Michael
Michael had learnt something important over the past few weeks.
Monday was predictable.
Not in the childish sense of bells and routines—but in the way people moved when they thought no one was paying attention. The way they exited classrooms. The way they lingered or didn't. The way they checked their phones.
Mr Thomas' class had just ended.
Michael stood near the corridor junction between classrooms and the open walkway, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets. Anyone passing would assume he was waiting for someone—or killing time.
In truth, he was watching.
Hidayah emerged with the rest of the students, her black backpack slung securely over both shoulders. Jeans. T-shirt. Hair tied up the way she usually wore it when she expected to stay focused for the rest of the day.
She looked… settled.
That was the unsettling part.
She wasn't rushing. She wasn't scanning the corridor nervously. She laughed briefly at something one of her classmates said, nodding as they spoke about notes and revision plans.
Library.
Michael caught the word easily.
So that was it.
No sports hall today. No interest group overlap. No easy coincidence he could pretend was accidental.
She walked with them for a short distance before slowing, allowing others to move ahead. She reached for her phone then—thumb hovering before tapping out a reply.
Michael watched her expression shift.
It was subtle. Anyone else would have missed it.
The tension at the corners of her eyes eased. Her shoulders dropped a fraction, like she'd set something down internally.
That look again.
Someone else was anchoring her now.
Michael's jaw tightened.
He turned away before she could notice him standing there, memorising instead the route she took toward the library.
Library meant time.
Time meant habits.
And habits were something he understood very well.
Hidayah
The library was quieter than she expected for a Monday afternoon.
Hidayah chose a table near the windows, sunlight slanting across pale wood surfaces. Her Microeconomics classmates filtered in around her, laptops opening one by one, notes spreading out like familiar terrain.
She pulled her Alienware from her bag and powered it on, the soft hum grounding her.
"Okay," someone said, exhaling. "Let's just start with the basics again."
They did.
Graphs. Definitions. Assumptions.
Hidayah listened more than she spoke at first, absorbing the discussion, fingers occasionally tapping against her notebook. When someone hesitated, she filled in gaps gently—not correcting, just clarifying.
Time slipped forward quietly.
At some point, her phone vibrated against the table.
She glanced down.
Khairul.
How was Mr Thomas' class?
She smiled faintly.
Hidayah: Engaging. He likes asking questions when you least expect it.
A reply came quickly.
Sounds like him.
She didn't ask how he knew.
Some things didn't need explaining.
They studied for another hour, pausing only when hunger crept in and minds began to dull.
When the session ended, Hidayah packed up slowly, thanking her classmates before stepping out of the library.
The campus felt different in the late afternoon—less frantic, more open. She walked toward the bus stop, phone in hand.
She typed without thinking too much.
Hidayah: Library revision done. Brain tired.
There was a pause.
Then—
Go home and rest. You've done enough for today.
She exhaled, something warm settling behind her ribs.
As she boarded the bus, she didn't notice the familiar figure on the overhead bridge watching her from a distance.
Khairul
Khairul set his phone down after her last message, leaning back slightly where he stood.
He wasn't on campus today.
But he could picture it anyway.
The library. The quiet focus. The way she probably pushed herself just a little harder than necessary.
She reminded him of people he respected.
The kind who didn't announce their strength.
He checked the time. She'd be heading home now.
Khairul wasn't in a hurry to define anything yet. What mattered was consistency—showing up where it counted, not crowding her space.
He picked up his phone again.
Text me when you reach home.
Simple. Unintrusive.
As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, a thought crossed his mind—not possessive, not jealous, just aware.
There were other eyes on her.
Other intentions.
But Khairul trusted one thing above all else. Clarity always outlasted noise.
And he was in no rush.