The following weeks passed like pages turning in a book. Every morning, Siti woke up early, packed her school bag, and cycled to the bus stop with the cool morning air brushing against her cheeks. Her days had a new rhythm now — one filled with purpose, laughter, and the comforting sound of school bells.
At first, it wasn't easy. There were times she felt lost when lessons moved too fast, or when the teacher mentioned topics she had missed while she was gone. But Siti never let herself give up.
She spent extra hours at night studying by her small desk in the orphanage, the soft yellow light of her lamp glowing against her open books. Sometimes she stayed up later than she should, reviewing notes and practicing math problems until her eyes grew heavy.
Whenever she got stuck, she would ask Kak Safura or Abang Safuan for help. Safuan was especially good with math — though he always made jokes to make her laugh between lessons.
"You know, Siti," he said one evening as he checked her answers, "you're better at this than I was at your age. Maybe one day, you'll be the one teaching me."
Siti laughed. "I don't think so, Abang. You're too good at numbers."
He grinned. "We'll see. Keep this up and you might surprise yourself."
Those little moments gave her strength — reminders that she wasn't alone anymore.
---
At school, things were beginning to feel natural again. Her classmates had quickly grown used to having her back. Even those who barely knew her before now smiled when she entered the classroom.
During group work, Siti often volunteered to help with writing or organizing. Her handwriting was neat, and she had a calm, patient way of explaining ideas that made her popular with her peers.
One afternoon, during an English lesson, Miss Faridah asked the class to write a short essay about their dreams for the future.
Siti stared at her blank paper for a moment, tapping her pencil softly.
Before, she might have written something about wanting her parents' attention — about wanting things to go back to the way they were. But now, her heart felt clearer.
When she finally began to write, her words came easily:
> I want to grow up to be someone who can help children who feel alone. I want to build a place where they can feel loved, just like the orphanage where I live now. I want to study hard so that one day, I can make a difference — not for myself, but for others.
When she handed in her essay, she felt nervous. But a few days later, Miss Faridah called her name at the end of class.
"Siti, I read your essay," she said with a smile. "It was beautiful. You wrote with a lot of heart. I think you have a gift for expressing yourself."
The whole class looked at Siti, and she felt her cheeks turn red. "Thank you, teacher," she said shyly.
Asmawati gave her a thumbs-up from her seat, whispering, "I told you you're good at essays!"
Siti couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.
---
As the weeks went by, Siti's grades began to climb. Her teachers noticed her effort, often praising her for her dedication and discipline.
At recess, she spent time with Asmawati and a few other girls who had become her close friends — Nurul, Amirah, and Ain. They liked to sit under the big rain tree near the canteen, sharing snacks and stories about their families.
One afternoon, as they ate curry puffs together, Amirah asked, "Siti, what do you usually do after school? You never hang out with us at the park."
Siti smiled. "I go back to the orphanage. I stay there and do my homework. Sometimes I help the younger kids with theirs too."
Ain tilted her head. "Oh, you live at an orphanage? That's cool! Do you like it there?"
Siti nodded immediately. "Yes, I really do. Everyone there is kind. It feels like a real family."
Her friends smiled warmly. "That's really nice," said Nurul. "You're lucky to have people like that around you."
Siti nodded again. "I am."
---
That evening, after she got home from school, Siti went to the backyard of the orphanage. The sun was setting, casting soft orange light across the sky. Some of the younger kids were playing tag, their laughter echoing through the air.
Siti watched them for a moment, smiling to herself. She could see bits of her own past in their joy — the same longing for love and belonging, now replaced with warmth and friendship.
Kak Safura stepped out with a tray of juice cups and called, "Siti! Come help me hand these out, please."
Siti ran over and began passing the drinks to the children. When they were done, Safura smiled and asked, "How's school?"
Siti's face brightened. "It's really good, Kak. I've made new friends, and I got praised by my teacher for my essay."
"That's wonderful," said Safura, smiling proudly. "See? I told you you'd find your place again."
"I think I have," Siti said softly. "I really like learning again."
Safura looked at her for a moment — at how much she had changed in just a few months. "I'm so proud of you, Siti. You've grown into such a strong girl."
Siti looked down shyly. "It's because I had people who believed in me."
Safura's eyes softened. "And don't forget — now you believe in yourself too."
---
Later that night, as the stars filled the sky, Siti sat at her desk once more, finishing her homework. The window beside her was open, and the gentle night breeze carried the sound of laughter from outside.
She thought of her friends, her teachers, and all the people who had helped her find her way again. She thought of her parents too — though the ache of their silence no longer hurt quite as much.
She whispered to herself, "Maybe one day, I'll tell them everything I've learned. But for now… I'll keep going."
The moonlight fell softly across her notebook as she wrote the last answer. She smiled to herself, feeling calm, steady, and proud.
Because for the first time in her life, Siti wasn't just surviving.
She was living — and she was learning who she truly wanted to become.