The Angel of Water
S. Rouzbeh
2025-12-11

In drought-stricken Khuzestan, Raha leaves a cracked plastic cup by her bed and waits for angels to fill it. Her hope lives alongside her parents' struggle to find safe water.

In the heart of parched Khuzestan, where the heat steals your breath and power cuts come every day, a child sets her only possession beside her bed each night before she sleeps: a yellow plastic cup, cracked.

Raha prays in her small child's voice:

‘God, when I wake up in the morning, please let my cup be full of water… like the children on television.’

But at night her father walks for kilometres with a black water container on his shoulder, hoping to bring back a few drops from a distant tanker or a river turned to swamp. His arms tremble with exhaustion, but he says nothing. Her mother, too, silently sets the containers beside the kitchen and thanks him with a look.

In the morning, before Raha wakes, her mother fills the cup with cloudy, muddy water. With an innocent smile, Raha picks it up and says:

‘I knew the angels came last night…’

Her mother turns away so that Raha will not see her tears.

One hot summer day, the school asks every pupil to bring a bottle of mineral water. Raha has no bottle; she puts her little cup in her bag instead. When she takes a sip in the schoolyard, her classmates laugh:

‘That isn't water. It's river mud!’

Raha fights back tears and says softly:

‘But for us, it's life…’

That afternoon, her mother falls ill. The village doctor says, ‘It's the contaminated water,’ and writes a simple prescription. He, too, knows the illness will return.

That night, Raha sits beside her mother's bed, fills the cracked cup, and says:

‘Mum, the angels will bring you good water tomorrow. Just wait…’

In the days that follow, the temperature reaches fifty degrees Celsius, and the power goes out. The cooler stands silent; a foul smell fills the house. Her father returns with another container, his legs shaking. He sits on the step, picks up the plastic cup, and says in a broken voice:

‘I'm a man who couldn't bring his children a single cup of safe water…’

From the room comes the sound of Raha quietly crying:

‘Dad, I know the angels will bring me real water one day. I'll wait…’

The house falls silent. Only the wind moving through the withered palms recalls that this land was once a land of water and life.

The next morning, Raha once again sets her cracked cup beside the bed. She closes her eyes and says softly:

‘God, if the angels are late, that's all right. I'll wait. Only… I wish Mum could smile tomorrow, too.’

And in the darkness, a father sitting in the corner of the room weeps without a sound. He knows that no angel is on the way, and there is no water for tomorrow. All that remains is an empty cup and a dream that she fills each morning with a child's smile.

Source: https://srouzbeh.com/en/posts/entry-1788136509764-6217158c
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