Morning light streamed through the tall windows of Toko Kue Palm Sari, draping the polished tiles in a warm, golden glow. The bakery resonated with the rich scent of pandan chiffon and caramelized sugar, mingling harmoniously with the aroma of fresh coffee carried in by Om Luky. A gentle breeze nudged the door open, inviting the early crowd of neighbors and passersby.
Phuby sat behind the cashier, savoring a sip of his strong, black coffee—the only time he allowed himself to smoke, always alongside the caffeine. His hands were steady, his expression calm, though inside he felt the steady pulse of pride. The livestream's donation count ticked upward, and comments flooded in with greetings from believers far beyond Cirebon.
Behind the counter, Hana arranged cheese tarts with growing confidence. Her Bahasa had improved, but it was her cheerful attempts at Sundanese that drew smiles from the locals. She waved at each customer with poise, even correcting her pronunciation when she slurred "enak banget."
Phuby watched her from his seat and thought of how far she'd come—not just in language, but in presence. She was no longer the nervous newcomer; she was a pillar of Palm Sari.
Footsteps approached. It was Dhe'ik, Phuby's childhood friend, three years his senior, bearing two steaming coffee cups. Dhe'ik had always been calm, with a quiet humor that balanced Phuby's timid nature. Fresh out of their previous meetup, he'd become a trusted manager, handling deliveries and logistics with reassuring efficiency.
"Morning, Bos kecil," he greeted, handing Phuby a cup.
"Thanks, Dhi," Phuby replied, the nickname warm on his tongue.
Hana joined them, stealing a sip of coffee. "You two look serious."
"It's just the morning buzz," Dhe'ik said, smiling at her.
The front of the store emerged next. Kotim, older than Dhe'ik by a decade, stationed himself by the display, greeting suppliers and customers with booming warmth. As always, his presence was impossible to ignore, but under his joking demeanor was a sharp negotiator who ensured the best deals for the shop.
Apood moved quietly between tables, his guitar strapped to his back. When the downstairs slowed, he'd fill the air with gentle folk chords. Third among them, Amad darted in and out of the bakery, fetching supplies, delivering small jokes, and greeting every customer like an old friend. And though Mamad had declined the position to tend to his family's nasi goreng stall, he arrived every evening to share leftovers and laughter—his presence familiar rather than familial, yet treasured.
Phuby watched his team come to life—the shop pulsing with shared effort and unspoken affection. He remembered the day he transitioned from tenant to owner, every purchase triggering that mysterious double cashback. Even now, the balance hovered far above what he thought possible, but he kept it quiet. Only Sakura (Hana), Mama (Mrs. Wulan), and Om Luky knew his secret.
Cleaning tables, Hana practiced Sundanese phrases with Kotim, giggling when she stumbled over "sakedap!" The exchange warmed Phuby's heart. He caught her eye and she flashed back a bright grin, continuing her practice with "sabenerna…"
Afternoon light faded to evening. Phuby slipped upstairs, passing the second-floor living room untouched—a serene family space with old photographs and a prayer corner. He climbed to the third floor, where inventory boxes formed precise rows, and his own small, minimalist room waited. From there, the rooftop beckoned.
Outside, the sky deepened to indigo. Streetlights flickered on below. He greeted the rooftop with a long sip of coffee and lit a cigarette under the open sky. It was during this quiet that he felt everything settle: the purchase, the business, the friendships, the partnership with Hana—it all made sense here.
A moment later, he heard voices. They followed him up the stairs: Dhe'ik, Kotim, Apood, Amad. Mamad appeared last, with his nasi goreng bag in hand.
They clustered by the railing, each with a drink in hand—iced tea, coffee, soda. They didn't need words. The camaraderie spoke volumes. Kotim placed his hand on Phuby's shoulder. Dhe'ik met his eyes in a quiet nod. Apood began softly strumming his guitar. Amad launched into a joke about a delivery gone wrong. Mamad served plates of golden fried rice from his bag, gold and fragrant.
Phuby dipped his head in thanks, the rising laughter echoing across the rooftop. Hana joined him, leaning close.
"We've built more than a bakery," she whispered. "We've built a home."
He nodded, smoke curling upward into the sky. "Not just for us, but for everyone here."
Under the night sky, with their team gathered around, the bakery lights glowing below, Phuby felt as wealthy as any man on Earth. Not because of money, but because of belonging.
Behind them, the heart of Palm Sari—hum, warmth, possibility—beat steadily into the night.
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