A soft morning breeze filtered through the open windows of the renovated farmhouse in Uji, carrying with it the scent of dew-kissed tea leaves from the nearby rows. Hana sat cross-legged on the woven rug of the sunroom, a warm cup of barley tea in hand and a small smile on her lips. She was watching the twins kick their tiny feet in tandem from their padded play area, their coos blending into the soft chirps outside.
Phuby stood near the dining area, going over a few documents on his tablet. The farm's daily routine was already running smoothly—thanks to their three farmhands who had become an inseparable part of the land. Yuriko had sent a message that the strawberries from the southern row would be ready for trial picking next week. Kenta was rotating the tea rows for soil health, and Yuji was handling the compost. All three had surprised Phuby and Hana with their dedication.
It was a calm week—just the kind they'd always hoped for.
"Phuby," Hana called gently, "I think we should send a thank-you package to everyone who helped with the farmhouse project."
"You mean the builders and suppliers?" he asked, approaching with a pen behind his ear.
"Yes. Especially Tanaka-san and his crew. And maybe something for the town hall staff—they were so kind and patient."
Phuby smiled. "That's so you."
Together, they compiled a list of people to thank. For Tanaka Atsushi, they agreed on a gourmet snack basket and a custom wood plaque saying "Thank you for building our dream." For the town office staff who handled all the manual permits and paperwork, Hana proposed sending a local tea and confectionery box with a handwritten letter.
She even called Emi-san, their housekeeper, to help them pack the gifts beautifully in the Japanese way—carefully folded furoshiki cloths and handwritten calligraphy tags.
By noon, Phuby drove down into Uji's town center to buy the items they needed. Hana stayed back with the twins, using the quiet time to write heartfelt letters in both Japanese and Bahasa Indonesia.
At the Local Specialty Store — Uji
Phuby strolled through aisles lined with handcrafted goods and gourmet selections. He picked up:
Three artisan gift baskets filled with green tea, yatsuhashi sweets, and handmade cups
Custom wooden plaque, carved by a local artisan
Assorted senbei and matcha chocolate for lighter gifts
He made sure the total came up to just over Rp12.000.000 to activate the system. On his way back to the farmhouse, the familiar ping from the system lit up across his dashboard tablet.
SYSTEM NOTICEPurchase total: Rp12.000.000Cashback Granted: Rp24.000.000Items delivered
Previous Balance: Rp 32.279.000.000- Rp 12.000.000+ Rp 24.000.000= New Balance: Rp 32.291.000.000
By the time he returned, Hana had finished wrapping the letters and boxes with Emi's help. The twins were napping peacefully, their soft breathing adding to the quiet rhythm of the farmhouse.
As the sun started dipping behind the hills, Phuby and Hana packed the gifts into the back of the car and decided to drop them off in person the next morning. But before bed, there was one more thing to do.
"Let's write letters for the twins," Hana said, gently sitting on their tatami mat. "Like a time capsule."
"To open when?"
"When they turn eighteen."
Phuby laughed. "We'll probably cry reading our own letters."
"I know I will."
They wrote quietly under the soft hum of the paper lamp. Phuby's letter to his son was filled with lessons and jokes, while his letter to his daughter had a tenderness he hadn't known lived in him. Hana wrote about dreams, about love, about choosing kindness every time.
They sealed the letters and placed them into a wooden box labeled "Open on your 18th birthday."
Later that night, under a summer sky scattered with stars, Phuby and Hana stepped out into the backyard with the baby monitor nearby. The garden was quiet except for a few crickets and the soft breeze brushing the hedges.
"I never imagined it would feel this complete," Hana whispered.
"It's still growing," Phuby said, wrapping an arm around her. "But I agree."
They stood there together, no rush in their hearts, just the soft thrum of a life well-lived—even in its early chapters.