"Enchanted to meet you, as though an invisible string had been quietly unraveling knots in the background through years and miles, pulling us out of all the wrong arms and into that little corner of the world."

It was March 2021, when fate hid in a tiny glowing screen.
She was a girl with her laptop in a Bali café, chasing deadlines under tropical sunsets.
He was a boy chasing horizons as a digital nomad.
One swipe, then another — the kind of spark you only find once.
A blind date at Manggis in Canggu, where vegan plates and ocean air tasted like the start of something enchanted.
If you’d told us then we’d be standing here now… we’d probably laugh, but maybe secretly believe it.

"Time slipped like paper rings, and the quiet spoke loudest."

A one-month trip became two, like time had folded in on itself.
The days blurred with sunsets and whispered plans.
One evening, he asked — not in the grand fireworks way, but in the kind of way that feels like home — “Marry me?”
She said, “Meet my family first.”
And the story shifted, waiting for the next verse to be written in Jakarta… or maybe in Klaten.

“Fearless in a room full of questions, eyes across the table -- still holding her hand.”

She left Bali for the city lights of Jakarta, but he chased her into the heart of Central Java — to a small village where English faded and warm eyes spoke another language. Under the curious gaze of her whole family (moms, dads, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, grandfathers, grandmothers),
he stood like a soldier in a love trial, answering every question, still holding her hand beneath the table.
Meanwhile, she passed his family’s “test” with one simple video call to his mother.
Love isn’t always fair… but it’s always worth it.

"A long time coming, and magic you can’t plan.”

We thought we’d marry in July.
But the world had other plans — pandemics, papers, and a maze of stamps and signatures. He was born in a country that doesn’t exist anymore — Yugoslavia — now called Croatia.
A Dutch national, living in Estonia. Marrying an Indonesian in Indonesia, where bureaucracy is an art form and the rulebook has blank pages for cases like ours. Four countries, passing responsibility back and forth like a love letter that kept getting lost in the mail.
And still, we arrived on October 3, 2021.
A small group gathered at Raja Kuring Restaurant in North Jakarta, just enough hearts to witness vows that had traveled oceans. No confetti, no loud music — just a quiet vow and the kind of magic you can’t plan. We promised someday there would be music, and lights, and all the people we love in one room.
And here we are — that someday.