The gentle rustle of wind through tea leaves greeted Phuby and Hana every morning now. The farmhouse renovation had long since been completed, and life in the quiet countryside of Uji had settled into a rhythm as comforting as the steam rising from a morning teacup. It was peaceful—so unlike the buzzing Tokyo streets or the Cirebon bakery rush. And yet, in this quiet, something new had begun to blossom.
The farm had become a sanctuary. Not a public business like a tourist farm, but a well-kept, thriving patch of land meant for quality over quantity. They only opened its gates to a select few, such as neighbors, friends, and invited guests. The rest of the produce—tea leaves, vegetables, and Hana's favorite strawberries—was either delivered directly to buyers or sold online via a system-managed site. The quality spoke for itself, and word of mouth did the rest.
Hana stood by the veranda of the farmhouse, her hands gently resting on her belly. Though she was still slim, a tiny curve had begun to show—a sign of the life growing inside her. Her long hair fluttered in the wind as she looked out toward the newly constructed tea beds, where Kenta Sakamoto was carefully inspecting the rows, his seasoned hands moving with the grace of experience.
"I'm still not used to this," Hana said with a soft smile as Phuby joined her, a ceramic mug of matcha latte in hand.
"You're beautiful," Phuby said simply, placing a hand over hers on her belly.
She laughed. "I meant being pregnant."
He chuckled, sipping his drink. "You're still beautiful."
Their early mornings had become routine. Wake up just after sunrise, go for a light stroll around the garden or the fields, help with small tasks, and then sit together at the porch. Sometimes Hana would write blog posts while sipping tea, or Phuby would edit videos or review the orders flowing through their streamlined digital shop. With the new ultra-fast Japanese fiber connection installed the previous month, things moved smoothly.
It was during one of these blog-writing sessions that Hana decided to publish a post about her current life—complete with scenic photos of the farmhouse, the rows of young tea leaves, and the tranquil view of the countryside.
The post was titled: "From Tokyo Lights to Uji Mornings – Life on the Farm."
It wasn't meant to go viral. But it didn't need to. As soon as it went live, her best friends from university and a few from high school flooded the comments and messages.
"Are you serious, Hana?!""Is that your house?!""Who's the mysterious husband?!"
Some even replied with screenshots of the landscape, asking if it was edited. It wasn't. The beauty was real.
Hana responded with heartfelt messages, promising to invite them someday. She even posted a story: a boomerang of her picking strawberries while wearing a sunhat, with the caption "Farm girl mode activated 🍓."
Meanwhile, her phone buzzed every few minutes from the group chats. It was chaotic. And hilarious.
Later that day, Phuby noticed her grinning at her phone, and he leaned in to see.
"Getting famous?" he teased.
"I might need to charge my phone three times a day now," she said. "I didn't think so many people would care."
"They don't just care," Phuby replied. "They miss you."
It was true. The move to Japan, the sudden shift from an active student and city girl to a married farmer's wife had shocked many of her friends—but the support and curiosity were genuine.
As the weeks passed, and the season leaned into spring, the real surprise came during a regular prenatal checkup. Hana had been feeling extra tired lately, and her appetite had doubled.
They visited the clinic hand-in-hand, joking along the way.
"I bet it's a boy," Phuby guessed.
"Why?" Hana raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know. I had a dream about a little boy riding a tiny tricycle in the garden," he shrugged.
"Then I dreamt of two babies crying at once. What does that say?" she replied with a smirk.
The midwife welcomed them warmly and began the ultrasound. As the wand moved across Hana's belly, the screen came alive with the familiar blurry images. But then the midwife paused.
Her eyes twinkled.
"Congratulations," she said. "You're expecting twins."
For a few seconds, time stood still.
"Twins?" Hana blinked, tightening her grip on Phuby's hand.
"Two heartbeats. Both healthy," the midwife confirmed, turning the screen so they could see the two distinct shapes—tiny, squirming, alive.
Phuby's mouth was slightly agape. "I—uh… What?"
Hana let out a soft laugh—then began to cry. Not out of fear or worry, but sheer emotional overload.
He pulled her into a hug, their foreheads touching as tears and laughter tangled between them.
When they returned home, the farmhouse felt different. It wasn't just a couple's home anymore. It was about to become a family house.
Emi Fujiwara, their housekeeper, was sweeping the genkan when they arrived. She looked up and immediately sensed something.
"You have good news, I can tell," she said with a knowing grin.
"Twins," Hana whispered.
Emi covered her mouth with her hand in shock, then laughed warmly. "May blessings fill your home!"
Word spread quickly among the small circle they trusted. Mrs. Wulan cried over video call. Om Luky nodded proudly, saying, "Good job, Bos Kecil." Mr. Haruki and Mrs. Aiko were stunned, but delighted. The names and gift ideas began flowing instantly.
Later that evening, as Hana sat by the window, cradling her still-small bump, Phuby approached with a tray—two cups of tea and a bowl of strawberries.
"We need to start thinking about names," he said, settling beside her.
She leaned against him. "Let's wait until we know the genders. But yes."
They sat in silence, sipping tea and listening to the soft croak of frogs in the distance.
Somewhere between the rustle of leaves and the gentle glow of stars over the quiet Uji sky, Phuby looked around—the fields, the tea rows, the wooden farmhouse they had restored with love, and the woman beside him.
"I think this was all meant to be," he whispered.
Hana nodded, eyes closed, one hand over his. "Me too."