Morning arrived before the sun did.
Rayyan hadn't slept much. His bag had been packed since the night before — two shirts, one pair of pants, a notebook, and a pen. Everything he owned felt small enough to fit in the bag, yet heavy enough to sink him.
He stood in the small living room, waiting.
His father stepped out slowly, holding a plain white envelope.
There were no speeches. No blessings. Just quiet.
He placed the envelope in Rayyan's hands.
"It's not much," his father said, voice rough and exhausted. "But… it's enough to start."
Rayyan nodded.
He would only learn later that his father had sold his old car — the only thing he ever took pride in repairing — just to fill that envelope.
Some sacrifices are too heavy to speak about.
Rayyan's mother adjusted his collar, smoothed his shirt though it didn't need smoothing. Her hands trembled.
"Eat properly," she whispered. "Call me." Then, softer — "If it becomes too hard… you can come home."
Rayyan could only nod. His voice was too full to trust.
They walked him to the bus station.
The morning air smelled of damp grass and something like goodbye.
The bus engine was already running.
Rayyan's chest tightened as he stepped forward—
A car pulled up.
Aydan.
And his father.
Aydan jogged toward him, slightly out of breath. Dr. Khair followed with calm steps.
"Wait—" Aydan said, breath uneven. "We came to send you off."
Rayyan blinked, surprised.
Dr. Khair placed another envelope in his hand.
"For registration," he said. "And your first month of expenses. After that, I will send you something every month. This is not charity. It is support. You will stand on your own feet — just not alone."
Rayyan's throat tightened.
"I… I don't know how to repay—"
"You will," Dr. Khair interrupted gently. "By becoming someone who does the same for another one day."
Aydan smiled, eyes warm.
"Go, Rayyan," he said. "Go live the life you deserve."
Rayyan stepped onto the bus with a heart so full it hurt.
He did not look back.
If he did… he might not leave.
The journey was long.
He watched the view change:
Village homes → Small towns → Concrete roads → Buildings tall enough to touch clouds.
By the time he reached the university campus, the sun was high.
Orientation was loud. Students laughed, took pictures, compared schedules. Their clothes were new. Their futures seemed clean.
Rayyan stood among them like a quiet shadow.
He didn't know where to go. He didn't know who to talk to. He didn't know how to belong.
After orientation, he sat alone in the cafeteria, hands wrapped around a cup of warm water. Everyone else seemed to have someone.
He had never felt smaller.
Then—
A voice.
Soft. Calm. Close.
"Is this seat taken?"
Rayyan looked up.
A girl stood there.
Simple clothes. Eyes that looked tired but kind. A small strand of hair falling across her cheek.
"No," Rayyan said.
She sat without hesitation.
She didn't speak. Not at first.
Then she stood again, walked to the counter, bought a simple packed meal, returned, and placed it in front of him.
Not gently. Not dramatically. Just… naturally.
"You look hungry," she said — not like pity, but like fact.
Rayyan stared — not at the food, but at her.
Something about her felt familiar, like a memory he couldn't place.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She nodded once, stood, and walked away — leaving only her name behind in the air she crossed.
Lisa.
Rayyan sat there a while longer.
His mind tried to think about foundation courses — physics, math, survival, expectation, the weight of his mother's hopes.
But his heart?
His heart was thinking about the girl who made his hunger disappear without asking for anything in return.
And something small, quiet, and dangerous began to grow inside him.