The day had finally arrived.
I barely slept the night before, my mind spinning with questions I couldn't silence.What if he doesn't like me? What if my English isn't enough? Should I run into his arms, or should I keep my distance?
I told myself I was too old to feel like a teenage girl, but my heart refused to listen. It beat wildly in my chest, louder than the sound of the waves outside my window.
By morning, I was restless. I tried to work, I tried to distract myself, but time seemed to crawl. When I finally left for Ngurah Rai Airport, my hands wouldn't stop trembling.
The flight was delayed. Thirty minutes. Then almost an hour. Each second stretched like an eternity. I stared at my phone, at the arrival screen, at the sea of strangers. I realized I had forgotten to ask him the simplest things: What will you wear? How tall are you? Will I even recognize you?
And then—through the crowd—I saw him.
A man in a blue cap, walking calmly among the passengers, carrying nothing but himself. My heart knew before my eyes did: Janis.
I called his name, my voice louder than I expected. He turned, and when our eyes met, everything else disappeared. His smile was warm, unhurried, like it had been waiting for me all along.
I walked toward him—no hesitation, no second-guessing. And when he opened his arms, I stepped into them as if I had known him forever. His embrace was steady, not too tight, not too loose, and in that moment I felt something I hadn't felt in years.
Peace.
The chaos of the airport faded. The broken promises of my past dissolved. All that remained was his heartbeat against mine.
We didn't speak much at first. Words weren't needed. His presence was enough.
But beneath the calm surface, emotions swirled inside me. This is real, I whispered to myself. This man is real. He came across oceans for me.
Later, as we drove through the streets of Bali, the silence between us was comfortable, like we were two pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together. He cracked small jokes, little comments about the traffic, about the palm trees, about the chaos of scooters. His humor was subtle, clever, and it made me laugh in a way I hadn't laughed in years—deep, unguarded, alive.
For a moment, I thought: Maybe this is what love feels like when it returns after being lost.
But deep down, a shadow tugged at me.What if this doesn't last? What if he goes back to his country and forgets me? What if his promises are no different than the ones I've heard before?
I tried to push the thoughts away, to surrender to the joy of his presence. And yet, I couldn't ignore a quiet warning in my chest: the universe never gives without asking something in return.
And I was about to discover what that meant.