📖 Teks Cerita
I used to imagine myself a hero in the quiet hours, not because I wanted applause but because the small victories mattered — getting out of bed, sending that honest message, staying level when everything wanted to tip jagged and sharp. Life doesn’t hand out capes; sometimes it hands you a mirror and a choice: reverse course or keep walking into the wind. There were nights the streetlight painted my kitchen counter like a stage and I practiced saying the things I couldn’t say to anyone, and somehow that practice changed me. Heroism, I realized, is a quieter habit: showing up when the edges feel raw, fixing one small thing at a time. And when you finally turn and look back, the path behind you looks less like a straight triumph and more like a stitched map, jagged with detours, but stitched nonetheless. That imperfect trace is proof — you went forward, you reversed when needed, and you kept living.