The boxing gym in Chong Pang didn't announce itself.
No bright signboard. No glass frontage. Just a roll-up shutter half-raised, the smell of rubber mats and metal weights drifting out into the corridor like a quiet invitation.
Hidayah paused outside, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
Khairul noticed immediately.
"You don't have to go in if you're not comfortable," he said, voice low, steady. "We can leave."
She shook her head. "I'm fine."
And she was.
But fine didn't mean unaffected.
Inside, the gym hummed with restrained violence. Not chaos — discipline. Gloves thudding against pads. The rhythm of skipping ropes. Controlled breathing. The sharp snap of a punch landing clean.
It reminded her of the sports hall.
But this felt… rawer.
Khairul led the way, nodding briefly at the gym owner behind the counter. Familiarity passed between them without words.
"He knows you," Hidayah observed.
"I come here on off days," Khairul replied. "Keeps me on track."
She smiled faintly at that.
They changed quickly, efficient and unselfconscious. Hidayah tied her hair back tighter than usual, the way she always did before training. Her movements shifted subtly — posture straightening, awareness sharpening.
Khairul noticed that too.
"You change when you train," he said quietly.
"So do you."
He didn't deny it.
They warmed up in silence at first.
Stretching. Light footwork. Controlled breathing.
Khairul's movements were economical, grounded in balance and readiness. Nothing wasted. Every shift of weight had purpose. MMA training showed itself not in flash, but in efficiency.
Hidayah watched from the corner of her eye.
She, on the other hand, flowed.
Javanese pencak silat lived in her hips, her spine, the way she pivoted rather than stepped. Her hands moved with deceptive softness, fingers loose, wrists relaxed — until they weren't.
Khairul stopped stretching first.
"You don't lead with force," he said.
"I don't need to."
That earned a quiet smile.
They stepped onto the mat.
Not to fight.
To test.
"Slow," Khairul said. "Controlled."
She nodded.
He moved first — a probing step, not an attack. A feint that would have drawn a reaction from most opponents.
Hidayah didn't bite.
She shifted sideways, weight dropping, center grounded. Her response wasn't defensive — it was anticipatory. She moved as if she already knew where he would be.
Khairul adjusted immediately.
That was when it became interesting.
He closed distance, deliberately, testing her range. She let him — then turned, redirecting his momentum with a smooth spiral that brought his arm off-line.
He didn't resist.
He flowed with it.
MMA adapted.
Pencak silat absorbed.
They circled.
Their breathing synced unconsciously.
Khairul tested her guard. She deflected without tension, palm brushing past his wrist, redirecting force rather than stopping it. Her footwork was quiet, almost invisible, but he felt it — the way she controlled space without occupying it.
"You're reading me," he murmured.
"I'm listening."
He smiled, sharper this time.
"Again."
This time he increased pressure — not speed, but intent.
Hidayah responded in kind.
She stepped inside his range, where most fighters would panic. Her elbow traced a controlled arc near his shoulder — not striking, but marking space. Her knee rose just enough to signal threat without committing.
Khairul felt it.
Not as danger.
As respect.
He countered with a grappling attempt, reaching for control.
She slipped.
Turned.
Used his grip against him, pivoting with a softness that left him momentarily off-balance.
Khairul laughed under his breath.
"Beautiful," he said, genuine.
The word landed heavier than she expected.
They paused.
Not because either was tired.
Because the air between them had changed.
Khairul lowered his hands first.
"You're preparing for something," he said.
Hidayah didn't answer immediately.
She took a breath.
"There's a regional competition coming up," she said finally. "Invitational."
His gaze sharpened. "And you're considering it."
"I already accepted."
He nodded once.
"Then this matters."
It wasn't a question.
They resumed.
This time, closer.
More intentional.
Khairul adjusted his approach, integrating clinch work, ground awareness, testing transitions. Hidayah adapted without losing her base — redirecting, slipping, countering with techniques rooted in tradition rather than brute force.
They moved like a conversation.
Question.
Answer.
Push.
Yield.
At one point, his forearm pinned her momentarily against the padded wall — controlled, deliberate, no pressure beyond positioning.
Her breath hitched.
Not from fear.
From proximity.
She responded by dropping her center of gravity and turning out, her palm pressing lightly against his chest to create space.
Their eyes met.
The moment stretched.
Neither moved.
Khairul stepped back first.
"Still okay?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "Yes."
He believed her.
They ended the session sitting side by side on the mat, sweat cooling on their skin, shoulders not quite touching.
"You fight like you trust yourself," Khairul said.
"I do."
He looked at her then — really looked.
"That's rare."
She glanced sideways. "So do you."
He exhaled slowly.
"I've had to." In his line of work, it was necessary.
Silence settled — not awkward. Not heavy.
Just… present.
Outside, the afternoon light slanted through the gym's high windows, dust motes drifting lazily.
"This competition," Khairul said eventually. "If you want help preparing — conditioning, sparring, strategy — I'm in."
She turned fully toward him.
"Not to take over," he added. "Just to support."
Warmth spread through her chest.
"I'd like that."
He smiled — not sharp, not guarded.
Just real.
When they left the gym, evening had begun to settle over Chong Pang. The air was cooler, streets quieter.
Hidayah felt it then.
Not adrenaline.
Not tension.
But something steadier.
Momentum.
This wasn't about reclaiming strength.
She already had that.
This was about refining it — with someone who didn't try to reshape her into something else.
Khairul walked beside her, close but not crowding.
"You'll do well," he said.
She believed him.
And that belief felt dangerous in the best possible way.