Khairul
Khairul noticed patterns the way other people noticed weather.
Not consciously at first — not as thoughts — but as adjustments his body made before his mind caught up. A longer look at his phone between briefings. A pause before turning down a corridor. The sense that something was pressing in from the edges rather than advancing straight on.
Tuesday afternoons were usually quiet.
Today wasn't.
He stood near the operations desk, helmet tucked under one arm, listening while his attention split cleanly in two — one part focused on the room, the other tracking a presence that wasn't there.
Hidayah hadn't messaged.
That, in itself, wasn't a problem. She didn't check in compulsively. He liked that about her. But she usually sent something — a small acknowledgement, a marker that the day was moving as expected.
He checked the time.
Still within normal margins.
Still — he adjusted.
He sent a message, short and neutral.
Khairul: You good?
He didn't follow it up. Didn't crowd the space. He trusted her enough to let silence mean something — and trusted himself enough to act if it changed.
A colleague glanced over. "Everything okay?"
Khairul nodded. "Yeah."
It was true.
At the same time, it wasn't.
He ran through contingencies quietly. Pick-up times. Known routes. Who had eyes where. What could be tightened without being felt.
Protection wasn't about hovering.
It was about removing uncertainty.
Hidayah
Hidayah read Khairul's message just as she stepped out of the Agora.
The space was busy — students laughing, talking, moving in clusters. Normal. Ordinary. Safe. And yet—
She paused.
Not because she saw anything.
Because the feeling had shifted.
It wasn't fear.
It was acknowledgement.
She typed back calmly.
Hidayah: Yeah. Heading out with Jasmine now.
She slipped her phone back into her bag and did something small.
She took a different route.
Not a dramatic detour. Just a choice — a slight change in direction that led them through a brighter, more open walkway. Glass on both sides. More traffic. Fewer blind spots.
Jasmine noticed immediately.
"Different way?" she asked.
Hidayah nodded. "Felt like it."
Jasmine didn't argue. She adjusted without comment, falling half a step closer.
That was the moment Hidayah recognised it.
The feeling.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Her first life had taught her what it felt like when something wasn't wrong yet — but was heading there if left unchallenged.
And this time—
This time, she didn't wait.
The Choice
They reached the curb where Mr Kamari's car usually pulled in.
It wasn't there yet.
Hidayah didn't feel panic. She pulled out her phone and made a call instead of sending a message.
Khairul answered on the second ring.
"Hey."
"I'm fine," she said before he could ask. "But I want to tell you something."
She explained quickly. Calmly. No dramatics. Just facts and the feeling that had followed.
There was a pause on the other end.
Not hesitation.
Calculation.
"Good call," Khairul said finally. "You did the right thing."
She closed her eyes briefly.
The way he didn't second-guess her. Didn't reframe her instinct. Didn't tell her she was imagining things. This feeling of being trusted and unquestioned…
"I'll adjust on my end," he continued. "Like I said before, nothing changes for you unless you want it to."
"I don't," she said. Then, after a beat, "Except this — if something feels off again, I won't wait."
"Okay," he replied. "Neither will I."
They ended the call just as the car arrived.
Michael
From a distance, Michael watched the moment fractured.
Not visibly. Not dramatically.
But something had shifted — the way she angled her body, the way her attention moved outward instead of inward. The way she acted.
She hadn't looked around.
She hadn't searched.
She had decided.
That was new.
His chest tightened, irritation flaring beneath his practised calm. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to hesitate. To doubt herself. To question whether she was overreacting.
Instead, she had chosen.
And someone else had answered.
Michael turned away before he could be seen. He told himself it didn't matter. That proximity could still be engineered. That time would soften resolve.
But a sliver of something unfamiliar crept in.
Urgency.
Khairul (Later)
By the time Khairul left work, the adjustments were complete.
Not externally. Not visibly.
Internally.
Routes noted. Schedules adjusted. Presence extended without announcement.
