The morning of November 19 dawned bright and warm, sunlight spilling over the rooftops of Rumah Kasih Sayang. The air was filled with a soft, cheerful energy. It was a special day — little Amir's birthday. He was turning eight, the youngest among the children, and everyone in the orphanage wanted to make sure he felt loved.
When Siti arrived that morning, the children were already buzzing with excitement. They crowded around her as soon as she stepped through the gate.
"Siti! Siti! Today's Amir's birthday!" shouted Ika, her tiny voice full of glee.
"I know," Siti said, laughing. "And I've got something special planned."
The children cheered, and even Amir — who was usually shy — blushed and smiled.
Inside the orphanage kitchen, Safura and a few of the older kids were already preparing for the small party. Balloons were being blown up, a paper banner saying "Happy Birthday Amir!" was taped across the wall, and the smell of chocolate cake filled the air.
Siti joined in, helping tie the ribbons and pour drinks into colorful paper cups. The laughter of the children echoed through the halls, filling every corner with warmth.
But in the back of her mind, as she worked, Siti couldn't help remembering her own birthdays — the ones before everything changed. The big house, the laughter of her mother, her father's proud smile as they brought out the cake. She missed those moments, but she didn't let her face show it. Today was for Amir, not her.
---
Around noon, when everything was almost ready, Siti quietly slipped out on her electric bicycle. She rode to the nearby supermarket, the same one where she had once met her old friend Asmawati. She wanted to buy something special for Amir — something that would make him smile.
She wandered through the toy section, scanning the shelves. Then she saw it — a small remote-control car painted in bright yellow and black. It wasn't very expensive, but it looked fast and fun. Perfect for Amir.
Siti picked it up and paid for it with her own money, smiling to herself. "He'll love this," she whispered.
When she returned to the orphanage, everyone was gathered in the main hall. The tables were covered in paper plates, snacks, and small cups of orange juice. Amir sat in the middle, his eyes wide with surprise as the children sang,
"Happy birthday to you!"
Siti brought out the gift, wrapped neatly in blue paper. "This is for you, Amir," she said.
Amir's face lit up. "For me?"
Siti nodded. "Of course. Open it!"
He tore the paper open and gasped when he saw the car inside. "A race car!" he shouted. "Thank you, Siti!"
The other children clapped and cheered. Soon, the hall was filled with laughter, music, and the sweet sound of joy. Safura and her twin brother Safuan joined in too, helping the children cut the cake and making sure everyone had a piece.
Siti watched the scene with quiet happiness. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she truly belonged somewhere again. The children treated her not as a worker, but as an older sister.
After the cake was gone and the games began, she pulled out her phone — the one her parents had sent her — and snapped a few pictures. Amir holding his toy car. Ika wearing a paper crown. The group photo with everyone smiling and laughing.
Later that night, when the children were asleep and the lights in the orphanage were dim, Siti sat in her small room scrolling through the photos. She stopped at the one where she was standing beside Amir and the cake — both of them smiling wide, the candles glowing between them.
Her thumb hovered over the "Send" button as she typed a message to her parents.
> Siti:
Hi Ibu and Ayah.
Today one of the kids here had a birthday. His name is Amir.
I helped them celebrate! 😊
We made cake and played games. Everyone was happy.
I hope you are doing well. I miss you both.
She attached the photo and hit send.
For a few minutes, she stared at the screen, waiting to see the familiar blue ticks appear — the sign that her parents had read it. But they didn't. The screen stayed blank and silent.
She waited longer, watching the clock tick past 9 p.m., then 10. Still nothing.
Siti placed the phone on the small table beside her bed. The excitement that had filled her heart during the party now felt heavy and quiet. She pulled her knees to her chest, whispering to herself, "Maybe they're busy… maybe tomorrow they'll see it."
She lay down, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. But even with her eyes closed, her mind wouldn't stop replaying the laughter and warmth from earlier — and how she wished her parents could have seen it too.
---
Downstairs, the faint sound of laughter from Safura and Safuan drifted from the kitchen as they cleaned up. Siti listened quietly, comforted by the soft sounds of her new family — a family that didn't share her blood, but shared their hearts.
She reached for the phone again before sleep took her, glancing at the screen one last time. The message was still unread.
Siti sighed softly.
"Goodnight, Ibu… Ayah…" she whispered, her voice trembling just a little. "I hope you're okay."
Then she turned off the light. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow on her face as she drifted into dreams — dreams of birthdays, laughter, and the hope that maybe, one day, her parents would finally see the picture and realize just how strong their little girl had become.