Naima returned to her unit. "He said dinner… but here I am, cooking instant noodles," she muttered.
As the door opened, a faint scent of men's soap mixed with coffee greeted her. Johann was already lounging on the sofa, sleeves rolled up, still in his white shirt.
He turned and smiled when he saw her. "One only, please," he said in a mock-whiny tone, like a spoiled kid expecting to be pampered.
Naima chuckled, tearing open the noodle packet and turning on the stove. "Okay, Chef Indo in action," she teased, placing the pot on the burner.
The sound of boiling water filled the air. Johann leaned against the counter, watching her. "You look… different tonight," he said quietly.
Naima glanced his way. "Because of my hair or my mood?"
"Both." Johann smiled faintly. "You glow."
Naima held her breath for a split second, then quickly stirred the noodles. "Don't start. I've got questions for you. I just hope you'll be honest."
Johann raised his hand dramatically, as if swearing an oath. "I swear I never cheat."
Naima turned to him, baffled. "Huh? Cheat? Who said anything about that?"
He lowered his hand, feigning innocence. "Just making sure."
Naima sighed, amused, exasperated. "Never mind. It's something else."
"Yes?" His tone softened, curious now.
Naima turned off the stove, scooped the noodles into bowls, and looked straight at him. "This morning. Seven AM. I was still in my bed. In Jakarta. Then I fell asleep… and woke up here. In your apartment."
Johann studied her face. "Dreaming?"
Naima looked down at her bowl, then back at him. "Maybe I am dreaming right now. Making noodles for you, walking around Seoul, getting my hair done in a fancy salon… it's all too real to be a dream."
Johann leaned back, eyes narrowing in thought. "Can you taste food? Smell the air? Feel the cold?"
"Yeah!" Naima brightened. "I can taste this chili oil, I can smell the broth, I even felt the wind in Myeongdong!"
He nodded slowly. "Lucid dream."
Naima frowned. "Lucid dream?"
"Yeah. When your brain knows it's dreaming, but your senses still work. It happens when you're stressed, or when something unresolved lingers before you sleep."
Naima sat across from him and handed over a bowl. "The weirdest part is… I met K-drama characters. The second lead, the main lead, even the vet with a puppy."
Johann chuckled. "You mean you met your favorite tropes in real life? You've clearly watched too much K-drama."
"Ugh, that's exactly what Martha said!"
"Martha who?"
"My boarding house neighbor in Jakarta. She also said my brain's ninety percent Korean drama."
Johann laughed softly. "Then maybe she's right. But…" He paused, voice dropping. "If this is a dream, why am I in it?"
Naima froze. The kitchen went silent except for the faint hiss of steam from the noodles.
"Good question," she murmured. "Why you, Johann?"
Johann shrugged and took a sip from his bowl. "Good as always. Indo noodle never fails," he said lightly, as if nothing unusual had been said.
Naima, however, was already scrolling through her Ktalk app. Her eyes widened. "Wait… this profile picture. It's us. In wedding clothes." Her voice rose an octave. "Are we… married? Or is this some weird AI-generated couple photo?"
Johann stopped mid-bite. "Naima!" he said, shocked, amused. "Are you serious?"
"Totally." She turned the screen toward him. "Explain this."
Johann sighed, stood up, and grabbed his own phone. "Okay. You really want to see?"
He opened his Drive, typed something, then handed it to her.
The screen showed a folder labeled Wedding – Naima & Johann.
Naima opened the files one by one:
– photos at a traditional Javanese ceremony,
– a video of them being showered with flower water by a veiled woman,
– and… a marriage certificate signed by Naima Triasih and Johann Treublut.
Her hands trembled. "This can't be…"
Johann looked at her gently. "Too real for AI, right?"
Naima swallowed hard. "Yeah… too real."
Johann leaned forward slightly. "Of course it's real. It was us, three months ago. You and me. In your father's village near Jogja."
Naima blinked. "Your name—Johann's obviously German. But Treublut… what does it mean?"
"Treublut," he pronounced softly, the accent rich and deliberate, "means true blood in old German. My father used to say it's a name that carries destiny."
Naima stared at him, whispering, "Destiny, huh? Maybe that's why even in my dream, I still end up here. With you."
Johann's lips curved. "Or maybe… you never left."
Naima squinted at her phone. "So I use our wedding photo as my Ktalk profile picture. Why didn't you?"
Johann paused, adjusting his shirt cuffs. "We've talked about this," he said calmly. Then he pulled up his profile—clean, formal, all business suit and corporate smile.
"See?" He zoomed in. "The ring. I wear it in every picture. Even on LinkedIn."
Naima leaned closer. Sure enough, the silver-gold ring gleamed faintly on his finger in every shot. "Subtle flex, huh? You're married but still look like an international bachelor."
Johann grinned. "Professional image. Clients prefer no emotional distractions."
Naima arched an eyebrow. "And I'm an emotional distraction?"
"You're the distraction," he said simply, eyes glinting.
Before she could reply—triiit! Her phone alarm rang right at 8 PM.
Johann glanced at his watch. "That's our dinner time alarm," he said, standing up. "Come on, Mrs. True Blood."
Naima pouted playfully, grabbing her purse. "Stop calling me that."
He chuckled. "Can't. It suits you too well."
As they stepped out, Johann sighed with amusement. "You know, every time we walk together, Koreans keep staring at us like I'm dating a teenager."
Naima burst out laughing. "Well, duh! Look at you—tall, blue-eyed, German model vibes. And me? Short, round face, no makeup. Of course they think I'm still in high school!"
Johann raised a brow. "So you regret marrying me?"
"Hmm…" She tapped her chin dramatically. "Let's see. I could've married a K-drama guy instead—maybe the barista Oppa, the chef Oppa, or that puppy-eyed vet."
Johann gawked. "Excuse me? Those are from your dream!"
Naima grinned. "Exactly. They don't argue. They just smile and cook spicy noodles for me."
"English, please," Johann cut in, chuckling. "You know my Indonesian's terrible."
Naima rolled her eyes. "And I don't understand German eitther—yes, with double T because your accent ruins my grammar!"
Johann laughed loudly, the sound echoing down the sidewalk. "Still, you chose me."
Naima smirked, giving him a quick glance. "Yeah. Maybe because real life needs subtitles too."
Johann turned, eyes gleaming. "And I'm your translator?"
"Exactly. My walking, talking translator," she said in mock sweetness, lips curving into a smile she couldn't hide.
In the car, Naima folded her hands on her lap, eyeing him playfully. "So… why did I marry you?" she asked, dramatic as a K-drama heroine.
Johann looked at her, laughing, serious. "Ich liebe dich."
Naima blinked. "You… love me. But… I don't love you yet?"
Johann nearly swerved, then steadied the wheel. "Oh come on! Of course we love each other! I even asked your dad for your hand!"
Naima's jaw dropped. "Wait—what?! You proposed… to my dad?! Not to me?!"
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