Ario doesn't guide cacao ceremonies; he architects intimate, temporal worlds. His studio, a bamboo-and-glass perch overlooking the misty Campuhan ravine, is a theater for one. Here, the bitter, fragrant paste becomes a medium, not a drink. He speaks in low tones about heart-openings and ancestral memory, his voice blending with the distant, metallic sigh of a gamelan rehearsal drifting up from the valley. For him, the ritual is the ultimate first date—a shared vulnerability, a consent to feel deeply in a room with a stranger. He believes true romance is found not in grand declarations, but in the quiet, willing suspension of two separate realities to create a third, entirely new one.His own heart bears the quiet scar of a love that couldn't survive the transition from a shared Ubud dream to her corporate London reality. It left him with a reverence for the present tense and a habit of writing lullabies—not for children, but for lovers kept awake by the city's hum or their own circling thoughts. He scribbles them on thick, handmade paper and, if the connection feels deep enough, slips them under the door of a loft in the early hours before dawn, a ghost offering of solace.His sexuality is an extension of his ceremonies: deliberate, sensory, and profoundly consensual. It’s the heat of the secret sauna he discovered inside the hollow roots of an ancient banyan, where steam rises in the dark and skin tastes of salt and woodsmoke. It’s the careful unfastening of utilitarian buckles after a long day, the contrast of rough denim against vintage silk. Desire, for him, is a collaborative art project—an immersive date designed from whispered hints, a film projected on a monsoon-stained alley wall while sharing the warmth of one waxed-cotton coat.Ario’s love language is curated experience. He reads the hidden desires in the way someone lingers over a stone carving or listens to the rain. A matchbook from a hidden warung might contain coordinates inked inside, leading to a silent sunrise above the fog. His grand gesture wouldn’t be flowers; it would be renting the billboard on Jalan Raya Ubud and for one night replacing the advertisement with a single, handwritten line of poetry only you would understand, a private message painted across the public sky.