Morning light filtered through the curtains in a soft, steady glow.
Hidayah woke before the alarm rang.
Her eyes opened instantly, awareness sharp and immediate, her body already braced for the day. There was no panic this time, no disorientation — only the quiet certainty that yesterday had been real.
She reached for the BlackBerry Pearl beside her pillow.
Monday, 16 April 2007.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, then let out a slow breath.
Second chance.
Today wasn't just her first day in Republic Polytechnic — it was the first ordinary morning she'd been given back after dying.
She got out of bed and moved through her room with calm efficiency. Jeans. A simple t-shirt. Comfortable, familiar. Her long reddish-brown hair was tied up neatly, just as she preferred it. No fuss, no overthinking.
Downstairs, breakfast was already set.
Her father was standing by the dining table, keys in hand, glancing at his watch.
"Dayah," he said, "call Jasmine and let her know we're heading out in ten minutes."
"Okay," Hidayah replied easily, pulling out her phone.
Hidayah sent a quick text.
Hidayah: We're leaving in 10.
Almost immediately, a reply came in.
Jasmine: Okay! I'm ready.
Breakfast was brief and unceremonious — toast, coffee, a few casual reminders to take care. No heavy advice. No emotional speeches.
Just another weekday morning.
Except Hidayah felt every second of it settle into her bones.
-
Jasmine was already waiting downstairs when the car pulled up.
She slipped into the back seat easily, dressed in a light summer dress and black ballet flats, a tote bag resting at her feet. Her hair was loose, framing her face as she greeted Hidayah's parents politely.
The drive to Republic Polytechnic was smooth and familiar.
They'd been here before — for registration, for campus orientation, for briefings. The novelty had already worn off. What remained was anticipation, not awe.
Hidayah watched the road pass by quietly, fingers loosely intertwined in her lap.
In her first life, this ride had meant nothing.
Now, it felt like a threshold.
The car stopped at the Republic Polytechnic Centre, where students were already streaming in from all directions. Young adults with backpacks slung over their shoulders, laptops secured inside, their faces a mix of confidence and nerves.
Her father pulled over smoothly. "Text me when you're done later," he said.
"We will," Hidayah replied.
They stepped out together, adjusting their bags themselves — no parents hovering, no awkward goodbyes.
"Well," Jasmine said, exhaling slightly, "this is where we split."
"Yeah," Hidayah said. "W3 for me."
"E2," Jasmine replied. "See you later!"
They exchanged a quick hug, then turned and headed in opposite directions.
No lingering. No hesitation.
Just forward movement.
-
The walk toward W3 was steady and unhurried.
Hidayah moved with the flow of students, passing familiar pathways. The campus felt different when she walked it alone — quieter, more focused.
Her waterproof laptop backpack rested comfortably on her shoulders, the weight of her Alienware Aurora mALX reassuring inside.
She reached her classroom a few minutes early.
Students were already seated in loose clusters, laptops open, conversations flowing easily.
Hidayah chose a seat midway into the room, setting her bag down and taking out her laptop. She didn't rush to speak. Instead, she observed.
Names floated around her. Diplomas. Where people lived. What they were expecting from poly life.
No one knew what they're doing yet, she thought calmly. Good.
At exactly 8:30 a.m., the door opened.
A man entered with confident, efficient strides, heading straight to the facilitator's table at the back of the classroom. Without ceremony, he connected his laptop to the system. Cables clicked into place.
The lights dimmed slightly.
A PowerPoint slide appeared on the wall in front of them.
Fundamentals of Customer Experience
"Good morning," he said, turning to face the class. "I'm Chris Thomas. You can call me Mr. Thomas."
The room quieted.
"This week is orientation," Mr. Thomas continued. "Which means today isn't about content mastery. It's about understanding how this module runs, how discussions work, and what I expect from you in this classroom."
Hidayah leaned back slightly, attentive.
He spoke about participation, about observation, about learning through dialogue rather than instruction. He didn't overwhelm them with systems or deadlines — only framed the mindset.
"You'll feel uncertain," he said plainly. "That's intentional. You're not here to be spoon-fed."
Some students nodded. Others frowned slightly.
Hidayah felt a spark of quiet excitement.
This was where she thrived.
At 9:30 a.m., Break 1 was announced.
Students turned toward one another almost immediately, conversations shifting naturally toward introductions. Hidayah exchanged names with her tablemates, listening more than she spoke.
Her phone vibrated.
Jasmine: Lunch together at 11:30?
Hidayah looked at the screen, thumb hovering briefly before she typed.
Hidayah: No. I think I'll have lunch with my classmates today. But let's meet after school at the South Library Entrance to go home together.
She hit send and slipped her phone away.
It wasn't avoidance.
It was intention.
-
The rest of the morning passed in a haze of explanations and tentative discussions.
No one truly understood what "good participation" looked like yet. Ideas were half-formed, sentences unfinished. And that was fine.
At 11:30 a.m., the class dispersed for lunch.
Hidayah followed her classmates toward the E1 canteen, the warm air and familiar smell of food greeting them as they entered. Fans whirred overhead, trays slid across counters.
She ordered something simple and sat with her group.
The conversation was awkward at first, then gradually loosened — people sharing why they chose their diplomas, what they were worried about, what they hoped poly life would be like.
Hidayah contributed sparingly, but when she spoke, people listened.
At 1:30 p.m., they returned to the classroom.
This time, laptops opened with purpose.
Slides were drafted. Ideas debated. Roles tentatively assigned. No one dominated, but no one faded entirely either.
At 2:00 pm, presentations began.
Each group took turns presenting what they had discussed. Some stumbled. Some spoke too quickly. Some forgot their points halfway through.
Mr. Thomas listened closely.
After the final group, he presented last — not to correct them, but to frame the discussion properly. Calm. Clear. Grounded.
By the time he dismissed the class, the afternoon light had shifted, casting long shadows across the room.
"That's all for today," he said. "I'll see you next week."
Hidayah closed her laptop and slid it back into her bag.
As she stood, adjusting the straps on her shoulders, a quiet certainty settled in her chest.
This time, she wasn't drifting into her future.
She was walking into it with her eyes open.