The sun had just woken up, peeking through the window gently, lighting up the gold dust dancing in the air. In their small house's kitchen, with the smell of fresh paint still lingering, Ibu Diah stood in her simple cotton nightgown, her hair tied up anyhow. Her nimble hands were mixing the batter. But something was different this morning. A small smile never left her lips, and she kept glancing at the door.

"You're up, Sug?" she called softly, her voice still groggy but warm.

Before long, heavy footsteps sounded. Pak Sugeng appeared in the kitchen doorway, his checkered shirt only half-tucked in, and his hair all over the place. His usual sharp eyes looked softer today, fixed on Ibu Diah.

"Yeah, I am," he replied in a low voice, his breath warm on her ear. His big furry hand made a circle around her waist from behind. "What's that heavenly smell?"

Ibu Diah blushed. "Just the usual pancakes, Sug. You're being too kind."

But she didn't move away. Instead, she leaned into his chest a bit more, his chest hairs tickling her cheek.

"It's special because it's the first breakfast we're having here together, all alone," said Pak Sugeng as he sat down. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Ibu Diah as she arranged the pancakes, her homemade sambal, and fresh cucumber slices on the small table. "Finally, we're here together."

They ate in a comfortable silence, only the clinking of spoons and the occasional shy smile passing between them. Their fingers touched when they reached for the sambal, and their glances met, full of stories of their journey together.

"Yesterday," said Pak Sugeng out of the blue, breaking the quiet, "when you were watering the flowers on the porch in the afternoon, the sun hit your hair. You looked..." He paused, searching for the right words. "So beautiful, but more than that. You looked like the girl I used to know, but even more stunning."

Ibu Diah giggled, playing with the rice on her plate. "Calling me a girl now, huh, even though I'm all old and wrinkly?"

"To me, you're always that girl," said Pak Sugeng firmly, his hand reaching over to hold hers tightly. "The one who brightened up my mornings when your mom passed. The one who waited patiently for me to get brave again. The one who makes this simple brick house feel like a palace." He kissed the back of her hand, his whiskers tickling her skin. "Thank you, Diah. Thank you for agreeing to be my wife."

Tears of joy filled Ibu Diah's eyes, but she didn't say much. She just leaned into his strong shoulder, her heart full.

On the table, among their breakfast plates, stood a tiny glass filled with a handful of white jasmine flowers that Pak Sugeng had picked from the garden early this morning. Their faint scent mixed with the aroma of coffee and the newfound happiness in their hearts.

"After this, let's go to the market, okay?" whispered Ibu Diah, her voice thick with emotion. "I want to buy thread to sew a new tablecloth. With a jasmine pattern."

Pak Sugeng kissed the top of her head. "Wherever you go, I'll follow, Diah. Forever."

Their romance didn't need cheesy love words. It was in the tight grip of their hands on the simple wooden table, in the shared cup of coffee, in the quiet jasmine flowers picked in the early dawn, and in the deep, grateful love that had finally found a home in each other's arms, even though they weren't as young as they used to be. Their love was the warmth that filled their morning, growing stronger in the humble kitchen of their newfound home.

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