She woke up choking.
Air tore violently into her lungs, burning, unfamiliar. She gasped, coughing hard as she rolled onto her side, hands clutching at the mattress beneath her.
"Dayah! Wake up! You'll be late!" Her mother's voice rang through the room.
Hidayah froze.
Her heart pounded as she forced her eyes open. Sunlight streamed through the window, warm and real. The room smelled of detergent, morning air, and something faintly floral.
Her bedroom.
Her old bedroom.
She pushed herself upright, breath unsteady, and instinctively reached toward the bed beside her.
Her fingers closed around something familiar.
Her BlackBerry Pearl.
Her hands shook as she pressed the button, the screen lighting up.
Monday, 16 April 2007.
06:20 AM
She stared at the date until it burned itself into her mind.
Seventeen.
She was seventeen.
Hidayah dropped the phone onto the bed and covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking as silent laughter bubbled dangerously close to hysteria.
She had died.
She had lost everything.
And somehow —
She had been given another life.
This time, she would not choose wrong.
———
A second chance.
Today wasn't just her first day in Republic Polytechnic — it was the first ordinary morning she'd been given back after dying.
She got out of bed and moved through her room with calm efficiency. Jeans. A simple t-shirt. Comfortable, familiar. Her long reddish-brown hair was tied up neatly, just as she preferred it. No fuss, no overthinking.
Downstairs, breakfast was already set.
Her father was standing by the dining table, keys in hand, glancing at his watch.
"Dayah," he said, "call Jasmine and let her know we're heading out in ten minutes."
Jasmine…
Her bestfriend since thirteen. Her bestfriend from choir and her best friend who also betrayed her in her past life.
"Okay," Hidayah replied easily, pulling out her phone and sent a quick text.
Hidayah: We're leaving in 10.
Almost immediately, a reply came in.
Jasmine: Okay! I'm ready.
Breakfast was brief and unceremonious — toast, coffee, a few casual reminders to take care. No heavy advice. No emotional speeches.
Just another weekday morning.
Except Hidayah felt every second of it settle into her bones. The moment of eating and talking with her parents, the smile her mother gives at a tease her father made.
But at the same time, she recalls the moment she cut ties with her parents in her past life.
All for a man who was not worthy…
————-
Jasmine was already waiting downstairs when the car pulled up.
She slipped into the back seat easily, dressed in a light summer dress and black ballet flats, a tote bag resting at her feet. Her hair was loose, framing her face as she greeted Hidayah's parents politely.
However, for Hidayah, the ride was somewhat uncomfortable.
The drive to Republic Polytechnic was smooth and familiar.
They'd been here before — for registration, for campus orientation, for briefings. The novelty had already worn off. What remained was anticipation, not awe.
Hidayah watched the road pass by quietly, fingers loosely intertwined in her lap.
In her first life, this ride had meant nothing.
Now, it felt like a threshold.
The car stopped at the Republic Polytechnic Centre, where students were already streaming in from all directions. Young adults with backpacks slung over their shoulders, laptops secured inside, their faces a mix of confidence and nerves.
Her father pulled over smoothly. "Text me when you're done later," he said.
"We will," Hidayah replied.
They stepped out together, adjusting their bags themselves — no parents hovering, no awkward goodbyes.
"Well," Jasmine said, exhaling slightly, "this is where we split."
"Yeah," Hidayah said. "W3 for me."
"E2," Jasmine replied. "See you later!"
They exchanged a quick hug, then turned and headed in opposite directions.
No lingering. No hesitation.
Just forward movement.
—————-
The walk toward her class was steady and unhurried. Hidayah used the time to think about how she could change the trajectory of this new life.
Hidayah moved with the flow of students, passing familiar pathways. The campus felt different when she walked it alone — quieter, more focused.
Her waterproof laptop backpack rested comfortably on her shoulders, the weight of her Alienware Aurora mALX reassuring inside.
She reached her classroom a few minutes early.
Students were already seated in loose clusters, laptops open, conversations flowing easily.
Hidayah chose a seat midway into the room, setting her bag down and taking out her laptop. She didn't rush to speak. Instead, she observed.
Names floated around her. Diplomas. Where people lived. What they were expecting from poly life.
No one knew what they're doing yet, she thought calmly. Good.
At exactly 8:30 a.m., the door opened.
A man entered with confident, efficient strides, heading straight to the facilitator's table at the back of the classroom. Without ceremony, he connected his laptop to the system. Cables clicked into place.
The lights dimmed slightly.
A PowerPoint slide appeared on the wall in front of them.
Fundamentals of Customer Experience
"Good morning," he said, turning to face the class. "I'm Chris Thomas. You can call me Mr. Thomas."
The room quieted.
"This week is orientation," Mr. Thomas continued. "Which means today isn't about content mastery. It's about understanding how this module runs, how discussions work, and what I expect from you in this classroom."
Hidayah leaned back slightly, attentive.
He spoke about participation, about observation, about learning through dialogue rather than instruction. He didn't overwhelm them with systems or deadlines — only framed the mindset.
"You'll feel uncertain," he said plainly. "That's intentional. You're not here to be spoon-fed."
Some students nodded. Others frowned slightly.
Hidayah felt a spark of quiet excitement.
This was where she thrived.
At 9:30 a.m., Break 1 was announced.
Students turned toward one another almost immediately, conversations shifting naturally toward introductions. Hidayah exchanged names with her tablemates, listening more than she spoke.
Her phone vibrated.
Jasmine: Lunch together at 11:30?
Hidayah looked at the screen, thumb hovering briefly before she typed.
Hidayah: No. I think I'll have lunch with my classmates today. But let's meet after school at the South Library Entrance to go home together.
She hit send and slipped her phone away.
It wasn't avoidance.
It was intention.
This time, I will definitely change our lifes.
—————
The rest of the morning passed in a haze of explanations and tentative discussions.
No one truly understood what "good participation" looked like yet. Ideas were half-formed, sentences unfinished. And that was fine.
At 11:30 a.m., the class dispersed for lunch.
Hidayah followed her classmates toward the E1 canteen, the warm air and familiar smell of food greeting them as they entered. Fans whirred overhead, trays slid across counters.
She ordered something simple and sat with her group.
The conversation was awkward at first, then gradually loosened — people sharing why they chose their diplomas, what they were worried about, what they hoped poly life would be like.
Hidayah contributed sparingly, but when she spoke, people listened.
At 1:30 p.m., they returned to the classroom.
This time, laptops opened with purpose.
Slides were drafted. Ideas debated. Roles tentatively assigned. No one dominated, but no one faded entirely either.
At 2:00 pm, presentations began.
Each group took turns presenting what they had discussed. Some stumbled. Some spoke too quickly. Some forgot their points halfway through.
Mr. Thomas listened closely.
After the final group, he presented last — not to correct them, but to frame the discussion properly. Calm. Clear. Grounded.
By the time he dismissed the class, the afternoon light had shifted, casting long shadows across the room.
"That's all for today," he said. "I'll see you next week."
Hidayah closed her laptop and slid it back into her bag.
As she stood, adjusting the straps on her shoulders, a quiet certainty settled in her chest.
This time, she wasn't drifting into her future.
She was walking into it with her eyes open.