One quiet afternoon, Dara’s phone buzzed with a message from an unfamiliar number.
It had been more than ten years since she’d last heard that name: Bagas.
Back in their university days in Surabaya, they’d been fairly close — but like most old friendships, it had faded quietly over the years, swallowed by distance, time, and life’s responsibilities.
“Dara, it’s Bagas. Sorry for reaching out out of the blue. How are you? I’m in Bali now. Can I call you?”
Dara was taken aback, but politely replied. Then Bagas began telling his story through long, rambling texts — a story so heavy Dara could almost feel its weight in her chest.
Bagas had lost everything. His younger brother died from a serious illness. A year later, his older brother was killed in an accident. The year after that, his father passed away. And as if that weren’t enough, his marriage fell apart: his wife drained all of his savings, ruined his small business, cheated on him, and filed for divorce. His mother, crushed by grief, slipped into deep depression, sold off what little they had left, and disappeared.
Bagas’ life sounded like something out of the Book of Job — only he was still here, standing amid the wreckage. Now, he was in Bali, working odd jobs and trying to rebuild his life from nothing.
“Dara… I need to ask a favor. Could you let me use your name to apply for a motorcycle loan? My paperwork isn’t in order yet — I don’t even have my updated family card after the divorce. My ex just sent me a photo of it and then blocked me. Without a motorcycle, it’s so hard to work here. Please, just this once.”
Dara stared at her screen for a long while, conflicted. She knew all too well the risks of lending her name. A bitter memory from the past came flooding back — the last time she helped someone in the same way, she ended up saddled with their debt when they disappeared.
For two days, she left his message unanswered. She agonized over it, even discussing it with her husband.
In the end, with a heavy heart, she chose to say no.
“Bagas… I’m really sorry. I can’t help. My husband isn’t okay with it either. I hope you can understand. I pray God will make a way for you.”
His reply came shortly after.
“I see… No one wants to help, huh? And we go to church together too.”
Dara felt a lump in her throat reading those words. Why bring up church? Why use faith to guilt her into saying yes?
She remembered clearly — only a few days earlier, before he even brought up the loan, she had asked him where he was going to church these days. His answer had stung:
“I don’t think God exists anymore. People these days don’t believe in religion, don’t believe in God.”
Dara gripped her phone tightly, her feelings swirling — sadness, anger, pity, all at once. Bagas had indeed suffered terribly, and his life was a string of misfortunes. But she also had to protect herself. She had a family of her own to think about.
Sometimes, all you can do is pray for someone from a distance. You can’t always dive into the storm with them — not if you know you can’t swim.
Dara gazed at the evening sky outside her window and whispered softly.
“God, please watch over him… even though I can’t.”
Photo by Leon Andov on Unsplash
