Michael didn't ask immediately.
That, in itself, was unusual for him.
Normally, if something caught his attention, he went straight for it—asked directly, joked his way in, tested the waters without overthinking. That confidence had always worked in his favour.
But this time, something held him back.
Friday afternoon found him leaning against the railing outside the sports hall, towel draped around his neck, rugby bag at his feet. Training had ended early, leaving him with time and an unfamiliar restlessness.
"She from Silat one ah?"
Michael glanced up.
One of the juniors had been talking to someone else, but the question lodged itself in his head.
"No," Michael said suddenly.
The junior blinked. "Huh?"
Michael frowned. "The girl yesterday. Jeans. Ponytail. Eats at W6 canteen."
The junior's face lit up. "Ohhh. That one."
Michael waited.
"She's not rugby lah. And not Silat-only either," the junior continued. "Archery also."
"Archery?" Michael echoed.
"Yeah. Friday evenings. Sports diploma people see her quite often. Damn steady."
Steady.
Michael rolled the word around in his mind.
"Name?" he asked casually, like he didn't care.
"Hidayah," the junior replied. "Year One."
Michael nodded once.
And that was it.
He didn't ask for more.
Didn't follow.
Didn't look her up.
But for the rest of the afternoon, the name stayed with him.
Hidayah arrived at the sports hall just after four.
Fridays always felt lighter.
There was something about archery days that grounded her differently from Silat. Less explosive. More focused. The world narrowed to breath, posture, alignment.
She changed quickly, pulling her hair into a secure ponytail before opening her locker.
Inside lay her bow case.
She unzipped it carefully.
Her Win & Win recurve bow gleamed faintly under the fluorescent lights, familiar and comforting. This wasn't borrowed equipment. It wasn't school-issued.
It was hers.
The grip fit her hand perfectly. The weight balanced just right.
This was not a beginner's setup.
And anyone who knew archery would notice.
"Eh, Hidayah!"
Arnold waved from across the range, already stringing his bow.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, perpetually cheerful. Sports diploma. Year One like her, but with the easy confidence of someone who'd grown up around competition.
"You early today," he said as she approached.
"Didn't want to rush," she replied, laying her case down.
Arnold glanced at her bow, whistling softly. "Still impressed every time."
She smiled faintly. "You say that every week."
"Because it's still true," he shot back.
Others drifted over.
A senior adjusting her stabiliser. Another student comparing arrow tips. A junior shyly watching from the side, clearly new.
This was her circle.
Small.
Focused.
Comfortable.
Training began with warm-ups.
Shoulders rolled. Backs stretched. Fingers flexed slowly as strings were checked and rechecked.
When Hidayah lifted her bow, the noise of the hall faded.
She set her stance.
Feet grounded.
Spine aligned.
Breath steady.
She drew.
The bowstring came back smoothly, anchor point precise. Her release was clean, almost effortless.
The arrow flew.
Straight.
True.
Thunk.
Near the gold.
A few heads turned.
"Nice shot," someone murmured.
Hidayah lowered her bow calmly.
No grin.
No celebration.
Just quiet acknowledgment.
Arnold grinned for her. "See? I tell you. Still steady."
She shot him a look. "Focus."
"Yes, ma'am," he laughed.
Michael stood near the edge of the hall.
He hadn't planned to be there.
He told himself he was just waiting for his friends.
But his eyes kept drifting.
And finding her.
She was different here.
Not laughing.
Not casual.
Every movement was controlled. Purposeful. Like she belonged exactly where she stood.
This wasn't someone trying something new.
This was someone returning to something familiar.
Michael watched as she adjusted her grip slightly, correcting the junior beside her with a quiet word, demonstrating patiently before stepping back.
Leadership without noise.
Confidence without display.
His chest tightened in a way he didn't expect.
"Hidayah!"
Jasmine's voice cut through the air as she appeared near the entrance, choir bag slung over her shoulder.
Hidayah turned immediately.
Her expression softened.
"You're done already?"
"Yeah," Jasmine replied. "Thought I'd come watch a bit."
Arnold waved cheerfully. "Friday trio complete."
Jasmine laughed. "As usual."
Michael watched the interaction unfold.
Easy.
Unforced.
A dynamic already formed.
Something he wasn't part of.
Training wrapped up as the sky darkened outside.
Equipment was packed away. Goodbyes exchanged. Plans made casually for next week.
Hidayah slung her backpack on, bow case secured carefully.
She looked content.
Grounded.
Alive in a way Michael couldn't name.
As she walked past him on the way out, their eyes met again.
Just briefly.
This time, Michael nodded.
A small acknowledgment.
Hidayah returned it.
Polite.
Neutral.
Nothing more.
The bus ride home was loud and familiar.
Jasmine talked about choir practice. Arnold complained about sore shoulders. Someone laughed too hard at nothing.
Hidayah leaned back against the seat, watching streetlights blur past.
Her life was filling in.
Slowly.
Properly.
With people who knew her now.
Not who she would become.
Behind them, back on campus, Michael stood alone for a moment longer than necessary.
Hidayah.
He said the name quietly to himself.
And for the first time, he wondered—
What if this time, he was the one arriving late?