Jiwoo smiled faintly again. "Then I'll make sure you enjoy Seoul first."
The car stopped in the parking lot. Naima patted her lap lightly, trying to calm her racing heart.
"Thanks for driving me here," she said politely. "I'll treat you to coffee later."
Jiwoo smiled casually, then got out of the car.
Naima blinked. "Wait, you're getting out too?"
Jiwoo turned slightly. "I thought you would offer me some ramen."
Naima's brain immediately froze. Offer ramen? Wait—that's K-drama code for… inviting a guy to stay over?! Oh my God. Act dumb, Naima. Act dumb.
She smiled politely, pretending to be clueless. "Ramen doesn't really fit my tongue. I prefer… rendang—Indonesia's super spicy beef curry."
Jiwoo chuckled, nodding slowly. "I can't wait to have… renu… dane… invitation." He struggled adorably to pronounce rendang.
Naima grinned inwardly. Better not reply. I'm not ready if he actually gets the hint.
Jiwoo then patted his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. "Come by my unit. Keep my number, call me anytime."
Naima accepted it with both hands and a polite nod. "Okay… I will."
---
Naima pressed the elevator button, holding her breath.
"Geez… five guys in one day? First one kissed me, second's an exhibitionist, third's a barista, fourth's a chef, and now the last one basically offered to sleep over. Did my life just turn into a premium absurd K-drama?"
She shuddered, running her fingers through her hair.
"Okay, shower first, wash face, then dress up pretty. I've got dinner tonight—time to ask Johann why I'm even here."
The elevator chimed open, and Naima stepped out.
Her eyes widened. "My unit… 1809?! Right across from Jiwoo's 1808?!"
Her heart trembled. "Is this real life—or just another scripted coincidence?"
Naima stared at her apartment door and chuckled softly.
"I even remember this door code from watching the drama too much," she murmured, taking a deep breath.
Click. The door unlocked smoothly. She peeked inside—and her heartbeat jumped.
The apartment felt warm and familiar. Dim lights reflected softly off the tidy living room—complete with a small dining table, a cozy sofa, and a few potted plants. Everything looked exactly like the set she remembered, yet it still made her head spin.
---
Naima's stomach growled loudly. "Ugh… starving," she muttered, stepping into the spotless kitchen that gleamed like a showroom. White counters, pendant lights, a marble island—everything screamed luxury.
She opened the massive stainless fridge. "Whoa…" her eyes widened. "Indomie empal gentong, soto Betawi, cakalang, sambal matah flavors?! No way!"
She stared at the rows of instant noodles like she'd just found buried treasure.
"This—this doesn't even need eggs or veggies. It's already perfection!" she said, pressing one pack to her cheek dramatically.
Chuckling to herself, she added, "First time cooking in a kitchen this fancy. Feels like if I turn the wrong knob, I'll get billed for damages."
She examined the stove, overwhelmed by its digital buttons. "Why does this look like an airplane dashboard?"
Minutes later, the delicious aroma of instant noodles filled the air.
Naima sat on a bar stool, admiring the steaming pot before her. "Johann can have all his fancy gourmet food, but only Indomie can make life make sense."
She sipped the broth with a sigh. "Ahh… tastes like home," she whispered, smiling contentedly.
After finishing, she patted her stomach. "Alright, time to clean up."
She walked into the bathroom—a mini spa straight out of a luxury hotel. Large mirror framed by soft lights, crisp white towels, and the faint citrus scent from a diffuser. Warm water cascaded down her shoulders, washing away the day's chaos. "Hmm… now this is life," she sighed, eyes closed in bliss.
---
Fresh from the shower, Naima stood before a sleek glass wardrobe.
"Okay, Naima. Time to look cute but classy."
She flipped through hangers one by one. "Too formal… too sexy… too gloomy…" until her eyes landed on a cream mini dress with a satin sheen, a dainty ribbon at the waist, and a soft square neckline.
"Perfect. Sweet, but not too much."
She paired it with white ankle boots and a small cream purse.
At her vanity, rows of skincare bottles lined up like soldiers. "Alright, eleven-step Korean skincare? Yeah, no thanks."
After three steps, she gave up. "Essence and moisturizer, that's enough. I'm not an idol—I already freeze with the AC on."
She sprayed a little perfume on her wrists and glanced at her reflection. "Hmm… my hair needs help."
Then she remembered. "Oh right—there's a salon next to the café downstairs. Let's go."
---
The salon smelled of hairspray and jasmine. Naima opened her translator app and smiled at the friendly stylist.
"Eonnie, I want a natural look, but please use this lipstick," she said, handing over her favorite shade. "And a hairstyle that fits this dress."
The middle-aged woman nodded warmly. "Okay, please sit."
As she started blow-drying, she asked sweetly, "Prom night? You study at international school? You look new, not Korean."
Naima laughed. "Huh? I'm not a high schooler, Eonnie. I've graduated already. I'm going to dinner."
The woman gasped. "Really? You look seventeen! Such baby skin!"
Naima giggled, covering her cheeks. "Eonnie, you're too kind. If you keep saying that, I might come here every day."
The stylist laughed brightly. "Then come often! I give pretty girl discount."
Naima smiled. "Deal."
Halfway through her hair session, her phone buzzed on the vanity.
"Johann" flashed on the screen.
Naima quickly answered. "Hello?"
A deep, calm voice with a European accent came through, teasingly smooth.
"Where are you?"
Naima glanced at the clock—7:30 PM. "I'm getting my hair done downstairs," she said, watching her reflection.
In her head, she grumbled, You said eight! Can't you chill?
"Ah, you made Indo noodles?" Johann's voice had a smile in it.
"I smelled something spicy from the corridor when I came back."
Naima's eyes widened. "Seriously? You came up already?"
"Just checked something. I'm hungry now…"
She rolled her eyes, biting back a laugh. "Then cook your own noodles!" she said instinctively.
"But it never tastes the same when you cook it," he replied smoothly.
Naima covered her mouth to stop from laughing. "Oh my God, this guy…" she muttered in Indonesian, then answered aloud, "Fine! I'll hurry. Ten more minutes!"
"I'll hold you to that," he said before hanging up.
Naima looked at her reflection, groaning. "Ugh, he's already impatient and my hair's only half done!"
The stylist giggled. "Boyfriend?"
Naima grinned, cheeks flushing. "No, just… dinner appointment."
The woman winked. "Ah, dinner with man always make girl beautiful."
Naima chuckled shyly. Yeah, especially when the guy makes your heart race every five minutes.