Every MFA cover has its own story, but this one carries something extra.
When the first draft of The Grandad Chronicles: The Decathlon of Doom arrived from our designer, it came not only with brilliant artwork but with two small words that reminded us what creativity is really about: Terima kasih.

What followed became a quiet lesson in respect, attention, and the art of noticing.
Before we unveil the finished design, we wanted to share that story.

🎨 The Moment That Sparked It

The draft cover from nOah was everything we hoped for — bold, funny, perfectly matched to the first Grandad Chronicles.
But what lingered most wasn’t the composition or colour.
It was the line at the bottom of his message: Terima kasih.

Two simple words, meaning thank you.
Yet they carried warmth and identity — a glimpse of where the work had come from and who had made it.

When we replied, we ended with a single line:

Terima kasih kembali!
Thank you in return.

A bridge built with words, two ways.

💬 Comprehending vs. Noticing

When Alex first read “Terima kasih,” he understood it instantly — so instantly that he barely noticed it.
Martin had to stop, look it up, and discover its meaning.
That moment of not knowing created connection. It turned comprehension into appreciation.

Cross-cultural communication often works like that.
Understanding is automatic; noticing is intentional.
And the difference between the two can change an exchange from polite to personal.

🌍 A Shared Ethos

At MFA we try to build our books — and our friendships — the same way.
With respect.
With attention.
With time to notice what’s beautiful in someone else’s way of saying thank you.

Because sometimes a design isn’t just a picture.
Sometimes it’s a conversation between hearts that speak different languages —
and both listen.

💗 A Small Word, A Brave Gesture

Too often, when people work across cultures and continents, they try to blend in — to hide their identity and avoid standing out.
But Terima kasih did the opposite.
It revealed something real. It was a small, unguarded moment — almost vulnerable — like when a child forgets the rules of formality and accidentally says “Love you” to a teacher.

Those slips of honesty are the heartbeat of collaboration.
They remind us that even in digital spaces, it’s still people — not pixels — who make the work beautiful.

We almost missed it ourselves, reading too fast. But later we saw it for what it was — a quiet offering of trust.
And our reply, terima kasih kembali, simply meant:

You are seen.

Sometimes that’s the kindest thing you can say in any language.

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Postscript:
We can picture what Jessica will do when she read all this.  She will roll her eyes, and say:
“Only you two could write a whole page about two words you didn’t even understand.”

She’s probably right.
But we like to think that’s how meaning grows — when curiosity meets kindness, and someone notices.

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