Bapa Ku Percaya -

The wooden floorboards of the old house in Kuala Kangsar creaked under Amri’s feet as he paced the room. In his hand, he gripped a rejection letter from the university—the third one this month. Outside, the evening rain drummed against the zinc roof, a relentless rhythm that matched the pounding in his chest. "Why is everything so hard?" he muttered to the empty room.

Pak Bakar finally looked at him. His eyes, clouded by age but sharp with clarity, held a look of unwavering peace. "When you were five, you fell into the irrigation canal. Do you remember?" Bapa Ku Percaya

A year later, an opportunity opened at a technical college in the city. It wasn't the prestigious university he had dreamed of, but it was a path. As Amri packed his bags, he looked at his father, who was once again sitting on the porch. "I’m ready, Abah," Amri said. The wooden floorboards of the old house in

His father, Pak Bakar, sat on the porch, his weathered hands methodically repairing a fishing net. He hadn't said much since the news arrived. To Amri, his father’s silence felt like indifference. "Why is everything so hard

Pak Bakar didn't look up immediately. He finished tying a knot, his movements precise and calm. "The river doesn't reach the sea in a straight line, Amri. It bends, it hits rocks, and sometimes it seems to stop in a pool. But the water always knows where it's going."