After Maya abruptly ended the phone call, Mira didn't feel discouraged for even a second. On the contrary, her militant spirit suddenly surged to life. For Mira, life was a grand theatrical stage, and if the script demanded that she play the part of the discarded ex, she would simply rewrite the screenplay to cast herself as an international-class boss babe striding into the party—despite her actual status as a freelance graphic designer perpetually hounded by the bottled-water delivery guy.

Mira sat back down cross-legged on her foam mattress, which had long since molded to the exact shape of her posture. She pulled out an old college notebook whose cover was plastered with messy abstract doodles, and grabbed a ballpoint pen with a notoriously stubborn, intermittent ink flow.

With fierce, unbridled enthusiasm, she wrote a bold title at the very top of the page: OPERATION EX-BF WEDDING REVENGE (O.E.W.R.).

"Point number one in this sociological warfare manual," Mira muttered, tapping the pen rhythmically against her forehead, "is that the physical appearance must be drop-dead lethal. Absolutely no looking destitute. Key logistics: Outfit, Bag, and... a Plus-One."

She wrote the word 'Plus-One' with such intense pressure that the tip of her pen nearly tore right through the paper. Below it, she began jotting down the names of her male friends who might be coaxed into pretending to be her new boyfriend—ideally a young tech CEO, an international nickel-mine magnate, or at the very least, a wildly successful modern convenience store franchise owner.

Without wasting a single second, Mira launched her first strategic offensive. She opened WhatsApp on her budget smartphone and typed out a long, desperate message to their hangout group chat, fittingly named The Ghosting Survivors.

Mira (Anastasya): "Guys, absolute code-red national emergency! Is anyone free next Saturday? I need a massive favor: play my rented fake boyfriend so I can attend my ex’s wedding. Requirements: minimum height 175 cm, smells decent, capable of wearing a mysteriously brooding facial expression, and willing to be paid entirely in profuse expressions of gratitude plus a jumbo iced sweet tea."

Not even two minutes later, the very first reply popped up from Rian, her former college buddy who now worked as a video editor.

Rian: "Are you seriously for real, Mir? You want to prank your ex using my services? Sorry to say, my height tops out at 168 cm—and that’s only if I’m wearing my futsal sneakers with the extra-thick platform soles. If I go as your boyfriend, people are going to assume we’re bickering siblings. Hard pass, I'm way too lazy to become neighborhood gossip fodder."

Mira let out a soft huff of annoyance and typed back a rapid-fire reply.

Mira: "Oh, come on, you're pathetic! You can just wear high heels, too!"

Rian: "Do I look like a suburban dad trying out high heels? No thanks. Sorry, babe, but next Saturday is officially reserved for a K-drama marathon paired with spicy seblak."

Before Mira could even fire off a retort, Dimas chimed into the group chat, dropping a sticker of a cartoon character rolling on the floor laughing hysterically.

Dimas: "Oof, Mira. Thoughts and prayers. If it were up to me, my humanitarian instincts would be screaming to rescue you. But alas, a tragedy of scheduling—next Saturday I have to escort my mom on her monthly grocery haul at the traditional market. When my mom shops, she starts at dawn and doesn't finish until late afternoon. So, send my warmest regards to your ex! May the universe have mercy on his soul."

Mira sneered at her phone screen. "Stupid traitors. The second I actually need help defending our national pride and dignity, they vanish faster than genies back into Aladdin's lamp."

One by one, she dialed down the list of names in her phone contacts. From Doni the local indie-band drummer who claimed he'd be locked in a rehearsal studio all day, to Joko, the boy next door who flat-out refused because he was terrified his overly jealous girlfriend would murder him in his sleep.

The final tally? Utterly tragic. Out of the ten potential candidates populating Mira’s delusional roster, every single one of them politely declined using airtight logistical excuses. Some were swamped with work, some had other weddings to attend, some had sudden gastrointestinal distress, and others bluntly admitted they just didn't want to get dragged into Mira's expired romantic drama.

"Fine," Mira surrendered, tossing her phone onto the bolster pillow with a soft thud. "The official plus-one acquisition strategy is hereby declared an absolute, bankrupt failure. Which means I'm rolling in solo. But flying solo doesn't mean losing, right? Cleopatra sailed down the Nile by herself when she conquered Rome!"

Even so, the logistical nightmare of wardrobe remained a glaring obstacle. Mira had enough self-awareness to know she couldn't waltz into a five-star hotel ballroom wearing an oversized political t-shirt and torn penguin pajamas. She needed a stunning dress and a knockoff designer bag that looked devastatingly expensive.

Since her brain had officially hit a creative dead end, she had only one remaining lifeline: Maya.

Mira immediately dialed Maya’s personal number via direct voice call, channeling the absolute most pitiful, tear-jerking tone she could possibly muster in this lifetime.

