(Nia's POV)
There was a time in my life that felt like a simulation game—peaceful, pastel-toned, and endlessly repetitive: wake up, help Mother at the shop, write, then laugh with Tati until time slipped away.
No monsters, no quests to save the world.
Just two girls who believed life could be finished—with patience and a sense of humor.
Tati was like one of those NPCs who appeared without warning.
"Niaaa, if you keep writing about love stories, when will you ever be successful? Write something logical, like The Hero of Shopping Vouchers!"
I grinned, stirring my instant coffee.
"Love is like a discount, Ti. The more you wait for it, the less likely it shows up."
We laughed so hard the ceiling fan trembled, as if cheering along. The afternoon air in Suryaloka was soft—there was the scent of steamed cakes drifting from the alley, the clucking of chickens next door, and Mother coughing quietly from her chair.
I glanced at her secretly—she still tried to smile, though her face was pale.
Between serving customers, I liked to play Happy Color on my old phone. I loved how the world on screen could be fixed with just a touch of a finger. If only human hearts were that simple—colored, erased, repaired, then saved.
But in the real world, colors don't always obey the lines.
As dusk settled, Tati leaned on the shop's doorway, her cheeks flushed from laughter.
"Ni, if I think about it… life's funny, isn't it? Sometimes, the things that make us happiest are the least important ones."
I looked up at the amber sky, hugging my warm tea.
"Yeah, Ti. Sometimes the happiest moments are the smallest ones—the kind most people forget."
And in that moment, life felt perfect—simple, small, yet full of meaning. No one knew that while the sky was that beautiful, the universe was secretly rewriting my story.
Back then, I knew nothing about the word marriage.
I didn't know that one day, every color I loved would turn into pain.
All I knew was this:
I was a girl from Suryaloka who loved to write and laugh out loud—because I hadn't yet learned how to cry properly.
—To be Continued—