Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the bamboo blinds of Toko Kue Palm Sari's café nook, painting warm stripes across the tiled floor. Phuby smoothed his apron and arranged six steaming cups of kopi tubruk on the long wooden table—one for each of his five oldest friends and one for Hana—accompanied by plates piled with pandan rolls and honey-lemon cream puffs freshly baked by his mother.
These friends weren't his classmates—they spanned age differences from three to fourteen years and attended different schools—but they'd all grown up in the same Desa Lurah neighborhood. After-school soccer matches, block parties, and late-night study sessions had forged a bond that time couldn't break.
One by one they arrived:
Dhe'ik, three years his senior, slid into the first chair with a calm nod—the friend who'd guided him through countless job interviews.
Kotim, ten years older, entered holding his giggling daughter's hand—once the unspoken leader of their childhood escapades.
Apood (Saefudin), the bird-and-fish shop clerk, carried his quiet curiosity and a guitar case slung over his shoulder.
Amad, around Dhe'ik's age, still bore the mischievous spark of the boy who sold bakso to neighborhood families.
Mamad, a year younger than Kotim, brought with him the comforting aroma of nasi goreng from his family's stall.
They exchanged hearty hugs and laughter as old stories resurfaced—the time they'd swapped umbrella colors in monsoon season or when they'd sneaked sweets from the night market. Into this warmth, Hana emerged from the bakery kitchen carrying a tray of miniature mille-feuille.
Phuby gestured to her with a proud smile. "Everyone, this is Hana—my girlfriend."
Good-natured teasing erupted. Kotim play-acted a swoon. Apood let out an appreciative whistle. Amad high-fived Phuby. Mamad offered a gentle nod. Hana waved shyly, switching effortlessly between Bahasa and polite English greetings.
Once the laughter subsided, Phuby cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming, everyone. I've built this bakery with Mom, Om Luky, and Hana's help. Business is growing, and I need a team I can trust. Will you join me at Palm Sari?"
He looked each friend in the eye:
Dhe'ik, you've always been organized—will you oversee our delivery routes and supplier pickups?
Kotim, you connect with people—will you manage catering bookings and client relations?
Apood, your content ideas shine—will you help with social media and in-store ambiance?
Amad, your pop-up flair is unmatched—will you lead weekend promotions and stalls?
Phuby paused, heart pounding. Then Kotim's daughter clapped, and Kotim stood first.
"I'm in," he said. "Let's do this."
Apood bounced with excitement. "Count me in."
Amad saluted playfully. "I'm on board."
Dhe'ik nodded, steady as ever. "You can count on me."
Phuby's chest swelled with gratitude. He then turned to Mamad. "Mamad, I know your nasi goreng stall is your family's legacy and you can't leave it, but will you still come by to hang out and share your feedback when your shop is closed?"
Mamad's eyes brightened. "You know I will. After I close at night, I'll be here to help or just to hang out and play."
Phuby clasped his friend's shoulder. "That means more than you know."
They raised cups in a toast to friendship and fresh starts, then dove into planning: sketching delivery routes on napkins, bouncing livestream ideas, and teasing Phuby about his new "workforce." The pickup truck stood ready outside, its doors bearing the bakery's pastel logo.
As dusk fell, Phuby and Hana led the final cleanup—stacking chairs, wiping tables. Then they climbed to the rooftop with two cups of coffee. Hana leaned into Phuby, and they gazed at the glittering lights of Desa Lurah below.
"We did it," Hana whispered.
Phuby exhaled slowly. "Together."
Under the soft hum of the night, they sipped their coffee and dreamed of all the chapters yet to come—knowing that with their friends by their side, they were ready for anything.