MACA – The clock on the wall of Ardi’s boarding room showed 2:45 AM. His bloodshot eyes could no longer focus on the laptop screen. The final assignment due tomorrow morning had made him lose track of time. Unconsciously, his head slumped onto the desk, falling asleep among library books and scribbled physics formulas. He had promised himself not to miss sahur this Ramadan. But exhaustion overwhelmed him. The phone alarm meant to ring at 3:00 AM never sounded—its battery had died three hours earlier.
The distant call to Subuh prayer jolted Ardi awake. He jumped up, heart pounding. “Imsak is almost here!” he thought, glancing at his watch—4:20 AM. His stomach growled, but when he opened the small cupboard in the corner of his room, only two empty packs of instant noodles remained, finished a week ago. The water dispenser? Empty. He’d forgotten to refill it amid his busyness. The tap water in the boarding house bathroom? Cut off since noon—the landlord was fixing the pipes.
Ardi mustered the courage to leave his room. Maybe there was leftover food in the boarding house kitchen. But the kitchen door was locked—the landlady always locked it after 9:00 PM. He knocked on his neighbors’ doors, but no one answered. They might have gone home for the holidays or weren’t fasting. The heavy rain outside halted his steps at the porch. No umbrella, and his wallet held only Rp5,000.
In a thin jacket, Ardi sprinted into the street. The 24-hour Padang restaurant near his boarding house was usually open, but its shutters were closed. “The owner is at Tarawih prayers in his village,” shouted the guard at the nearby post. The rain poured harder. At the end of the road, he spotted the neon lights of a small convenience store still glowing. His legs trembled, but he pushed forward. “Please, can I still buy water and bread?” he gasped. The cashier shook her head: “The register’s closed, sir. Try the noodle cart near campus.”
Ardi’s energy was nearly gone when he saw steam rising from an old bakso cart on the roadside. Mr. Bambang, the street vendor who often fed students, was packing up. “Sir, do you have anything to eat? My sahur…” Ardi mumbled weakly. Without a word, Mr. Bambang reopened his pot and ladled out a bowl of hot bakso broth. “Eat up, kid. Pay me later,” he said with a smile. As the Subuh prayer echoed, Ardi gulped the soup, tears welling in his eyes. Just before imsak, a sip from Mr. Bambang’s bottled water slipped down his throat.
Returning to his room drenched in rain, Ardi collapsed onto his bed. That day, his fast felt different. Not because of the bakso or water, but because he learned the meaning of perseverance and unexpected kindness. The next night, his study desk held a full water dispenser and a box of dates—a silent gift from a neighbor who’d heard his story. Ramadan taught him: sometimes, we need to fall into scarcity to understand the richness of giving. ***
Comment here