The train carrying Zixo entered Jakarta before dawn, while the sky was still gray and the city lights looked like stars that had fallen too close to the ground.
He sat by the window, hugging a backpack whose color had faded. Inside were only two shirts, a few books, and a brown envelope containing his parents’ savings. It wasn’t much. In fact, it was far too little to be called enough to live on in a city as big as Jakarta.
Yet whenever fear crept in, Zixo remembered what his Dad had said before he left.
“Don’t come home until you’ve gained some experience, Zo. If you haven’t succeeded yet, don’t be ashamed. The shame is in quitting before you’ve even tried.”
His mother hadn’t said a word when she saw him off. She had only slipped a packet of rice into his hands, then quietly cried behind the door of their home.
Now the rice was gone. Home was nothing more than a crowded memory in his mind.
When he stepped off the train, Jakarta greeted him with honking horns, the smell of wet asphalt, and people walking quickly as if something were chasing them through life. Zixo stood for a moment in front of the station, gripping the handwritten address of the rented room his Dad’s acquaintance had given him.
He drew a deep breath.
“Starting today,” he whispered, “I have to take care of myself.”
The rented room was in a narrow alley, far from the version of Jakarta he often saw on television. Zixo’s room was just big enough for a thin mattress, a small table, and an electric fan that turned with a creaking sound. The walls were damp. The roof leaked in one corner.
But when he set his suitcase on the floor, Zixo smiled. For the first time, he had a place he would have to fight for on his own.
His first day of college wasn’t any easier. He arrived wearing shoes whose soles had turned yellow. Several students glanced over, then snickered. Zixo pretended not to hear them.
In the classroom, he chose a seat by the window. The professor hadn’t arrived yet. Conversation filled the room—about a new café, vacations, and the car someone had driven to campus.
Then a girl sat down beside him.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
Zixo turned.
The girl wore a simple white shirt, but the watch on her wrist might have cost more than everything in his rented room. Her hair fell past her shoulders. She was beautiful, but what caught Zixo’s attention most was the way she looked at him: calmly, as though she genuinely wanted an answer.
“Empty,” Zixo replied too quickly.
The girl smiled. “I’m Sefti.”
“Zixo.”
“That’s a unique name.”
“My Mom gave it to me.”
“Then you should take good care of it.”
That simple sentence stayed in Zixo’s mind longer than it should have.
Class began. Zixo took careful notes while Sefti occasionally glanced at his notebook, filled with tiny handwriting. When the professor assigned a group project, their names ended up on the same list again.
Outside the classroom, Sefti hurried to catch up with Zixo.
“We’re in the same group.”
Zixo nodded. “Yeah.”
“When can we study together?”
Zixo wanted to say anytime. But then he remembered the box of merchandise he had to pick up that afternoon.
“Maybe at night. But I have to sell first.”
Sefti stopped. “Sell?”
“Drinks and snacks. Nothing big.”
He braced himself for a change in Sefti’s expression—surprise, pity, or even disgust. But Sefti only nodded.
“Then I’ll come with you.”
Zixo stared at her. “Come with me?”
“We can study at the same time. I can help carry things, too.”
“You don’t have to. Your hands will get dirty.”
Sefti let out a small laugh. “Zixo, I have hands, not decorations.”
For the first time since arriving in Jakarta, Zixo laughed without feeling like he had to hide who he was.
That afternoon, they walked to the place where Zixo usually sold his merchandise. He pushed a small cart borrowed from the owner of a food stall, while Sefti carried a box of drinks. Several students who knew him stared in surprise when the most popular girl in class stood beside a small-time vendor.
“Isn’t that Sefti?”
“Is she close with that guy?”
Zixo heard everything. His neck felt hot.
Sefti simply held out a bottle of water to him.
“You haven’t had anything to drink since noon.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t be shy.”
Night fell slowly. Streetlights reflected in puddles. Zixo carefully counted the money he had made from his merchandise. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for two days of food and printer ink for his college assignment.
Sefti watched the numbers.
“Are you happy?”
“I am. I earned it myself.”
“Even though you could’ve just asked your parents for money.”
Zixo closed his money box. “I could. But I want them to feel at ease, not keep worrying about my living expenses.”
Sefti fell silent. In her home, money was always available before she even had the chance to want something. Only that night did she realize that some people measured happiness by how long they could keep their parents from worrying.
Before she went home, Sefti bought two packages of snacks from Zixo.
“That’s too expensive,” Zixo said.
“I’m paying the listed price.”
“You didn’t have to buy anything.”
“I know. But I want to be your first regular customer.”
Zixo looked at her. In the middle of a city that made him feel small, Sefti stood like the only person who didn’t ask him to become someone else.
That night, in his leaking rented room, Zixo opened his assignment book. But his thoughts kept returning to Sefti’s smile.
He knew the girl came from a world far removed from his own.
And that was precisely why he began to fear hoping for more.