Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 146: Temple of Honesty

Chapter 146: Temple of Honesty

"No phones. No lies. No escape."

"This is a kidnapping," Ava muttered, staring up at the stone steps of the mountain temple. "A legally sanctioned, monk-led kidnapping."

Ryan squinted at the wooden sign overhead. "Technically, it’s a wellness retreat."

"We were tricked, Ryan. Mei called it a ’sunrise bonding experience.’ That’s propaganda."

Ahead, a monk in saffron robes bowed serenely. "Please relinquish your devices."

Ava clutched her phone like a lifeline. "Do you accept tears instead?"

"No phones," the monk repeated gently. "No words you don’t mean."

"Guess I’ll be mute for 24 hours," she mumbled, handing it over.

The temple grounds were impossibly peaceful—bamboo groves rustling, incense curling through the air like soft secrets. The kind of place where your thoughts echoed a little too loudly.

Ava looked around. "Where’s the Wi-Fi?"

Ryan grinned. "Inside your soul, apparently."

She threw a sandal at him.

---

That evening, after silent meditation and a dinner that tasted suspiciously like "character-building," Ava sat cross-legged on a tatami mat, arms draped over her knees.

The quiet was maddening.

And then—

She spoke.

"I don’t know who I am when I’m not performing," she said softly.

Ryan turned to her, surprise flickering in his gaze.

She kept going. "I know how to be the fixer. The matchmaker. The sparkly avatar people swipe toward when they want answers. But I don’t know how to be... me."

Ryan didn’t interrupt.

"I feel like if I stop spinning long enough," Ava whispered, "there’ll be nothing underneath."

Silence.

Then he lay beside her, tugging her into his arms.

No words.

Just breath. And a hand on her back.

"I don’t need answers," she murmured into his chest. "I just want to be held and not fixed."

"You are," he said.

And for once, she believed it.

---

The morning mist clung to the temple rooftops like a secret not yet ready to lift.

Ava stirred beneath a linen blanket, her cheek pressed to the fabric of Ryan’s t-shirt. The steady rise and fall of his chest grounded her more than she cared to admit. Outside, soft birdsong wove through the mountain air—clear, sharp, unbothered by human drama.

She blinked, disoriented. The walls were wood-paneled, unvarnished, lined with scrolls of calligraphy and a faint scent of pine and sandalwood. The kind of space built for silence. For truth.

Not for influencers or press statements or damage control.

For a moment, she lay still, listening to the faint shuffle of slippers in the corridor, the whisper of incense smoke curling from a nearby burner. There was no hum of her phone. No notifications. No digital leash tethering her to the world she usually commanded.

Just breath. Bamboo leaves rustling. And Ryan snoring like a mildly congested bear.

She sat up slowly, hair mussed, joints stiff from the mat. The blanket slipped down her shoulder. The room was bathed in golden light—morning sun slipping through the rice paper doors in soft, dappled beams that touched her skin with warmth.

She rubbed her eyes and tiptoed across the tatami, bare feet brushing against woven straw.

The hallway was quiet, lined with narrow windows that looked out over a sloping courtyard framed by ancient cherry trees. Their blossoms had begun to fall, scattering like confetti across the stones. The air smelled of dew and woodsmoke, with a faint trace of barley porridge drifting from the temple kitchen.

She padded down to the koi pond, breath misting faintly in the cool mountain air. The fish glided beneath the surface—flashes of orange, ivory, and gold—calm, aimless, whole.

Ava sat on the wooden bench, arms wrapped around her knees.

No Wi-Fi. No headlines.

Just here.

Just her.

And for once... that was enough.

---

The temple grounds had changed with the sun.

What had been cloaked in mist and stillness that morning was now brushed in soft light, the kind that turned stone paths warm and bamboo leaves bright. The breeze had picked up, gentle and cool, fluttering the prayer flags strung between wooden beams overhead. Somewhere nearby, a wind chime jingled—a clear, crystalline sound that rang like laughter in slow motion.

Ava sat on the broad stone steps just beyond the main meditation hall, legs stretched out before her, soles bare and dusty from the earth. She picked absently at a fraying thread on her borrowed linen pants, watching the sunlight dance across the koi pond below. Bees hovered over the wild lavender at the edge of the garden wall—lazy, content, like nothing in the world needed hurrying.

She didn’t hear Ryan approach.

He simply sat beside her, slow and heavy-footed, his presence as familiar as breath. His shadow stretched beside hers, almost touching.

"You didn’t bolt," he said after a while, voice low and casual.

"I tried," Ava murmured. "But they took my phone. My escape routes were... limited."

She glanced sideways and caught the edge of his smile. It wasn’t teasing. Just quiet. Steady.

Ryan picked a small stone from the step and rolled it between his fingers. "You talked last night."

"I did."

"First time I’ve seen you still," he said. "Not ’on.’ Not performing. Just... you."

Ava exhaled, tilting her face toward the sun. "Terrifying, isn’t it?"

