We sat at a small folding table, the plastic chairs wobbling slightly beneath us. Wynter picked up a skewer, inspecting it cautiously before taking a bite.
His eyes widened almost immediately. “This is…amazing.”
“Better than Korean food?” Soleh narrowed his eyes,
“Slow down, my allegiance lies with kimbab,” Wynter whispered to him, and I punched his shoulder.
“I’ll have them revoke that travel visa.” I threatened.
“I mean of course, who even likes kimbap anyway, sate ayam is the epitome of Asian cuisine!” he corrected himself.
“That’s more like it, baby,” I said, grinning as I took a bite of my own. The satay was tender and smoky, the peanut sauce rich and creamy with just a hint of spice.
Cahya ate slowly, savoring each bite with the meticulous care he brought to everything. Soleh, on the other hand, devoured his portion in record time, only to yelp when the sambal hit him.
“Water!” he gasped, grabbing for his drink as we all laughed.
From there, we moved to a gorengan stall, where piles of golden-brown fried snacks—tempeh, tofu, cassava, and bananas—were stacked high. Soleh grabbed a fried banana and bit into it with a satisfying crunch.
“Gorengan is the best thing ever,” he declared, holding up the snack like a trophy. “God, please don’t ever make me eat Chick-Fil-A ever again.”
Wyn tried a piece of fried tempeh, nodding appreciatively. “This is my favorite so far,” he admitted.
“Tempeh’s my dad’s favorite too,” I said. “But wait until you try martabak manis.”
At the martabak stall, we watched as the vendor poured batter onto a hot griddle, layering it with butter, condensed milk, chocolate, and cheese. The thick pancake was sliced into squares, the gooey filling oozing out as he handed it over.
“Cheese and chocolate?” Wyn asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Trust me,” I said, handing him a piece.
He took a bite, and his expression shifted from skepticism to pure delight. “Okay, this is ridiculous.”
“Right?” I said, laughing.
As the night deepened, we grabbed es campur for dessert—a refreshing mix of shaved ice, syrup, fresh fruit, and jelly. The sweet, icy treat was the perfect way to cool down after the heat of the market.
We sat together on a low bench at the edge of the market, watching the steady stream of people pass by. The warm glow of the streetlights reflected off the puddles left by the afternoon rain, casting golden halos on the pavement.
“This has been thebestday,” Soleh declared, his voice muffled slightly by the straw in his drink.
Cahya nodded, his expression serene. “It’s been a while since we’ve all done something like this.”
I turned to Wyn, who was quietly sipping his drink beside me. “What do you think?”
He smiled, his eyes soft as they met mine. “I think I’m falling in love.” He held my gaze then glanced away. “With Jakarta.”
The words hung in the air, simple but sincere, and they filled me with a warmth I couldn’t quite describe. This city, its chaos, its vibrancy, its heart had always been home to me. And now, sharing it with Wyn, it felt like a piece of it was becoming his too.
The market buzzed around us, alive with the sounds and flavors of Jakarta, and as I sat there with my family and Wyn, I felt a quiet kind of joy. The kind that comes from being exactly where you’re meant to be, with the people who matter most.
“My feet hurt,” I complained, taking off one of my sneakers, and Wyn was immediately alert. “It’s so hot today.”
“Oh, here we go,” Cahya commented. “I warned you not to wear closed shoes, youalwaysdo this when we walk for a long time.”
“I do not…” I hugged glancing down.
“You so do!” Soleh agreed. “Do not fall into her trap, Wynter!”
