The campus felt different that Friday.
Louder.
From early afternoon, booths had begun appearing across Republic Polytechnic. Uniformed officers moved with purpose, banners unfurled neatly, display boards aligned with military precision.
MINDEF had arrived.
Posters about National Service lined the walkways. Tables showcased different departments—Army, Navy, Air Force, Home Team units. Students drifted in curious clusters, some joking nervously, some genuinely interested.
The atmosphere buzzed with energy that felt… heavier than usual.
Khairul Asri adjusted the strap of his field uniform and scanned the area.
The Special Operations Force booth stood slightly apart from the others. No flashy displays. No loud music. Just clean lines, clear information, and officers who carried themselves with quiet authority.
He preferred it that way.
He had been stationed here since morning.
Observing.
Listening.
Noticing.
He had noticed her earlier.
During Break 2.
W6 canteen had been crowded, lunchtime chatter echoing off concrete walls. Khairul stood off to one side, meal untouched, speaking quietly with another officer.
And then—
He saw her.
Jeans. T-shirt. Hair tied back. Sitting across from another girl, posture relaxed but alert, hands moving as she spoke.
She laughed softly at something her friend said.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't careless.
It was… genuine.
Khairul's gaze lingered longer than necessary.
Not because she was beautiful—though she was—but because of the way she carried herself. Like someone grounded. Like someone aware of her surroundings without being guarded.
He looked away eventually.
But he remembered her.
By the time archery training ended, the sky had darkened. Hidayah adjusted the strap of her bow case over her shoulder, muscles pleasantly sore. Jasmine stretched beside her while Arnold rolled his neck, groaning dramatically.
"I swear, one day my shoulders are just going to resign," Arnold complained.
"You say that every week," Hidayah replied.
"And one week I'll be right."
They laughed as they stepped into the main event space.
Lights glowed warmly. Booths stood illuminated. Voices overlapped in excited bursts as students wandered through, stopping to read, ask questions, take pamphlets.
It felt festive.
Almost distracting.
They were halfway through the aisle when it happened.
A sudden jolt.
Hard.
The strap slipped from Hidayah's shoulder.
Her bow case hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Silence seemed to fall around her.
"Oh—!"
A voice cut through.
"Sorry—!"
Hidayah froze.
Her heart slammed once against her ribs.
She looked down at the fallen case, breath held, fingers already reaching instinctively.
A shadow fell over her.
Before she could kneel—
Someone else already had.
Khairul picked up the bow case carefully. Too carefully for someone who didn't understand its importance.
He checked the edges. The seams. The impact point.
Then he looked up.
And met her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said firmly. "That was my fault."
His voice was calm. Controlled. Not rushed.
Hidayah swallowed. "It's okay. I should've—"
"No," he cut in gently. "I wasn't watching my surroundings."
He handed the case back with both hands.
"Is it damaged?"
She took it, fingers tightening slightly as she checked the latch. Relief washed through her when it held.
"I don't think so."
Khairul nodded once. "That's great to hear."
His gaze lingered for half a second longer than professionalism required.
He recognised her.
Arnold blinked between them. "Wah… that one almost gave me an heart attack."
Jasmine exhaled. "Same."
Khairul straightened, posture instantly formal.
"I'm really sorry," he repeated. "Please let me know if there's any issue."
Hidayah met his gaze again.
"Thank you," she said softly.
And meant it.
"That guy's intense," Arnold muttered as they moved on.
"Military lah, confirm regular…," Jasmine whispered back.
Hidayah didn't respond.
Her heart was still beating a little faster than usual.
She felt it before she heard it.
A presence approaching from behind.
"Hidayah."
She stopped.
Turned.
Michael stood there.
Too close.
"I saw that," he said. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied.
He glanced at the bow case. "You should be more careful. That thing's expensive, right?"
Something in his tone rubbed wrong.
"It's handled," she said calmly.
Michael frowned. "I'm just saying—"
"You don't need to," she interrupted gently.
He stepped closer anyway.
"You know, you don't have to be so guarded all the time."
That was the wrong thing to say.
Khairul's voice cut in sharply.
"Is there a problem?"
They both turned.
Khairul stood beside them now, presence solid, unmistakable. His gaze was level. Assessing.
Michael stiffened. "No. Just talking."
Khairul's eyes flicked to Hidayah.
"Are you uncomfortable?"
The question was direct.
Professional.
And for the first time, someone had asked it without assumption.
Hidayah inhaled.
"Yes," she said.
Michael's face flushed. "What? I didn't—"
"That's enough," Khairul said calmly.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Just final.
"This is a public event. Please respect personal space."
Michael stared at him, pride warring with instinct.
Then he scoffed lightly. "Whatever."
And walked away.
Silence followed.
Khairul turned back to Hidayah immediately.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
He hesitated, then added, "If anything was damaged earlier, please come to the SOF booth. I'll make sure it's addressed."
She smiled faintly. "I appreciate that."
Their eyes met again.
This time, neither looked away immediately.
"Come on," Jasmine murmured, tugging lightly at Hidayah's sleeve.
They walked on.
But something had shifted.
Behind them, Khairul watched her go.
The way she held herself.
The way she didn't crumble under discomfort.
The way she spoke calmly, clearly, without apology.
He exhaled slowly.
Interesting.
Further back, Michael stood near another booth, jaw clenched.
For the first time—
He felt it.
He wasn't losing her.
He never had her.
As the night deepened, the campus lights glowed brighter.
And somewhere between uniforms and banners, impact and intervention—
A new path quietly opened.