"No," Ryan said, his tone gentler now. "It was beautiful."

A soft wind stirred her hair, brushing it against her cheek. She didn’t move it.

She stared out at the trees. "Do you think I’m broken?"

Ryan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back on his elbows, eyes on the sky.

"I think you’re trying," he said. "And that’s more than most."

Ava swallowed, her throat suddenly thick.

"Sometimes I wonder if people love me for me, or just for the version of me I know how to sell."

Ryan turned his head, eyes sharp and soft all at once.

"Ava, the performance is part of you. The sparkle, the fire, the fast talk—it’s real. But it’s not all there is."

She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite land.

"It’s hard to believe that when your best publicity moment is a photo of you staring at someone who isn’t your fiancé."

He chuckled. "You mean the hanbok heartbreaker photo? Iconic, honestly."

She groaned. "Don’t name it."

"I’m serious. You looked powerful. Present."

"I looked conflicted."

Ryan shrugged. "That’s real, too."

She turned to him then, and for a second—just one—let all the masks fall.

"I feel like if I stop moving, stop matchmaking, stop spinning... there’ll be nothing left underneath."

Ryan reached out. Touched her pinky with his.

"You’re wrong," he said. "There’s someone there. Someone I trust. Someone who talks to frogs and cries at pasta commercials."

"That frog blinked at me."

"You named it Marlon Brando."

"I stand by that."

They both laughed.

And just like that, the weight in her chest loosened.

A little.

---

The sun dipped low behind the temple ridge, brushing the sky in watercolor hues—lavender, rose gold, and a breath of silver along the clouds. The last of the wind stirred the pine trees like a whispered prayer. Bells chimed softly in the distance, signaling the evening circle.

Ava stepped barefoot into the meditation hall, her skin tingling from the cooling air. The floor was polished wood, still warm from the day, and the scent of incense lingered—earthy and floral, mixed with the faint aroma of roasted barley tea that had been served at dusk.

Everyone sat in a loose circle on woven mats: clients, matchmakers, a few off-duty monks. Candles flickered at the center, their flames small and steady like beating hearts.

A monk in pale orange robes bowed and spoke gently. "Tonight is for truth. One voice at a time. No judgment. No replies. Only presence."

A hush settled.

One by one, the circle began.

Soft admissions floated into the air.

"I’m afraid I’ve outgrown the person I married."

"I don’t know if I want a soulmate or just proof that I’m not unlovable."

"I lie to be liked."

Each truth was absorbed without commentary, only nods and silence. No fixing. No performance.

When it came to Ava’s turn, her chest tightened.

She looked at the candlelight. At the people. Then inward.

And spoke.

"I think I’m afraid that if I stop doing, no one will want me."

The silence afterward was sharp and clean. Not empty—holding.

"I built this whole persona to help other people find love. But sometimes I wonder if that’s just because it’s easier than figuring out what mine is supposed to look like."

The floor creaked as someone shifted, but no one broke the stillness.

"And I think," she added quietly, "I don’t know if I want to be saved... or just seen."

No applause. No reaction.

Just a circle of people breathing.

And in that sacred stillness, Ava felt the smallest bloom of something unfamiliar.

Relief.

---

Night returned with a hush.

The temple lights were dimmed, replaced by paper lanterns glowing like distant stars along the corridor. The crickets had begun their nightly song, a gentle, rhythmic hum that folded into the mountain breeze.

Inside their shared room, Ava sat cross-legged on the futon, brushing her hair slowly, mechanically. Her body was tired, but her thoughts were still unfolding—quietly, like petals after rain.

Ryan was already beneath the blanket, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting where she usually curled up beside him. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

The soft creak of the floorboards beneath her feet filled the silence as she padded toward him, bare feet brushing against the edge of the woven mat.

She lay down without a word, facing him.

The room smelled faintly of cedar and ash, clean and raw. Outside, the bamboo clacked gently against itself. A single moth bumped against the shoji screen.

Ava inhaled deeply and rested her forehead against his chest.

"I’m not in love with Seo-jun," she whispered.

Ryan didn’t tense. His chest rose and fell like ocean waves beneath her cheek.

"I know," he said quietly.

"But when I saw that photo, when I saw the way she looked at me... I realized I haven’t felt seen like that in a long time. Maybe ever."

Ryan’s hand came up to rest against her back, slow and warm.

"I’m sorry if it hurt," she added.

"It didn’t," he said.

Then, after a beat—softly, honestly: "Okay. It bruised a little."

Ava’s laugh was a breath against his collarbone.

She felt him press his lips to the top of her head, not possessive, not asking for anything.

Just there.

Present.

"I don’t want to be a brand tonight," she whispered. "I don’t want to sparkle or explain or spin. I just want to be... someone worth staying for."

Ryan didn’t respond with words.

He pulled her closer.

Wrapped her up like a promise.

And they stayed that way—quiet bodies in a temple of stillness, where nothing had to be fixed or proven.

Only held.

Only real.