,” I said, spreading my arms wide, “is Jakarta street food at its finest.”
“Where do we start?” Wyn asked, his eyes scanning the vibrant chaos around us.
“Sate ayam,” I said confidently. “Always start with satay.”
We made our way to a satay stall, where skewers of marinated chicken and goat sizzled over a charcoal grill. The vendor, an older man with a warm smile, fanned the flames with practiced ease, the smoke curling into the evening air.
“Sate ayam dan sate kambing, empat porsi,” I ordered, watching as he plated up the skewers with generous drizzles of peanut sauce.