"Hello, May..." Mira greeted, her voice trembling with manufactured sorrow.

From the other end, Maya’s voice instantly snapped to high alert. "What is it now, Mira? Why does your voice sound like an ancient grandfather clock on its deathbed? Are you calling to borrow more money for shady skincare products?"

"It's not about money, May... this is a matter of absolute life-or-death dignity," Mira said dramatically. "I just tried calling every single guy we know to be my fake boyfriend for Satya's wedding. And guess what the results were?"

"They all turned you down because they know you start hallucinating when your blood sugar drops, right?" Maya guessed, hitting the nail squarely on the head.

"Damn it, you always know! They all collectively rejected me with the most ridiculous excuses! One has to take his mom to the traditional market from dawn, another is doing a K-drama marathon, and one literally said he was afraid his girlfriend would slit his throat! Now my grand master plan has shattered into pieces like a bag of chips crushed by a freight truck!" Mira groaned, massaging the bridge of her nose.

Maya let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh on the other end. The rustle of paper and the clinking of a spoon against a bowl suggested Maya was happily snacking away in her room.

"I called this from the very beginning, Mir. You watch way too many rom-com K-dramas, which has thoroughly warped your expectations of reality. What sane man is going to agree to act as your anti-ex shield in exchange for a cup of iced sweet tea?"

"That is precisely why I am calling you, Your Most Wise and Benevolent Majesty Queen Maya!" Mira pleaded, putting on a masterclass of tragic facial expressions even though nobody could see her. "I need your assistance right this instant. Please, you have to help me hunt down a gorgeous dress and a borrowed bag that screams millions of rupiah. Please... if you refuse to help me, I am going to go lie down right in the middle of the bypass highway this very second!"

"Are you out of your freaking mind?! Leave the bypass highway out of this! If you get plowed over by a sand-hauling truck, do you have any idea how much paperwork I'd have to do to file your death certificate? I am not your personal secretary!" Maya snapped back defensively. "Besides, do you even own a single piece of fabric fit to step inside a luxury ballroom?"

"That’s why I'm dragging you out tonight! We're heading to the mall or to that sulfur-scented thrift market you're always obsessed with. Please, have mercy on your pitiful best friend, May. I swear I will become your voluntary corporate slave if you ever need anything next week."

Maya fell silent for a moment. A heavy sigh drifted through the line, as if she were weighing the heavy moral burden of assisting her unhinged friend versus letting Mira slowly lose her mind alone in her boarding room.

"Hmm... clothes are easy enough, we can borrow or rent something cheap and cheerful. But you remember the golden rule of our friendship, right, Mir?" Maya asked, her voice suddenly dropping into a tone brimming with veiled menace.

Mira furrowed her brow. "Which universal law are we talking about here? Newton's law of universal gravitation?"

"Not that, you airhead! The law of treat-for-treat!" Maya shot back instantly. "If I'm going to exhaust myself dragging you all over a shopping center tonight looking for a wedding gown, there is one non-negotiable absolute condition."

"What condition? You want me to buy you a million-rupiah local designer bag? My wallet is hollow, May! It literally only contains last month's laundry receipt and a minimarket loyalty card!"

"Don't be so overly dramatic. The condition is actually super easy for a ferocious little gremlin like you," Maya chirped cheerfully, dripping with vindictive glee. "As soon as we're done hunting for clothes, you have to treat me to Bi Inah's legendary super-spicy inferno-level chicken feet seblak—the kind with the deep red broth that swells your lips to the size of balloons. Plus two jumbo glasses of iced sweet tea to neutralize the burn."

Mira froze. She instinctively patted her pants pocket, where a single, lonely ten-thousand-rupiah note resided—the sacred emergency cash she had carefully set aside to buy tomorrow morning's electricity token. But for the sake of a high-stakes face-saving mission in front of her most unforgettable ex, it looked like she would simply have to embrace living in total darkness for the next few days.

"Well? Do we have a deal?" Maya pressed from the other side. "If not, then suit yourself, please feel free to waltzing into the wedding reception wearing your favorite torn penguin pajamas."

Mira bit her lower lip, then nodded decisively as if Maya could actually see her through the phone screen. "Fine! Deal! Tonight, we ride into battle. Electricity tokens are a problem for future-me; what matters right now is rescuing Mira Anastasya's honor from total social decay!"

"That's the spirit! Suit up, I'll be picking you up in ten minutes on my trusty automatic scooter. And don't forget to wash your face first—you still look like someone who just woke up after swallowing an entire pillow!" Maya barked before slamming the phone down.

Mira lowered her phone with a burning fire igniting in her chest. She stood up briskly from the mattress and marched with purpose toward her closet, ready to brave a night of high-stakes dress hunting that would undoubtedly be packed with the signature drama and petty bickering of their unbreakable friendship.