By Monday, the air on campus had changed.
Not in any way that could be named outright — no announcements, no visible disruption — but Hidayah felt it the moment she walked into campus. The rhythm was still there, classes still running, students still loud in familiar ways.
Yet something underneath had tightened.
Adults lingered longer at intersections. A campus security officer stood near the lift lobby, posture relaxed but eyes alert. Staff conversations softened slightly as students passed.
Nothing dramatic.
But nothing coincidental either.
Hidayah adjusted the strap of her backpack and continued walking.
She wasn't afraid.
But she was aware.
Michael noticed the change immediately.
It wasn't the presence of security that unsettled him — it was the way people no longer ignored him completely. The half-second pauses. The longer glances. The feeling of being catalogued without comment.
He slowed outside the classroom, gaze lifting toward the glass.
Hidayah sat inside with her group, focused on her laptop. A male teammate was seated beside her, shoulders angled protectively inward, their heads close as they discussed something on screen.
Hidayah didn't look up.
Didn't scan the room.
Didn't search for anything beyond what was in front of her.
Michael's irritation simmered low and quiet.
She was adapting faster than he'd expected.
Inside the classroom, the lesson moved along smoothly.
Mr Thomas guided the discussion with his usual even cadence, drawing responses without pressure. Hidayah participated when needed, her voice steady, thoughts clear.
She felt it again — that faint sensation of being observed — but she didn't let it show.
Break 1 passed uneventfully.
When her phone vibrated, she waited until the discussion lulled before checking it.
Khairul: Morning. Just checking in. How are you holding up?
Something warm settled in her chest.
She typed back without overthinking.
Hidayah: I'm okay. School feels a bit different today, but I'm not alone.
The reply came quickly.
Khairul: I like that answer.
She smiled before she could stop herself.
Khairul: Remember — different doesn't mean worse. It just means you're being taken seriously.
Her fingers hovered for a moment, then she replied.
Hidayah: Thank you. That helps more than you think.
She paused before adding…
I feel like I wouldn't have managed this well if you weren't here.
At work, Khairul read her message just outside the operations room.
The day had been long already — briefings, logistics, controlled chaos — but the moment he saw her name on the screen, everything else dimmed slightly.
He leaned against the wall, phone warm in his palm.
Not alone.
He typed slowly.
Khairul: You don't have to carry this by yourself. I'm here. Whenever.
He hesitated, then added:
Text or call me whenever you need a breathing space. Even if it's just about nothing at all.
He slipped the phone away as he was called back inside, but the corner of his focus stayed with her.
Lunch came quietly.
Hidayah and Jasmine ate together as usual, the rhythm familiar, but Jasmine's eyes were sharper, tracking the space around them even as she talked.
"You're not imagining things," Jasmine said softly between bites. "They're definitely more alert."
Hidayah nodded. "I feel it too."
"But you're not isolated," Jasmine added firmly. "That's the important part."
Hidayah met her gaze, grateful.
After class, they headed straight to the library together.
Not rushing. Not sneaking.
Just deliberate.
Hidayah joined her Microeconomics classmates at a long table near the windows. Jasmine slid into the seat beside her without comment, pulling out her notes as if she'd always planned to be there.
No one questioned it.
The study session settled into a quiet, focused hum — pages flipping, keyboards clicking, soft murmurs of discussion.
Halfway through, Hidayah felt it again.
That pressure.
That penetrating eyes on her back.
Her pen paused.
For a split second, a memory flared — not visual, not clear — but emotional. A sensation from her first life. That same unease. That same wrongness she hadn't named in time back then.
Her breath hitched.
Jasmine noticed immediately.
"You okay?" she whispered.
Hidayah nodded after a moment. "Yeah. Just… tired."
But she packed up earlier than planned. She paused and sent a message before anyone could ask questions.
Hidayah: Abah, I'll be done soon. Heading off earlier today.
The reply came a moment later.
Dad: Okay. I'm reaching soon too. Wait for me at the usual place.
That steadiness wrapped around her like a hand at her back.
She sent one more message.
Hidayah: Thank you.
As evening settled in, Hidayah walked out of campus with Jasmine beside her, the lights flickering on along the pathways.
Her phone buzzed again.
Khairul: Did you eat?
She smiled.
Hidayah: Lunch, yes. Jasmine made sure of it. Dinner, soon. Abah is fetching us now.
Khairul: She's doing her job well 😋
She typed, then deleted, then finally sent:
Hidayah: I felt… calmer today. More steady.
The reply came after a brief pause.
Khairul: That's because you are.
She slipped her phone back into her pocket as her dad's car came into view.
The day had been heavy.
But she hadn't carried it alone.