By Wednesday, routines had settled into Hidayah's bones.
Not the old ones — not the ones from her first life, brittle and hollow — but new patterns, firm enough to lean on. Morning rides that did not require conversation. Familiar turns into campus. The quiet weight of knowing that if she looked back, someone had already checked that the door was locked behind her.
It wasn't dramatic.
That was the point.
She stepped out of the car with Jasmine beside her, the morning air still cool against her cheeks. Her father waited just long enough to see them enter the South Agora entrance before pulling away, his departure unhurried but deliberate. No lingering. No unnecessary instructions. His trust sat heavy — and steady.
Jasmine nudged her lightly as they walked.
"Did you get some sleep?"
Hidayah nodded. "Better."
"That's good." Jasmine didn't press. She had learned, these past days, that some answers were complete even when short.
They separated at the junction of walkways, Jasmine heading toward E2, Hidayah turning toward W1. Wednesday meant Critical Thinking and Problem Solving Skills. Adrian Mah. Different room, different energy — but the same low hum of students settling in.
The classroom glass reflected her faintly as she entered. For a moment, she paused, the reflection tugging at something old.
She stepped forward anyway.
In ClassThe room filled quickly. Five tables, five groups, chairs rolling softly against the floor as students took their places. Laptops opened. Screens lit.
Hidayah slid into her seat without fanfare, her Alienware settling into familiar position. Her fingers moved automatically, neat, economical. Control through repetition.
Adrian Mah began speaking, voice calm, precise. The module leaned into frameworks, scenarios, structured debate. Hidayah listened carefully, contributing when appropriate, never dominating the discussion but never retreating either.
She was aware of the glass wall again.
Not because she saw someone.
Because she didn't.
The feeling prickled at the back of her neck — that subtle awareness of space being occupied, of attention angled in her direction. She shifted slightly, forcing herself not to turn too quickly. The instinct was old. Dangerous.
Nothing.
Just the corridor. Students passing. Life continuing.
You're safe, she told herself.
She believed it — mostly.
Break 1Break 1 passed uneventfully. Her group clustered close, discussing the worksheet, debating angles. She let herself engage fully, the tension easing as focus replaced vigilance.
Her phone vibrated once.
Khairul: Morning, Srikandi. You okay?
She didn't hesitate this time.
Hidayah: Yeah. In class atm. I think he was here earlier but just for a short while. Everything's fine now.
A pause.
Khairul: Good to hear. I'll be tied up till late evening. Though, you can still message me if something shifts.
Not if something happens.
If something shifts.
She exhaled quietly, the tightness in her chest loosening.
It was enough — the way he phrased things.
MichaelFrom across campus, Michael adjusted his pace.
He had learnt, quickly, that direct paths no longer worked. Too many eyes now. Too many routines locked down with quiet authority. The father. The officer. The friend who watched too closely.
So he adapted.
He lingered where students naturally paused — near notice boards, along sheltered walkways, by the stairwells that emptied into corridors. Never long enough to be obvious. Never close enough to invite any challenges
He saw her through the glass.
Not clearly.
Clear enough.
She looked… steadier.
That unsettled him more than fear would have.
Her posture was different. Shoulders aligned. Head lifted. She no longer carried herself like someone waiting to be addressed. She belonged to the space.
He told himself it was temporary.
That people always relaxed before slipping.
Still — he didn't move closer.
Not today.
Lunch — Break 2Lunch brought the familiar hum of campus life. Hidayah met Jasmine at level 3 canteen, the air colder, noisier. Plates clattered. Voices overlapped.
They ate quickly, then moved aside, laptops out, preparing notes for the afternoon's presentation. Jasmine worked with easy efficiency, eyes sharp.
"You're quiet today," Jasmine said without looking up.
"Just thinking."
Jasmine hummed. "Thinking is fine. Zoning out is not."
Hidayah smiled faintly. Trust Jasmine to draw the line cleanly.
As they packed up, Hidayah excused herself briefly. She crossed toward the administration office, heart steady but intent clear.
The report process was procedural. Calm. Contained. She submitted the documentation, answered questions she'd already rehearsed. No dramatics. No embellishment.
When she stepped back into the corridor, she felt lighter.
Not because the problem was gone.
Because it was addressed.
Afternoon SessionPresentations flowed one after another. Hidayah's group performed well — concise, thoughtful, balanced. She spoke when it mattered, her voice level, unhurried.
Adrian Mah concluded the session with measured feedback. Dismissal followed soon after.
Chairs rolled back. Laptops shut. The day released its hold.
After ClassHidayah packed carefully, movements unhurried. She didn't rush out. She never rushed anymore.
Outside, Jasmine waited near the walkway, bag slung over one shoulder.
"Your dad picking us up?" Jasmine asked.
"Yeah. Same spot."
They walked together, steps falling into sync without effort.
Halfway there, Hidayah's phone vibrated again.
Khairul: I'll be done in an hour. Text me when you're done with silat.
She typed back as they reached the curb.
Hidayah: Not going to silat today. Going home straight after class. We're heading out now. Will let you know when Abah arrives.
The car arrived moments later, her father's presence filling the space without words. Doors opened. Closed. The world narrowed safely inside the vehicle.
As they pulled away, Hidayah glanced once toward campus.
She didn't see Michael.
But she knew, with a clarity that no longer frightened her, that this was not over.
Still — she rested her head back against the seat, fingers loosening around her bag strap.
The pattern held.
For now