It was now certain that this golden pen that was bringing elements of my imagination back to life.
My mind welcomed another thread of thoughts—Can others see him? What if I am seeing things and he is not real?
Desperate for proof, I grabbed my phone and snapped a photo of the two of us. Without a word, I sent the image to a friend hoping for confirmation or denial of his presence.
My throat burned with dryness, even my saliva wasn't enough to wet it... a reminder that I hadn't taken even a sip of water since waking up. I pushed myself up, feeling the stiffness in my body, and reached for the jug. Before I could move, he suddenly stirred—swift, precise—rising from the floor like a wave coming to life.
"You need water, right?"
He reached for the glass, poured slowly, the trickle of water filling the silence between us. Then he turned, holding it out to me.
There he stood—nothing on his body but a white sheet clinging around his hips, his skin kissed by morning light. And for a moment, I forgot all about my thirst.
The sharp chime of a notification jolted me out of thoughts. My fingers fumbled for the phone, heart racing with equal parts hope and dread, bracing myself for disappointment.
Then a message appeared: "Who's this hottie? Don't tell me you already got a boyfriend there? That's my girl."
The words hit me like thunder—proof that he was real. Someone else saw him too. He is my creation....man forged from my dreams.
A whisper of wonder spread through me—was this a gift? Was God finally rewarding me for all I'd endured? Patience is sweet indeed.
"Why are you smiling?" Caelum asked. I didn't realize I was smiling.
"Nothing." I said. "You must be hungry. Let's go and eat something."
"I am....." Caelum said hesitantly.
I lent him my oversized T-shirt and a pair of loose trousers. The fabric stretched tight across his chest and thighs. I couldn't help laughing at the sight—a nervous, disbelieving laugh that felt foreign in my throat.
We stopped at a market first to get him clothes that actually fit. I hadn't thought to give him any. In my defense, I never expected him to actually appear.
Breakfast was fun at a small café tucked between souvenir shops. I ordered pancakes and coffee, unsure how he'd react to local food. He stared at the plate when it arrived, turning the fork over in his hand like it was a foreign object. When he finally took a bite, his eyes widened.
"This is..." He paused, searching for the word. "Sweet."
I laughed—a real laugh, the first in a long time. "That's generally the point of pancakes."
Post breakfast, we found a moment of quiet after walking in the busy streets, at Pura Taman Saraswati, a water palace where the world seemed to soften at the edges. Before us, a pond lay carpeted in luminous green lotus pads, the temple's ornate stone carvings rising from the water like a mirage from a forgotten dream. The only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves and the whisper of our own thoughts. I watched Caelum, standing so still beside me, his reflection a phantom in the still water. He had the childlike curiosity of someone seeing everything anew, and the steady presence of someone who had already learned patience. I had written him into being, and here, amidst the blooming pink flowers and the almost magical air, it felt less like a miracle. I chuckled at this happy accident.
Driven by a need to show him the soul of this island, we journeyed to the Tegallalang Rice Terraces. We walked the narrow paths that wound through a tapestry of emerald-green, each paddy a step carved by generations. I used my earlier research knowledge about Bali. I told him about the ancient Subak system, a lesson in harmony, and he listened as if hearing an old, familiar story. We paused where locals tended their crops, their smiles as warm as the sun, and I bought a small, handmade souvenir—a tangible piece of this day to carry with us.
As the sun began its descent, we sought the Campuhan Ridge Walk. The path unfolded before us, rolling hills and open valleys bathed in a honeyed, golden light. The peace of this place was a balm, a silent understanding that passed between us with every step we took. It was a calm I desperately needed, a breath held in the midst of my own emotional journey.
When evening draped itself over Ubud, we returned to its cultural heart, finding seats before the stage at the Ubud Royal Palace. We were the only audience there to witness the performance. As the gamelan music started—haunting, resonant, and alive—the dancers emerged. Their elaborate costumes glittered, their movements a language of intricate grace and powerful myth. In the dim light, with the music filling the space between us, I felt satisfied. For the first time in years, I felt less lonely. He seemed happy and taking in every experience. We had fun. In a quiet restaurant, we completed our dinner.
On our way back to the villa, Caelum offered to carry my bag atop the pile of clothes he was already carrying —something which Rhys never did even in the first phase of our dating as he thinks it underestimates women. Women should never be considered weak- a point I agreed with but sometimes, I felt jealous seeing other boyfriends coddle their girlfriends. We slipped quietly inside my hotel room, careful to avoid attention because he had no ID card.
I helped him make his bed on the floor. Even after so much travelling he wasn't feeling tired, so we talked the whole night—surprisingly he was not shocked to hear that I fashioned him out of my idea of the ideal man. He wanted to know more about me....mostly about what I was like and my past. He listened to the story of my life with patience asking questions like a small child with genuine curiosity. Something about his manliness and childlike innocence that made him look more attractive in the dim light of the room.
He caught me staring. "Did you always know that you would be a writer?"
"Yeah," I laughed, a little shy diverting my gaze. "Even when I was a kid, I used to scribble tiny stories just for myself. Never published them."
"Why not?"
"They were... too naïve. I didn't know what I was doing then." I tried to sound casual, but my voice trembled. "Guess I'm still figuring that out."
He tilted his head, studying me. "Have you come here to find inspiration?"
"You could say that. Actually, this trip was supposed to be with my boyfriend. But..." I exhaled. "We broke up. And I came anyway."
The warmth in his expression faltered into curiosity. "Boyfriend?"
"Yeah. He's also my publisher," I said, forcing a smile that hurt. "So, I need to start my next book soon—or risk a lawsuit for missing deadlines."
He leaned closer. "What's it going to be about?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "So far, I only have the male lead in mind."
"What's he like?" His tone softened. "Tell me more about him."
That question—it struck too deep. My heart stumbled before my lips moved.
"Like you," I whispered.
He blinked. "Me?"
"Yes."
He frowned lightly. "What do you mean?"
I looked down at my notebook on the desk, still open to yesterday's page. "You're my creation, Caelum. Yesterday I wrote about my ideal man. I didn't mean to... bring you to life. But... you appeared. You didn't even have a name until I wrote it." I offered him my notebook and pointed to where I wrote his name with my finger "....see...?"
"Is that why," he began slowly, eyes searching mine, "I feel so attached to you? So drawn to you?"
My breath caught. I hadn't scripted that line.
He wasn't supposed to know.
And then he smiled faintly. "If I'm a creation, then what does that make you... my author, or my destiny, my god?"
"For now, a friend." I chuckled at his childish yet genuine question.
That night ended with a whole lot of my life story which included Rhys. I didn't even remember when I fell asleep while talking with Caelum. The next morning, I woke up to a familiar yet unbelievable sight of Caelum sleeping peacefully on the ground. I thought to myself, how could one be so perfect? Not only physically, also as a person. He was everything I wanted Rhys to be.