Friday mornings had a weight of their own.
Not heavy — just deliberate.
Hidayah moved through her routine without hurry, the house still quiet as dawn settled into morning. She woke before the alarm as usual, showered, performed her ablution, and prayed. By the time she dressed, the day had already arranged itself in her mind.
Jeans. T-shirt. Hair tied back.
Her bow case waited by the door, straps checked the night before.
Her father was in the kitchen when she stepped out, finishing his coffee. He glanced up.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
That was enough.
Jasmine would already be waiting downstairs. She always was.
The drive followed the same familiar rhythm they had kept since the first week of school. Jasmine slid into the back seat when they reached her block, greeting Kamari easily, as she had for years.
"Morning, Uncle."
"Morning," Hidayah's father replied. His eyes met hers briefly in the rearview mirror — a quiet check. She looked steady. Alert.
Republic Polytechnic came into view soon after. The car slowed at the usual drop-off point.
"Text me when you're done today," he said to Hidayah.
"I will."
He waited until both girls were out of the car and walking toward campus together before pulling away.
He noticed how Hidayah adjusted her grip on the bow case.
Michael was already there.
He stood leaning on the wall of the E1 canteen facing the Reflection Pond and the drop-off area at Republic Polytechnic Centre, posture loose, phone in hand. To anyone else, he looked like another student killing time before class.
But his eyes were sharp.
The car arriving caught his attention immediately.
Not the girls.
The man behind the wheel.
Michael watched as Hidayah alighted from the car, Jasmine close behind. The driver didn't look away. Didn't pretend not to notice. He waited until they were well nearingSouth Agora's entrance before leaving.
That wasn't a coincidence.
Michael's jaw tightened.
So she wasn't unguarded anymore.
He turned away before the girls could sense his gaze.
Not now.
Later.
Morning classes passed without incident, but Hidayah felt the pressure again — faint, persistent, like a presence just outside her field of vision.
She didn't turn toward the glass walls.
She focused on the lesson, notes neat, posture calm.
Break 2 arrived slightly later than usual.
Students filtered out quickly, voices rising as lunch plans formed. Hidayah locked her laptop with care, then looked at her teammates. "See you guys at 1pm?"
The group nodded, and she left promptly.
"I need to go to the One-Stop Centre," she told Jasmine when they met at the South Library entrance.
Jasmine didn't ask why.
She nodded. "Let's go."
They walked together, steps measured. The reception area at One-Stop Centre was cool and orderly, the hum of air-conditioning steady.
At the counter, Hidayah spoke clearly asking to speak with a Student Affairs person to lodge an official report. It took some time before someone came and directed her to a room on the second floor.
She listed dates. Locations. Messages. Repeated sightings. The sense of being followed.
She placed the police report on the table.
The staff member read through it carefully. Her expression tightened.
"Thank you for reporting this," she said firmly. "We'll log this immediately. Campus security will be notified, and since the individual involved is a student, this will be escalated internally to Student Affairs and the relevant school."
She slid the document back after scanning the document for filing.
"You did the right thing coming forward."
Hidayah nodded. She thanked the lady and left the office with Jasmine.
That was what she needed — acknowledgement, structure, containment.
Outside the office, Jasmine finally exhaled.
"That's… good," she said. "That's really good."
Hidayah leaned briefly against the wall, eyes closing for a moment.
Not relief.
But feeling content.
Her phone vibrated.
Abah: I'll be there after your training.
She typed back.
Hidayah: I'm done submitting the report to the school. Jasmine knows too, and she is fine with the arrangements.
The reply came almost immediately.
Dad: Alright. Remember to avoid being alone. If possible, get someone to accompany you everywhere.
She glanced at Jasmine, then replied:
Hidayah: I will.
Lunch at the E1 canteen that afternoon was quiet. Jasmine deliberately filled the air with small talk — assignments, classmates, anything familiar.
When it was time to return to the class, Hidayah felt steadier.
Not safe.
But supported.
Archery training anchored her.
The range carried its usual focus — controlled movements and disciplined silence between shots. Hidayah changed quickly and stepped onto the line, the bow familiar in her hands.
Arnold waved when he saw her.
"You look locked in," he said.
"Long day," she replied. "Good kind."
Training demanded everything — posture, breath, release. For three hours, the rest of the world narrowed to precision and form.
When the session ended, the ache in her shoulders was honest but affirmative.
They exited the sports hall together—Hidayah and Arnold side by side—and spotted Jasmine waiting at the benches near the bridge towards W6, as she always did on Fridays.
"You survived," Jasmine said.
"Barely," Hidayah replied dryly.
Then she saw the car. Her father had already stepped out.
"Abah," Hidayah said, adjusting her bow case. "This is Arnold. He usually takes the bus with us on Fridays—he stays in Yishun too."
Arnold straightened. "Good evening, sir."
Kamari assessed him briefly — calm, precise.
"You're done for the day?" Kamari asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Get in," Kamari said. "I'll give you a ride."
No pause. No hesitation.
Arnold nodded quickly. "Thank you, sir." grinning away.
Jasmine slid into the back seat with Arnold, watching Kamari from the corner of her eye. She'd known him since she was thirteen — but tonight, she noticed something sharper in him. Not anger.
Readiness.
The car pulled away smoothly.
From a distance, Michael watched.
He had waited again. Positioned himself again.
And again, the opportunity closed before he could move.
The boundary held.
Inside the car, Kamari drove steadily.
"Training went well?" he asked.
"Yes!" the three youngsters replied.
Kamari smiled but said nothing.
No interrogation. No unnecessary words.
When they reached Arnold's block, Kamari slowed.
"Here, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
Kamari waited until Arnold was safely inside the lift before pulling away.
As the car continued homebound, Jasmine understood something clearly.
This wasn't temporary.
This was a line — drawn, documented, and enforced.