Fridays always felt lighter.
Not because the week was over — there were still things to do, things to think about — but because the pressure loosened its grip just enough for people to breathe.
For Hidayah, Fridays meant archery.
And archery meant calm.
The sports hall hummed with familiar energy as training wrapped up.
The last arrows were retrieved. Equipment packed away. Conversations drifted easily, no one in a rush to leave just yet.
Hidayah wiped her hands on her towel before carefully unstringing her bow. Her Win & Win recurve went back into its case, each piece returned to its place with quiet precision.
Arnold hovered nearby, rolling his shoulders.
"I swear my left arm is going to fall off one day," he complained.
"You say that every week," Hidayah replied without looking up.
"And one day I'll be right."
Jasmine laughed from the side, choir bag slung over her shoulder. "At least you still look alive."
"Barely," Arnold sighed dramatically.
They stepped out of the sports hall together.
The sky had deepened into a soft indigo, lights flickering on across campus. Students streamed past them in clusters, laughter rising and falling as the week wound down.
Hidayah checked her phone.
A message blinked on the screen.
Dad: Outside already.
She smiled.
"My dad's here," she said. "He's fetching us today."
Arnold stopped short. "Eh? Luxury."
Jasmine grinned. "He does that sometimes."
Arnold nodded easily. "No worries. I'll catch the bus."
"Text when you get home," Jasmine called after him.
"Always," Arnold replied, already turning away.
Hidayah watched him go for a moment.
There was no guilt.
No awkwardness.
Just routine.
Everyone had their own way home.
Kamari's car waited near the pick-up point, hazard lights blinking softly.
Hidayah spotted it immediately.
Her father leaned slightly out of the driver's seat when he saw them, offering a small wave.
"Training finish?" he asked as they climbed in.
"Yes," Hidayah replied. "Archery today."
Kamari nodded.
Jasmine buckled her seatbelt. "Thank you for the ride, Uncle."
He smiled warmly. "No problem. Long week."
The car pulled smoothly out of campus.
Inside, the air-conditioning hummed quietly, the comfort immediate. The road ahead stretched familiar and unhurried.
Jasmine leaned back against the seat, sighing. "I'm so tired."
Kamari chuckled. "Friday tired is the best kind."
Hidayah watched the city pass by through the window, the glow of streetlights reflecting faintly against the glass.
This felt right.
They talked lightly on the way home.
Choir mishaps. Archery jokes. Plans for the weekend. Nothing heavy. Nothing urgent.
Just life.
At a red light, Kamari glanced at his daughter through the rearview mirror.
"You enjoying school?"
"Yes," Hidayah replied without hesitation.
He nodded once, satisfied.
When they reached Jasmine's block, Kamari slowed the car.
"Thanks again, Uncle," Jasmine said as she opened the door.
"Rest well," he replied.
She waved as the car pulled away.
The rest of the ride was quiet.
Not awkward.
Comfortable.
Hidayah rested her head lightly against the seat, exhaustion settling into her bones in a gentle way.
Kamari drove steadily, the city unfolding ahead of them.
He didn't ask too many questions.
He didn't need to.
As they reached home, Hidayah felt something settle firmly in her chest.
A sense of safety.
Of being carried forward instead of dragged along.
This life had room.
And this time—
She wasn't walking it alone.