When they first met years ago, Kala had been in a state of quiet frustration. His career as a pilot had nearly collapsed after he punched his captain—a man barely thirty at the time, while Kala himself was only twenty-five. He had done it to remind the man how close they had come to flying straight into disaster, had he not made a split-second decision in a critical moment. Yet the captain’s pride remained intact, and he dismissed Kala as nothing more than an inexperienced First Officer.
During his suspension, Kala filled his time by becoming an impromptu tour guide. There was a stiffness to him—the quiet residue of a disciplined pilot—but somehow, he still made Risa laugh without even trying. There was nothing inherently amusing about his practical, methodical nature. It was simply that Risa, as a writer with an untamed imagination, found everything he did fascinating. To anyone who didn’t truly know him, Kala Dirk would have easily passed as a dull man.
Like this morning, for instance, when she first stepped out of her room. Half-yawning and still heavy with sleep, her eyes snapped wide at the sight of Kala walking in with two large brown paper bags from Dunnes Stores, nearly tearing under the weight of milk bottles and bags of rice. It made Risa feel like a disaster evacuee, while Kala had been out gathering supplies just to keep them afloat.
“Mas,” Risa said as she watched him close the door. “Why didn't you tell me you were going shopping? I could have helped.”
Kala gave a broad smile. “It’s only ten, Liefje. Still freezing out, so I let you sleep. I was just going out for coffee, but then I saw a discount… so I figured I might as well shop. Now, help me get these into the fridge.”
Risa followed Kala toward the kitchenette. “Is the mart close? I didn't really notice yesterday.”
“A ten-minute walk, give or take.”
Inside the bags were two kilograms of Jasmine rice—enough for several days. They caught each other’s eyes and burst into laughter without saying a word the moment they saw the rice. There were also beef and chicken fillets that could be easily sautéed with simple spices, along with fresh vegetables like broccoli and Irish green beans, which Kala claimed were quite sweet. Salt, black pepper, and other essential pantry staples were all there too.
“Since we have eggs, how about we have omelets fried with onions for breakfast?” Risa asked, seeking approval.
Kala smirked. “Perfect. I’ll wash the rice, you cook.” He then stepped away to get started.
Though a part of her still wondered when he would finally propose, this quiet simulation of domestic life felt… nice. Risa nodded happily and continued organizing their haul. “Are we still going to Trinity College this afternoon? I can’t wait to see the library. Is it really free to enter, Mas? We won't be bothering the students, will we?”
Because the Dublin morning was so biting, the temperature made her want to curl back up in bed all day. The night before, while chatting in front of the fireplace, they had agreed not to eat out too often since food prices were so steep. While Kala had been bold enough to take them to eccentric spots in America, his Dutch ‘discount-loving’ soul was coming out in full force in Dublin.
Kala took a sip of his coffee before snipping the corner of the rice bag. “Only the campus grounds are free. But don't worry, Liefje, I booked the tickets a week ago. Otherwise, we’d only be able to see the campus from the outside. You still have to pay for the Long Room.”
Risa gave a light nod. “Sorry, I didn't know. Thank you, Lad.”
To her, “Lad” felt similar to “mate” or “bro,” yet somehow more distinctly masculine. Perhaps it was her version of “Liefje,” the word she heard so often from Kala. She knew this because the nine books that had bonded them were written by an Irishman.
“Lad?” Kala chuckled. “That’s usually for men to say to each other, Liefje.”
Risa ignored his protest. “Should I just cook the chicken too? I don't think eggs alone will be enough,” she murmured, staring into the fridge.
“Liefje,” Kala called out, making her turn around. “I told you, it’s not that you can't cook. You just needed a little motivation. In six months, you’ll be a chef,” he teased.
Risa closed the fridge and stepped closer, blushing at the praise. She reached for her coffee sitting next to his. After a sip to steady her nerves, she moved in for a hug. Kala set his scissors down and leaned over to kiss both of her cheeks. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, smiling shyly like children. Dublin wouldn't feel so cold if every morning was spent like this.
“What’s with the sudden hug?” Kala teased.
“What if all I can ever make for you is onion omelets, Mas?” It was a silly question, but once in a while, Risa felt the need to act this way.
Kala frowned, pretending to think it over. “As long as they aren't poisoned? I’ll eat them.” He looked deep into her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t need good food,” he said softly. “I just need you, Liefje. The rest—we’ll figure it out.”
Before things got too sentimental, Risa decided to break the mood. “Seriously, Mas, I really felt like you were a husband out hunting for emergency rations while I stayed home guarding our belongings from the flood.” She burst out laughing and pulled away.
Kala laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall. “Flood victims?! We’re in Dublin! Not in some deforested part of Kalimantan!”
“But you bought so much, like we’re about to evacuate!” Risa held her stomach, sinking into the floor. She could still vividly see his exhausted expression when he walked in. “You were panting like you’d just fought for government aid coupons.”
Perhaps this was why their long-distance relationship had endured—because both of them understood, in their own quiet ways, the weight of regret that could follow if they ever crossed certain moral or personal boundaries. Living under the same roof didn't mean sleeping together. They had stayed disciplined, avoiding the pitfalls of casual sex, maintaining a bond that had started as "close friends" and evolved into something filled with silly jokes and lighthearted banter.
Kala threw a dish towel at Risa, who was still doubled over, and joined in the laughter. “Stop, Liefje! I’m Dutch. We can manage the sea, unlike your country with its messy urban planning!”
Though she wanted to snap back, Risa was too busy laughing until tears pricked her eyes. The fact that Kala could joke about it was hilarious, considering he was born and raised in the Netherlands despite his Indonesian blood. Kala shook his head as he began pouring the rice into a container. Meanwhile, Risa turned on the stove, ready to make their very first onion omelet on Irish soil.