Our Honeymoon Never Happened, But Our Love Did
A quiet love story woven from small moments, simple joys, and the kind of happiness no journey can buy
It’s been nearly a year since we got married, and no, we never went on a honeymoon.
I remember sitting on the edge of our little bed some evenings, thinking about the promises we once whispered.
“I’ll take you to Indonesia,” he said once, his eyes shining with dreams. “We’ll walk by the ocean, stay up late in a quiet villa, and for once, just be a couple with no worries.”
But life has a way of reshaping even the sweetest dreams.
Bills arrived. Family needs came first. One thing after another pulled us back. The idea of traveling abroad? It slowly became just a passing wish, a conversation we set aside, smiling wistfully.
We haven’t even managed to go outside the city, not once.
Yet, over time, I began to understand something precious: happiness doesn’t live in faraway places or fancy hotels.
It lives in the moments we share.
One lazy afternoon, he looked up from his work and said softly,
“You’re done with your chores, right?”
I was folding clothes, tired but smiling.
“Yeah, why?”
He stretched his arms and grinned.
“Let’s go to TSC. I know you love the tamarind-chili tea there. Come on, let’s take a little walk.”
So we did. Hand in hand, under a soft sky, we walked through busy streets, dodging cars, laughing about little things. When I took the first sip of that spicy tea, he watched me with a quiet joy that always makes my heart skip.
“It’s perfect,” I told him.
And in that moment, it was.
Another afternoon, I casually sighed, “You know, I haven’t had a chocolate pastry in so long.”
He nodded, didn’t say much, and I thought he hadn’t really heard.
But thirty minutes later, the door opened. There he was, standing with a tiny paper bag.
“You said you wanted this,” he said, shyly handing it over.
It was just one small pastry — simple, inexpensive — but when I tasted it, it felt like the sweetest gift in the world.
There was that summer day when the heat was unbearable, and I was sweating over the stove, trying to finish the fish curry.
Suddenly, his arms appeared beside mine.
“Here,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. “You handle the fish, I’ll do the vegetables. We’ll finish faster.”
Side by side, we cooked, laughing as he added too much salt, and I quickly fixed it.
We weren’t just making dinner; we were making memories.
You see, I stopped dreaming of Indonesia as the place where happiness lives.
Happiness is him switching off the lights early so I can rest.
It’s me saving the last slice of mango for him because I know how much he loves it.
It’s us sitting on the floor, counting coins together to see if we can afford a little treat next weekend.
It’s in the way he says “Come here, let me fix your hair,” or the way I say, “Did you eat today?”
No, we didn’t have a honeymoon. Maybe we never will.
But every time he holds my hand, every time we share a quiet moment, every time we survive another day together — it feels like a piece of paradise.
And I pray, with all my heart, that this peaceful, gentle love stays with us, for years and years to come.
Because when I look at him, I know: we may not have everything, we may not go everywhere, but we have each other — and that has always been enough.
