Five days had passed since Siti first stepped through the gates of Rumah Kasih Sayang. In those five days, her life had shifted in ways she never imagined.
Each morning, she would wake with excitement, quickly eat her breakfast, and pedal her bicycle to the orphanage. The moment she arrived, children would run to greet her, their voices shouting, "Kak Siti! Kak Siti's here!" And every time, Siti's heart leaped with warmth.
It was different from her house, where the walls stood silent and empty. Here, every corner held laughter, chatter, and the busy rhythm of life.
---
On her fifth day, Siti helped the children with their drawing activity. The long table in the hall was scattered with crayons, colored pencils, and papers filled with bright sketches—houses, flowers, cars, and smiling stick figures.
Aina proudly showed Siti her picture of a big house with many windows. "This is our home," Aina explained. "And here's you, Kak Siti, standing with us."
Siti blinked rapidly, her chest tightening. She wasn't just a visitor anymore. In the children's eyes, she belonged here.
Later that morning, the boys dragged her outside for a game of congkak. She had never played much before, but with their laughter guiding her, she learned quickly. Even when she lost, she laughed louder than anyone, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.
The workers at the orphanage, too, welcomed her warmly. Kak Liyana, one of the caretakers, often praised her patience with the children. Encik Rahim, who managed the orphanage's supplies, would tease her gently about her small frame. "You're tiny, Siti, but you've got the spirit of someone much bigger," he once said, making her grin shyly.
Everywhere she turned, kindness surrounded her.
---
That afternoon, after the children had eaten and settled into their nap time, Safura called Siti into the small office.
"You've done very well this week," Safura said, her voice warm but professional. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a white envelope, sliding it across the desk. "This is your salary—two hundred ringgit, for three days of work."
Siti stared at the envelope, her hands trembling as she picked it up. Inside, crisp notes lay neatly stacked. She had never held so much money that truly belonged to her.
"Two hundred…" she whispered, her eyes wide.
Safura nodded. "You earned it. You played with the children, cared for them, and made them happy. That's valuable, Siti."
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. "But… it didn't feel like work," she admitted. "It felt… like being part of a family."
Safura's smile softened. "And that's exactly why you fit here. Family isn't always about blood. Sometimes, it's about hearts choosing each other."
Siti hugged the envelope tightly to her chest. For once, she didn't feel like a lonely girl in a big, empty house. She felt like someone important.
---
When she stepped out of the office, some of the children were already awake, rubbing their eyes and yawning. Aina noticed the envelope in her hands and asked, "What's that, Kak Siti?"
"It's… my salary," Siti said with a small laugh.
"What's salary?" another boy asked, tilting his head.
"It's money you get when you work," Siti explained.
The children's eyes grew round with curiosity. "Then you're really like the workers here!" one of them exclaimed.
Siti chuckled. "I guess so." But in her heart, the truth ran deeper. This was the first time she felt like she had truly earned something with her own effort. Not a gift, not charity—something she had worked for and been trusted with.
---
On her way home that evening, Siti rode her bicycle with the envelope tucked safely inside her bag. The road seemed brighter, her heart lighter. She thought about all the things she could buy with her salary—maybe some groceries, a new set of clothes, or even small treats for herself.
But as she passed the small bakery in town, she slowed down. Behind the glass window, trays of buns and cakes sat fresh and steaming. She imagined the smiles on the children's faces if she surprised them with a treat tomorrow.
The thought made her grin.
Maybe she didn't need to spend all the money on herself. Maybe she could share it, just like the orphanage had shared their love with her.
---
That night, back in her quiet house, the loneliness didn't feel as heavy as before. The silence was still there, but her heart was full of voices, laughter, and memories from the orphanage. She placed the envelope in her wooden box, next to her bank card and the other small treasures of her life.
Before she went to sleep, she whispered to herself, "I'm not really alone anymore."
And for the first time in a very long time, Siti drifted into dreams with a smile on her face.