Michael slept for less than two hours.
It wasn't rest. It was closer to a shallow blackout — the kind where the body shuts down briefly because it has no other choice, only to jolt awake again with the same tightness still clamped around the chest.
Every time he closed his eyes, the same scenes replayed themselves.
Hidayah sitting with someone else.
Hidayah smiling — not politely, not distantly — but easily.
Hidayah no longer looking around the way she used to, no longer checking her surroundings as if expecting him.
She used to notice everything about him.
Michael stared at the ceiling until dawn filtered in, pale and unwelcome. His phone lay face-down beside him. He hadn't checked it in hours.
He already knew there would be nothing.
By the time he dragged himself out of bed, his thoughts had lost their edges. They no longer formed lines — just loops. Obsessive, spiralling loops that always returned to the same conclusion.
She's doing this on purpose.
He barely registered the commute to campus. The sounds felt distant, muffled, as though he were walking through water. His hands trembled faintly when he clenched them, nails biting into his palms hard enough to leave marks.
Michael told himself to stay calm.
He told himself he would just watch.
Lunch hour at Republic Polytechnic was always loud.
The canteens buzzed with overlapping conversations, laughter spilling freely as students clustered around tables, bags thrown carelessly at their feet. From a distance, it looked like any other day.
Hidayah sat with Jasmine near the edge of the seating area, half-turned in her chair. She listened more than she spoke, nodding occasionally as Jasmine animatedly complained about an upcoming quiz.
She felt settled.
Not careless — but grounded.
Then the space beside her shifted.
She looked up.
Khairul stood there.
Her expression softened immediately, the reaction instinctive and unguarded. He wasn't in uniform today — just jeans and a dark collared shirt, sleeves rolled up casually, watch glinting faintly at his wrist. The severity he carried in professional settings wasn't gone, exactly, but it was gentler here, eased by familiarity.
"You're hard to catch," he said lightly.
Hidayah huffed. "You planned this."
Khairul smiled. "Strategically timed."
Jasmine leaned back in her chair, openly appraising him. "So this is a surprise inspection now?"
"Only when necessary," Khairul replied, unbothered.
He pulled a chair closer and sat, angling himself so he wasn't crowding the girls, especially Hidayah. The conversation flowed naturally after that — casual, unforced. He asked about her morning, whether she'd eaten properly. She shot back that she wasn't five years old.
"Snacks don't count," he said mildly.
Jasmine burst out laughing. "See? Someone finally said it."
Hidayah shot her a glare. "You're supposed to be on my side. Plus, you snack more often than me… You've got a belly bulging."
"I am," Jasmine replied cheerfully. "But I'm also invested in your survival."
Khairul chuckled softly.
Michael watched everything.
He sat on the second-floor seating area, half-hidden from the height, his gaze locked onto the way Hidayah leaned slightly toward Khairul without thinking. The way she smiled — small, genuine — the way her shoulders loosened in his presence.
That should have been him.
That used to be me.
Khairul stayed longer than Michael expected.
Ten minutes. Then fifteen.
Long enough for the normalcy to sink in.
Long enough for jealousy to ferment into something sour and volatile.
Eventually, Khairul glanced at his watch and stood. "I should go before I get myself into trouble."
Hidayah nodded. "Text me later."
"I will."
He gave Jasmine a polite nod. "Keep an eye on her."
Jasmine's smile sharpened. "Always."
Khairul left.
Michael waited.
Hidayah was standing up with her tray when she felt it.
That prickling awareness at the back of her neck — the instinctive sense of being watched. She turned slightly—
And Michael was there.
Too close.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
"No," Hidayah replied immediately, her tone even. "We don't have anything to talk about."
She shifted, attempting to move past him.
Michael stepped sideways, blocking her path.
Jasmine stood up at once. "Move."
He ignored her completely.
"Why was he here?" Michael asked Hidayah, his voice tight, barely contained. "Why is he always around you now?"
"That's none of your business."
The words were calm.
Final.
Something in Michael snapped.
His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.
Hard.
The sudden force yanked her backward, pulling her off balance, throwing away the tray clattering on the floor. Pain flared sharp and immediate as his fingers dug into her skin.
"Let go," Hidayah said, her voice cutting through the noise.
Instead, his grip tightened.
"You don't get to do this," he hissed, stepping closer, crowding her space. His other hand came up, grabbing her upper arm, pinning her in place. "You don't get to erase me."
Jasmine lunged forward. "Don't touch her—!"
Michael shoved her aside without looking, his focus entirely locked on Hidayah.
Her back hit the edge of the table behind her, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor.
"You used to love me," Michael hissed, voice shaking with fury. "You made everything about me. And now you're acting like I'm nothing!"
The crowd reacted instantly.
Shouts. Chairs scraping. Someone yelling for security.
Hidayah's pulse thundered in her ears.
"No," she said clearly. "You're wrong."
She drove her knee upward sharply.
Michael cursed, grip loosening just enough.
Hidayah shoved him hard, both palms slamming into his chest.
He staggered back — then surged forward again.
But this time, Khairul was already moving.
He caught Michael mid-step, one arm bracing firmly between them, his other hand gripping Michael's shoulder with controlled force.
"That's enough," Khairul said, his voice low and lethal.
Michael struggled violently. "Get off me!"
Security converged almost immediately, hands seizing Michael's arms as he thrashed, fury finally spilling over.
"You think he's better than me?!" Michael shouted. "You think you can just replace me?!"
Hidayah stood frozen, chest heaving.
The moment Michael was pulled away — truly restrained — the adrenaline crashed.
Her knees weakened.
She turned without thinking.
Khairul was right there.
She stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his middle, gripping tightly this time, her forehead pressing briefly against his chest as her breath finally broke free.
Khairul's arms came around her at once, solid and steady, anchoring her in place.
"I've got you," he said quietly. "You're safe."
She nodded once, then pulled back as another security staff approached them.
The office was sterile and painfully quiet.
Hidayah gave her account calmly, precisely, her voice steady even as she detailed the escalation. Jasmine filled in the gaps, sharp-eyed and unapologetic.
When her parents arrived, the atmosphere shifted.
Mr Kamari's presence was immediate and grounding. He listened without interruption, his expression unreadable but alert. When he spoke, it was measured and firm, asking questions that cut straight to accountability.
A no-contact directive was issued on the spot.
Internal disciplinary proceedings were initiated.
This was no longer just an incident.
When it was over, Hidayah felt hollowed out.
Outside the office, Khairul stood with her parents.
Mr Kamari extended his hand first.
"Thank you," he said simply. "For stepping in."
Khairul accepted the handshake, posture respectful. "I would have done the same even if I wasn't involved."
"I know," Kamari replied. "That's why it matters."
They spoke quietly after — about safety, about routines, about presence. Kamari listened carefully as Khairul outlined what he could do, what he would not overstep.
Azizah watched them both with thoughtful eyes.
When Hidayah stepped out, she saw it — the alignment. The unspoken understanding.
She walked over and hugged Khairul again.
This one was brief.
Assuring.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Khairul's hand rested lightly at her back. "Anytime."
As they left together, Hidayah knew something fundamental had shifted.
Michael had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.
And the people around her had closed ranks — not out of panic, but out of resolve.