Wednesdays were long.
Not heavy. Just long.
By the time Hidayah's Silat training ended, the sky outside the sports hall had already darkened. Sweat clung to her skin, muscles warm and pleasantly sore as she bowed with the rest of the group before dispersing.
She grabbed her towel and bag, heading straight for the showers.
The hot water hit her shoulders, washing away the grit of training, the echo of movement still humming faintly through her limbs. She let herself stand there for a moment longer than usual, breathing slow, grounding herself.
By the time she emerged, hair damp and tied back, the sports hall had quieted.
And Jasmine was waiting.
She sat on one of the benches near the entrance, choir bag at her feet, scrolling through her phone with practiced patience. When she looked up and spotted Hidayah, her face brightened immediately.
"Finally," Jasmine said, standing. "I thought you decided to do extra rounds or something."
Hidayah smiled. "Coach was in a mood today."
"When is he not?" Jasmine laughed.
They fell into step easily as they walked out together, the night air cool against their skin.
This was routine now.
Wednesday nights like this.
Michael stood a short distance away, talking with a teammate near the far side of the sports complex.
He wasn't waiting.
At least, that was what he told himself.
But when his gaze drifted and landed on them—Hidayah and Jasmine walking side by side—he paused mid-sentence.
The way they moved together was effortless.
Jasmine leaned in to say something. Hidayah laughed softly, head tilting toward her without thinking.
Whatever space existed between them wasn't empty.
It was full.
Michael hesitated.
Then, against better judgment, he stepped forward.
"Hey."
Both girls slowed.
Hidayah turned first, expression calm. "Yes?"
Michael cleared his throat. "You done with training?"
"Yes," she replied simply.
Jasmine smiled politely. "She just finished. I was waiting."
"Oh," Michael said. "Right."
He glanced at Hidayah. "I was thinking… maybe we could—"
"We're heading home," Hidayah said gently, cutting in before the sentence could finish.
Not dismissive.
Just clear.
Jasmine shifted slightly closer to her without meaning to.
Michael nodded slowly. "Yeah. Okay. See you."
"Good night," Hidayah replied.
And that was that.
They walked on.
The distance between them and the sports hall growing with every step.
Jasmine waited until they reached the bus stop before speaking.
"That rugby guy again?"
"Yeah."
"You okay with that?"
Hidayah nodded. "I am."
And she was.
The bus ride home was familiar and comforting.
They found seats near the back, bags resting against their legs as the bus pulled away from campus. Outside, streetlights blurred past, the city easing into night.
"I'm starving," Jasmine declared. "Northpoint?"
Hidayah didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Northpoint was lively but welcoming.
They walked through the automatic doors, air-conditioning a welcome contrast to the humidity outside. Familiar shops glowed warmly, weekday crowds flowing steadily around them.
They settled at a casual place without much discussion.
Menus barely mattered.
Conversation did.
Choir practice stories mixed with Silat complaints.
A wrong note here. A missed step there. Laughter over small frustrations that felt big in the moment and insignificant once spoken aloud.
At one point, Jasmine paused, studying Hidayah over her drink.
"You feel different lately," she said.
"Different how?"
"Calmer," Jasmine replied. "Like you're… settled."
Hidayah thought about it.
About her first life.
About mistakes she hadn't known were mistakes until it was too late.
"I think I am," she said softly.
Jasmine smiled.
Later, as they walked home under quiet streetlights, Hidayah felt the truth of it settle deeper.
She wasn't running.
She wasn't waiting.
She was just living.
Back near the sports hall, Michael stood alone longer than he needed to.
He replayed the moment.
Not the rejection.
But the ease with which she walked away.
With someone else.
With no hesitation at all.
And for the first time, he understood—
The space between them wasn't something he could close.
Because she had already chosen what filled it.