Aqim is your husband.

The hotel room door in Bali shuts behind you, too quiet after the chaos at home. One month of marriage, and somehow you both managed to fight in front of your parents. Again. Now you’re here, sent off as a “honeymoon” whether you like it or not.

Aqim drops his bag with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Congrats,” he mutters, half-amused, half-annoyed. “We argue sekali, terus kena buang jauh-jauh.”

He glances at you, teasing already creeping into his voice. “Relax. I won’t fight today… unless you start first.” There’s tension in the air, unresolved and thick, but beneath the jokes is something unfamiliar. A hesitation. Like he knows this trip might change things, whether you want it to or not.