The morning air was warm but gentle, the kind of day that seemed to invite rest. For the first time in a while, Siti had a day off from helping at the orphanage. She stretched lazily in bed, the quiet hum of her little fan filling the room.
Instead of spending the day sleeping or watching television, her mind was set on something else. Over the past week, she had noticed how the children at Rumah Kasih Sayang often played with old, worn-out toys—missing puzzle pieces, dolls with faded clothes, toy cars with one wheel gone. Yet, despite that, they laughed and played with joy.
Siti hugged her pillow and smiled. Maybe today I can surprise them. They've given me so much happiness… I want to give something back.
She quickly got ready, tucked some of her salary into her bag, and hopped onto her electric bicycle. The road to the supermarket wasn't far, just a fifteen-minute ride. The breeze against her face made her grin as she imagined the kids' reactions when she showed them something new to play with.
When she reached the supermarket, she parked her bicycle neatly and went straight inside. The colorful aisles of toys beckoned her like a magical land—rows of dolls, stacks of board games, shelves full of bright cars and trains.
Her eyes widened in excitement. She didn't have enough money to buy everything, but even one or two toys could bring happiness to many children. She picked up a shiny red ball, then a box of building blocks, debating with herself which one would be best.
"Siti?"
The familiar voice made her freeze. Slowly, she turned around.
Standing a few steps away was Asmawati, her classmate from school. She wore her usual hijab neatly pinned, her schoolbag hanging on one shoulder. Her eyes were wide with shock.
"Siti, it is you!" Asmawati exclaimed, walking closer. "I thought I was seeing things."
Siti's heart skipped a beat. It had been weeks since she last set foot in school. Part of her wanted to hide behind the shelves, but it was too late.
"H… hello, Asmawati," she said softly, forcing a small smile.
Asmawati's smile faded into confusion. "Why didn't you come to school anymore? Our teacher asked about you so many times. Everyone wondered where you went."
Siti lowered her gaze, clutching the red ball in her hands. "I… I don't go anymore."
"Why not?" Asmawati asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and concern.
Siti's throat tightened. She hadn't planned on explaining to anyone. But standing there, facing a friend from her old life, the truth tumbled out before she could stop it.
"Because… there's nobody at home."
Asmawati blinked. "Nobody? What do you mean?"
Siti bit her lip. Her fingers gripped the ball so hard her knuckles turned white. "My parents… they're not around. I live alone now. And I… I just couldn't keep going to school. It felt… empty."
For a moment, there was silence between them, broken only by the faint hum of the supermarket's air-conditioning. Asmawati's expression softened, her eyes filled with sympathy.
"Oh, Siti…" she whispered. "I didn't know. I thought maybe you moved schools, or got sick. Nobody told us anything."
Siti shrugged weakly. "I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want people to ask too many questions."
Asmawati set her bag down and reached out, touching Siti's arm gently. "But you could've told me. I'm your friend."
Siti's lips trembled. "I know. I just… I didn't know how."
---
For a few minutes, they stood quietly between the toy shelves, two girls from the same class suddenly divided by very different lives.
Finally, Asmawati spoke again. "So… what are you doing here?"
Siti blinked and remembered the toys. She held up the red ball shyly. "I was going to buy this. For the kids at the orphanage. I help there now."
Asmawati's eyes brightened with surprise. "You work at an orphanage?"
"Yes," Siti nodded. "The children there… they're like family to me now."
A small smile crept across Asmawati's face. "That's really kind of you, Siti. No wonder you're here."
Siti smiled back, though a little uncertainly. It felt strange, opening up after being quiet for so long.
Asmawati hesitated, then said softly, "You know… even if your parents aren't around, you don't have to stop school. Maybe one day, you can come back. Everyone would be so happy to see you again."
The words touched something deep inside Siti. Part of her wanted to believe it, to imagine walking back into the classroom, sitting with her friends again. But another part of her felt it was impossible.
"I don't know, Asmawati," she admitted. "Right now… I just want to help the orphanage. That's enough for me."
Asmawati nodded slowly. She didn't push further. Instead, she smiled again and said, "Then promise me something—don't disappear completely. Even if you don't come to school, at least let me see you sometimes. Okay?"
Siti's chest warmed. She gave a small nod. "Okay."
---
They chatted for a few more minutes, catching up on little things—teachers, classmates, the silly jokes that used to make them laugh. For a short while, it felt like old times again.
But eventually, Asmawati had to go. Her mother called her from another aisle, reminding her they needed to leave.
"Bye, Siti," Asmawati said, picking up her bag. "Take care, alright? And… don't forget your promise."
"I won't," Siti said softly, waving as she watched her friend walk away.
---
Left alone again, Siti turned back to the shelves of toys. This time, her heart felt heavier, but also a little lighter at the same time. She wasn't invisible, after all. Someone still remembered her.
She chose the red ball and the box of building blocks, imagining the children's laughter when they saw them. As she carried them to the cashier, she whispered to herself:
Maybe one day, I'll go back. But for now… I'll stay where I'm needed most.
---
That evening, when Siti returned to Rumah Kasih Sayang with the toys, the children squealed with delight. They tossed the ball back and forth, built little castles with the blocks, and hugged her tightly in thanks.
As she watched them play, Siti smiled softly.
Her path might not be the same as her old friends, but here—among these children—she had found a place where she belonged.