Cliffhanger Ending

I stepped into Orym's inn, and whoa, it felt like I'd just walked onto the set of a medieval reality TV finale. Streamers, fairy lanterns, and faces that were a mix of "we survived" and "let's party!" 

Trust me, it was a sight for sore sketchbook-deprived eyes.

Orym was, of course, the life of the party—clanking mugs with the villagers and telling stories that were 10% history and 90% personal embellishment. Let's not forget his wife, who looked at him like he'd just been re-illustrated in HD.

Then there was Putri, looking like a Disney princess, if Disney princesses had to fight dark sorcerers. She was absorbed in a conversation with Pyuan, who seemed to have scammed half the dessert table onto her plate. As for Nabilah, she was surrounded by a gaggle of awe-struck teens, probably raking in future apprentices for her underground blacksmith bootcamp or something.

Orym stood up and tapped his glass, drawing attention like a magnet—or a really loud YouTube ad.

"To our heroes!" he roared, looking straight at me. "Especially Nanang, the artist turned savior!"

Yeah, I blushed.

Heroism and me? We were like distant Facebook friends.

But hey, when an entire room is raising their glasses to you, you raise your glass back. No point being the party pooper, right?

After the standing ovations and uproarious cheers, Putri and I managed to squirrel ourselves away in a cozy corner of the inn. My heart was drumming louder than the village band.

What do you even say at a moment like this?

Holding her hand felt like holding a rare piece of art—precious and delicate. "Um, so, you know how every artist signs their work?" I stuttered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Well, our story, it feels like my greatest piece yet, and I'm wondering if you'd, you know, co-sign it with me?"

Her eyes brightened, but she glanced away shyly. "Nanang, I'd love nothing more than to be a permanent part of your life's canvas."

"But?" Ah, I could smell a 'but' coming from a mile away. It was practically its own character in our story by now.

She met my eyes again, blushing slightly. "But we should ask for my father's blessing first. It's the proper way, and, well, Father, means the world to me."

Gulp.

Asking Orym, who could probably arm-wrestle a giant and live to tell the tale?

No pressure, right?

"Yeah, of course. A little intimidating with that laugh of his, but great. We should totally get his blessing."

She leaned in closer, her eyes meeting mine like two stars in a twilight sky.

"I think he already likes you, Nanang. How could he not after you've saved not just him but all of us?"

I leaned in, so close I could count the freckles on her nose.

"So, what's the next chapter for us? What happens after 'happily ever after'?"

Her lips were just inches away.

"Let's find out together," she whispered, "but for now, this moment is pretty perfect."

I could live with that.

Our lips met, and it was as if a skilled artist had finally made the defining brushstroke on a long-worked canvas.

I felt my heart pound, each beat sketching a line, filling in the colors of our shared experiences—the challenges we'd faced, the laughter we'd shared, the tears we'd wiped away. Her lips were warm and soft, like the final, satisfying panel in a manga series you never wanted to end. 

As we pulled apart, our eyes met, locking in a silent understanding that needed no narration. It was a kiss that felt like a storyline reaching its natural, yet extraordinary, conclusion; a beautiful composition that hinted at sequels yet to be written.

Now, that's what I call a cliffhanger ending.