“The Long Room, Trinity College Library,” Risa whispered in awe, her gaze tracing the endless corridor lined with towering walls of books. There were said to be over 200,000 volumes here; the aisle stretched so far that its end dissolved into the distance. Beside her, Kala looked equally transfixed. They had arrived at Trinity College at one in the afternoon—a short walk from their place, though they’d had to fight the biting cold every step of the way. The Dublin wind was proving to be utterly uncooperative.
Risa looked up at the soaring, vaulted ceiling of dark oak. To her left and right, shelves reached toward the roof, packed with thousands of leather-bound books in shades of deep brown. Rows of white marble busts—philosophers and great thinkers—stood in silent formation, watching the visitors with cold, sightless eyes. The silence here was profound, almost cathedral-like.
“Want a photo?” Kala asked, subtly lifting his camera.
Risa rolled her eyes. “Let’s be honest, most people come here for the aesthetic, not the books. But I’m not here for the photos either.”
Kala rested his left palm on top of her head and gave a soft smile. “That sounds like my Liefje. Come on, let’s explore until you’re satisfied. I’ll just be the paparazzi taking candid shots of my girlfriend.”
He began adjusting his lens, following Risa’s lead. He seemed perfectly at ease, even though there wasn't much to see beyond the ancient volumes. The air inside was significantly warmer than the gale-force winds whipping across the campus grounds. This hall was said to be sixty-five meters long, its books coated in beeswax to protect them from the slow decay of time.
People back then seemed endlessly devoted to writing, while people today were busy producing “content” for social media algorithms. But why should she care? As long as she was here with Kala, nothing else mattered.
“Every angle is perfect,” Kala praised, aiming his camera sporadically and pausing whenever he wanted to capture a frame.
Risa glanced back, a faint smile playing on her lips. “With the way you’re acting right now, no one would ever believe you’re a pilot, Mas.”
“Liefje, look here.” Kala flashed a mischievous grin before snapping the shutter.
Even without intending to pose, Risa knew the results would likely be beautiful once they checked them later. They ended up spending hours there before heading back. By evening, Kala offered to cook pasta, so they stopped by a nearby minimarket before heading back to the apartment. The early February cold in Dublin felt like the perfect backdrop for a murder story. Curiously, Risa had been imagining those types of stories all day, occasionally smiling to herself at the thought.
Now they were in the compact kitchen, dressed in comfortable clothes for sleep or for simply lounging by the fire. Although the central heating worked tirelessly twenty-four hours a day to keep the piercing winter at bay, Kala mentioned that in these converted Georgian houses, almost every unit retained its original fireplace.
“Mas,” Risa called out. She was crouching near the hearth, watching the flames lick the air.
Kala, busy preparing the pasta sauce, glanced over. “Yeah?”
“Is there anyone selling sweet corn around here? We could roast some over the fire.” Risa grinned like a five-year-old showing off a missing tooth.
Seeing a man as tall as he was busy cooking for the two of them felt... different. It wasn't that Risa was raised in a strictly patriarchal family; her father was simply rarely in the kitchen because he was so consumed by work. On the other hand, she saw her brother as an ideal husband—Levin never minded helping Lingga in the kitchen when she was overwhelmed. But because this was Kala, and because he was a Captain, it felt unique—though not in a negative way.
He let out an amused snort. “Liefje, the landlord would scold us for bothering the other guests. The smell would go everywhere.”
“Just kidding,” she shot back innocently. “Need help? I don't think just pasta will fill me up.”
Kala laughed softly, his hands moving nimbly as he stirred the sauce. “Just help by sitting pretty over there, Liefje. The pasta has smoked beef and extra cheese; I guarantee you'll be full. Or... if you’re still hungry, we can find some hot chocolate around Merrion Square for dessert later.”
Risa got up and moved to the table, sitting in the closest chair to watch his practiced movements. She rested her chin in her hands, observing him as if he were a statue out of place. He belonged in a European museum, she thought, not this worn-out little kitchen in a Dublin 2 rental. Risa hated to admit that Kala was truly handsome.
But Kala was like an eagle—never meant to be caged. Loving him required a heart as vast as the ocean. Long distance suited them, but love had a way of complicating everything. Like anyone quietly undone by it, Risa found herself wanting him—more often, more closely, more than she allowed herself to admit. The proof was right here: she was in Dublin, and Kala was going to marry her in two months.
“Mas,” she called again. This time, her voice was different—steady, but carrying something heavier beneath it.
He paused his movements, his shoulders tensing as if a weight had just settled on them. “Hmm?” He didn't look back, keeping his back to her.
“Why me?” Risa lowered her gaze to her hands. “You’ve crossed half the world, even before you met me… I’m sure you’ve met countless women.”
A long silence followed. He didn't answer immediately, and Risa waited patiently for the words to form. When she wasn't joking around, she could be incredibly serious—even intimidating. Before she met Kala, she had been perfectly content living without love—without anything that could hurt her. After Ardo, love had felt like a luxury she could no longer afford.
“I’m just someone who hides in books… while you’ve always been free.” Risa still didn't dare look at him, but from the corner of her eye, she could see him standing still in the same position.
She only wanted to be certain—that she wasn’t just a fortunate girl who had stumbled into the arms of a man who seemed larger than life. If she had known from the start that Kala was a pilot, she likely would have run as far as possible, no matter how attracted she was to him. She couldn't even handle someone as wild as Ardo; how could she handle a pilot who had to travel the world? That’s what she had thought years ago.
The story of Cinderella is beautiful for a little girl, but it didn't feel right to think she was dreaming of something so vastly different. She was still an ordinary woman who could cry and laugh—sometimes both at once when no one was watching. Risa only wanted to hear it—clearly, undeniably—that Kala chose her not out of time, expectation, or obligation… but simply because he wanted her.