When he messaged her again, it wasn't to ask how she felt.
It was to anchor.
Khairul: I'm around tonight. Call if you need. No pressure.
Hidayah read it as she settled into the back seat, the city lights beginning to blur past the window.
She typed back one word.
Hidayah: Okay.
And for the first time since her rebirth, she realised something quietly profound:
She wasn't just being protected anymore.
She was participating.
Night
The night air in Yishun was cooler than Hidayah expected.
Streetlights cast soft pools of amber along the pavement, shadows stretching and retreating as cars passed. The neighbourhood had settled into its usual rhythm — televisions murmuring behind windows, the distant hum of traffic, and the occasional laughter drifting from a void deck nearby.
She had told her parents she was stepping out for a short walk.
That much was true.
What she hadn't said — what she hadn't needed to — was that she was walking toward something steady.
Khairul was already there when she reached the small park near her block. Not pacing. Not leaning restlessly.
Just standing.
Hands in his pockets. Weight evenly balanced. As if he'd been part of the space long before she arrived.
He looked up the moment she crossed the road from the junction.
"You made it," he said, pleased.
"Yeah." She slowed, then stopped a few steps away. "I hope this isn't too late."
"It's not." A pause. "I wouldn't have agreed if it was."
That, again — no pressure. No expectation.
They stood there for a moment, the quiet settling between them naturally.
Khairul broke it first.
"Walk?"
She nodded.
They moved side by side along the path, neither rushing, neither lagging. The distance between them was deliberate — close enough to feel presence, far enough to respect space.
"I didn't want to talk about this over text," he said eventually.
"Hmm?"
"You handled today well."
Hidayah let out a slow breath. "I didn't feel… brave."
"You don't have to," he replied. "You just have to act when it matters."
She glanced at him then. His expression was calm, but there was an intensity beneath it — not anger, not possessiveness. Focus.
"I'm not used to trusting my instincts," she admitted quietly. "Not after… before."
He didn't ask her to elaborate.
"It's okay," he said instead. "That's why I wanted to check in. In person."
They reached a bench overlooking the small open space. Khairul gestured once — an invitation, not an instruction.
She sat. He followed, leaving a respectful gap.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Hidayah said, "You made some adjustments today."
"Yes."
"You didn't need to."
"I want to."
Her fingers curled lightly against her palm. "Thank you."
Khairul turned slightly toward her. "I'm not doing this for you," he said carefully. "I'm want to do it with you."
The distinction landed.
"I won't make decisions over your head," he continued. "But I won't wait until something goes wrong either. If that balance ever shifts, you let me know, okay?"
She looked at him, really looked — the controlled posture, the steadiness that didn't demand anything from her.
"I will," she said. Then, after a beat, "And if I decide I need space?"
"I'll respect it."
"And if I decide I don't?"
A faint smile touched his mouth. Not amused — warm.
"Then I'll stay."
The simplicity of it made her chest ache. She had never felt this way. Especially not in her past life.
They sat there, the quiet stretching comfortably now. The night wrapped around them, unintrusive.
Hidayah realized, distantly, that she wasn't replaying the day in her head.
She wasn't scanning shadows.
She was present.
Khairul checked his watch eventually. "I should walk you back."
"I live right there," she said, gesturing.
"I know." He stood anyway. "Still."
She didn't argue.
They walked back in silence, the comfortable kind. Under her block, she stopped, turning to face him.
"This… tonight," she said slowly. "It helped."
"I hoped it would."
She hesitated, then made a decision — small, but deliberate.
"Stay like this," she said. "Don't rush."
Khairul met her gaze. "I wasn't planning to."
They stood there for another second — the kind of pause that could become something more.
But didn't.
Not yet.
Hidayah turned first, lifting a hand in a brief wave before heading into the lift.
Khairul watched until she disappeared, then exhaled slowly.
The line held.
And this time, it wasn't just his doing.