A FLICKER OF LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

In the noisy café, the hum of talk in Malay, English, and Mandarin filled the air. Sazira, sitting on a stool by the window, watched the city outside through the glass. As the sun set, the shining black-and-white roofs of its skyscrapers looked menacingly like a row of pointed teeth. But Sazira wasn’t looking at the buildings. Her eyes were glued to her phone, clicking through a news story about a local woman who had lost her savings of RM400,000 to a ‘friend’.

There was something terribly familiar about the story. Not in the details, but in the raw, horrifying truth of it. Sazira was 27 years old, but she’d seen more human cruelty than most people ever experience in a lifetime. She’d seen friends stab each other in the back. She’d seen relationships break up because one party couldn’t resist telling a lie. And she’d seen good fortune twist into evil as kindness was turned into the biggest weapon of all. It wasn’t just the big, splashy stories that troubled her; it was the everyday betrayals, the little acts of nastiness, and the whispers of gossip that were just a tiny stab into the heart.

She recalled sharing one of her deepest secrets with a close friend, who turned around and spilt her guts on the office gossip mill. There was the pain of being unmasked and laid bare. And there was the man she dated—a slick-talking man with a persona as smooth as silk—who had promised a future—a life of love and connection—only to vanish without a trace when his true intentions became clear.

Sazira had started to build walls to insulate herself from the world. She was suspicious of new relationships, hesitant to share herself, and fiercely protective of her soft spots. While providing a sense of security, the walls were also a prison. Behind them, she felt increasingly alone and isolated from the people and things she cared about. She felt a deep longing to connect, but it was becoming harder and harder to do so.

One day, on a night like any other—she was alone in her apartment, she felt tired and depressed—she looked in the mirror and thought, ‘There has to be more than this.’ She had always been a careful person, but now she wanted to do something to make the world nicer, a world where it was safe to be trusted and where the darkness that lurked within humanity was not so pervasive.

So Sazira began to try small things. She forced herself to be more present in conversations, to listen without commentary, and to offer a hand whenever she could. She joined a community garden and found peace in the tangible work and the collective purpose. She began to volunteer at a women’s shelter, where she observed the courage and power of those who had survived unimaginable cruelty.

It wasn’t easy. The scars of her past were still there, still warning her against openness and still reminding her of what vulnerability can cost. But every small act of kindness, every moment of humanity, helped Sazira feel the walls of her old heart melt away a little. They didn’t disappear; they were still there, but somehow less concrete and less formidable. Cruelty was real, but so was compassion. It was a choice.

When she stepped out into the Kuala Lumpur night, the city lights were somehow different. All the anxieties that had plagued her were still there, but they were offset by something new. Sazira knew that it would not be a smooth ride—that she would be hurt again, that she would be exploited again, and that the betrayals and heartbreaks would continue. But she was no longer afraid. She was ready for what the world would throw at her. Ready, not with fear and suspicion, but with courage and with a stubborn faith in the goodness of people.