By the time Hidayah stepped out of the classroom, the afternoon had settled into a quieter rhythm.
The hum of conversation faded behind her as the glass doors closed softly, cutting off the world of discussions, presentations, and half-formed ideas that had filled the room for most of the day. Her shoulders relaxed the moment she stepped into the corridor, the tension she hadn't realised she was carrying easing little by little.
She adjusted the straps of her backpack and headed toward the South Library entrance, her footsteps steady and unhurried.
Classes were over.
Not just for the day — but for the first day of her second life.
The thought lingered with her as she walked, not dramatic or overwhelming, but present in a way that made everything sharper. The sound of shoes against tiled floors. The cool air of the corridors giving way to the warmth outside. The late-afternoon light reflecting off glass and steel.
She reached the library entrance and stopped, leaning lightly against the pillar beside the doors.
Students passed by in loose clusters, conversations overlapping as they dissected the day — facilitators, confusion, expectations. Some looked energised, others drained. Everyone looked like they were still figuring things out.
Hidayah checked her phone.
No new messages.
She smiled faintly, slipping it back into her pocket just as a familiar voice called her name.
"Dayah!"
Jasmine waved as she approached, her tote bag bouncing lightly against her hip. She looked a little tired now, but her eyes were bright, the nervous energy from the morning replaced with something looser and more comfortable.
"Sorry, again," Jasmine said as she reached her. "I swear my facilitator talks forever."
"It's fine," Hidayah replied. "I just got here too."
They fell into step naturally, turning toward the main road that led to the bus stop. There was no need to discuss where they were going or how — this part of the day had always belonged to them.
The walk was short and practical. No lingering, no detours. Just the shared understanding that the day was done, and home was waiting.
"So," Jasmine said, nudging her lightly with her elbow, "first official day as a poly student. How does it feel?"
Hidayah considered the question.
"Like my brain ran a marathon," she said. "But also like… it was kind of interesting."
Jasmine laughed. "That's exactly it. I kept waiting for someone to tell us what to write, and then realised no one was going to."
"That part doesn't change," Hidayah said.
Jasmine shot her a look. "You say that very confidently."
Hidayah smiled but didn't respond, choosing her silence carefully.
The bus stop came into view just as Bus 169 pulled up, its familiar number flashing brightly.
"Perfect timing," Jasmine said.
They boarded together, tapping their cards and moving instinctively toward the back. There were a few empty seats near the window, and they took them without discussion — Jasmine by the aisle, Hidayah by the window.
As the bus pulled away, the campus slipped out of view, replaced by the steady rhythm of the road.
Jasmine leaned back, exhaling dramatically. "I'm exhausted."
"You didn't even do anything yet," Hidayah teased.
"I did a lot of thinking," Jasmine protested. "That should count."
Hidayah laughed, the sound surprising her with its ease.
In her first life, she couldn't remember the last time laughter had come so naturally.
"So your dad's sending us tomorrow again, right?" Jasmine asked.
"Yeah," Hidayah said. "Same time. Same place."
"Good," Jasmine replied. "Because I'm not ready to fight public transport this early in the semester."
Hidayah nodded. "Me neither."
They watched the scenery pass for a moment, the bus swaying gently as it moved through traffic.
"By the way," Jasmine said, lowering her voice slightly, "you sure you were okay having lunch with your classmates today?"
Hidayah glanced at her. "Yeah. Why?"
"No reason," Jasmine said quickly. "I just thought you'd want to stick together on the first day."
"I did," Hidayah admitted. "But I also didn't want to hide in our comfort zone."
Jasmine hummed thoughtfully. "That's very… mature of you."
Hidayah raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I'm usually not?"
"A little," Jasmine grinned. "But in a good way."
They both laughed.
The bus slowed as it approached a junction, stopping briefly before continuing on.
"Honestly though," Jasmine said, resting her chin on her hand, "poly feels very different from secondary school."
"It is," Hidayah agreed. "No one's watching over you all the time."
"That's the scary part," Jasmine added. "And the nice part."
Hidayah nodded.
In her first life, she had struggled with that freedom — had tied herself too tightly to people who filled the silence instead of learning to sit with it.
This time, she would do better.
"You know what I'm most worried about?" Jasmine asked suddenly.
"What?"
"Group work," Jasmine said. "I already feel like someone in my class is going to disappear the moment things get hard."
Hidayah smiled wryly. "That happens."
Jasmine groaned. "You're not reassuring me."
"But you learn how to manage it," Hidayah continued. "And you learn when to step up, and when to step back."
Jasmine studied her again, curiosity flickering across her face. "You talk like you've done this before."
Hidayah shrugged lightly. "Maybe I've just thought about it a lot."
The bus rolled on, passing familiar streets as the sky began to soften into evening tones. The late-afternoon heat had mellowed, the air carrying the promise of rest.
They stood as the bus neared Yishun, gathering their things.
As they stepped off, Jasmine stretched her arms above her head. "Okay. I need food."
"Same," Hidayah said.
They walked together for a short distance, the residential blocks around them familiar and grounding.
"At least if I mess up today, no one will remember."
Hidayah smiled. "That's one way to look at it."
They reached the point where their paths split, slowing slightly.
"See you tomorrow morning," Jasmine said.
"See you," Hidayah replied.
They parted with a casual wave, each turning toward their own home.
Hidayah walked the rest of the way alone, the sounds of the neighbourhood wrapping around her like a familiar blanket.
When she reached her door, she paused briefly before unlocking it.
For the first time that day, she allowed herself to think it clearly, without fear or superstition:
This life doesn't need to be dramatic.
It just needs to be lived well.
She stepped inside.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.