Archery training felt nothing like Silat.
There was no rushing pulse.
No explosive movement.
Only space.
And silence.
The range was set up at one end of the sports hall, targets aligned with meticulous precision. Foam boards stood firm against the far wall, concentric circles waiting patiently.
Hidayah arrived early again.
She always did.
This time, she didn't just bring herself.
She brought her bow.
The moment she unzipped her case, a few heads turned.
A Win & Win recurve bow.
Clean.
Well-maintained.
Not borrowed.
Not school-issued.
Hers.
She assembled it methodically — riser first, then limbs, stringing the bow with practiced ease. Each movement was deliberate, unhurried.
Someone nearby let out a quiet whistle.
"That's not beginner gear."
Hidayah didn't look up.
She checked the string alignment, adjusted her sight, tested the tension.
The coach arrived shortly after, eyes sweeping the line.
"We'll start with safety checks," he said. "Anyone new to archery?"
Several hands went up.
He turned toward Hidayah as she finished tightening her stabiliser.
"You've shot before," he said.
"Yes," she replied simply.
"How long?"
"Years."
No elaboration.
He nodded. "Good. You'll help anchor the line."
Not lead.
Anchor.
Perfect.
They began with stance.
Feet shoulder-width apart.
Body angled slightly.
Weight balanced evenly.
Hidayah stepped onto the line, grounding herself.
She lifted the bow.
Set her grip.
Relaxed her fingers.
This wasn't strength.
It was alignment.
She nocked the arrow, the soft click audible only to those close enough to hear it.
Breathe in.
Raise.
Draw.
Her shoulder settled naturally.
Back engaged.
Elbow rotated into place.
She reached anchor — string touching the corner of her lips, nose brushing lightly against it.
Stillness.
Release.
The arrow flew.
A clean thud as it embedded itself near the centre of the target.
Not perfect.
But close.
She exhaled slowly.
Around her, beginners struggled.
Arrows wobbled.
Shots went wide.
The coach moved among them, correcting grips, adjusting posture.
Hidayah waited between shots, never rushing.
Patience was part of the discipline.
That was when someone stepped up beside her.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Easy posture.
"Nice shot," he said.
She glanced over.
He held his bow comfortably, movements confident but relaxed.
"Thanks," she replied.
"I'm Arnold," he added. "Sports diploma. Year One."
"Hidayah."
He nodded toward her equipment. "Win & Win. You compete?"
"Yes."
"Thought so," he said with a grin. "You don't flinch."
She almost smiled.
They shot side by side.
No pressure.
No unnecessary commentary.
Just quiet understanding.
Arnold's form was solid — athletic, consistent. Not overly refined, but strong fundamentals.
"You focus on consistency," he observed after a few rounds.
"It's the only thing you can control," Hidayah replied.
He considered that. "Fair."
When the coach called for a break, they stepped back together.
"First time here?" Arnold asked.
"At RP, yes."
He nodded. "Same. Thought it'd be more chaotic."
"It will be," she said. "Once everyone settles in."
He laughed. "Looking forward to it."
They returned to the line.
Distance increased.
Pressure rose subtly.
Hidayah adjusted her sight by instinct, micro-movements made without conscious thought.
Draw.
Anchor.
Release.
Another clean shot.
Arnold glanced at her target, eyebrows lifting.
"Yeah, okay," he said. "You're definitely not normal."
She shrugged. "Neither are you."
He grinned.
As training wrapped up, the coach approached her.
"You train seriously," he said.
"Yes."
"You're welcome to help with beginners during sessions," he added. "Only if you want."
Hidayah nodded. "I'm okay helping."
No rush.
No ego.
She packed her bow carefully, wiping it down before placing it back into its case.
Arnold waited.
"Bus?" he asked.
"169," she replied.
"Same."
They walked out together, evening air cooler against their skin.
At the bus stop, Jasmine was already there, tote bag hugged to her chest.
She looked between them. "Oh?"
"Arnold Oehlers," Hidayah said easily. "Archery."
"Jasmine Choo," she replied, extending her right hand to him. "Choir."
He nodded. "Nice."
The bus arrived.
They took seats near the back.
"So," Jasmine said later, leaning closer to Hidayah. "New friend?"
"Yes."
Arnold pretended not to hear.
The bus rolled on, city lights blurring past the windows.
Hidayah leaned back, bow case resting securely beside her.
Combat and stillness.
Movement and breath.
Old skills, used carefully.
New friendships, formed cleanly.
This life wasn't repeating itself.
It was unfolding.
Exactly as it should.