The invitation came without ceremony.
It arrived as a simple message from Ms Poh—brief and precise—asking if Hidayah could drop by the school one afternoon the following week. No explanation, no urgency. Just a time and a familiar location: the SJAB room tucked along the quieter end of the Northland Secondary compound.
Hidayah read it while sitting cross-legged on her bed, her phone in one hand, a half-eaten packet of Marie biscuits in the other.
She blinked at the screen.
Read it again.
Then frowned slightly—not in worry, but in mild, thoughtful confusion.
"Huh."
She glanced out of her room toward the living room, where the usual afternoon chaos was unfolding at a respectable volume.
Aishah and Afidah were in the middle of a very intense argument about the television.
"It is my turn!" Aishah insisted, standing in front of the screen with her arms spread wide like a human barricade. "You chose yesterday!"
"That was because you were doing homework," Afidah shot back. "And also, the charger was on the floor. That means it belongs to the universe."
"The universe does not own my charger!"
"Then why was it abandoned like an orphan?"
Hidayah snorted.
"Why are you two always fighting like the world is ending?" she called out.
"Because it is ending!" Aishah yelled back. "She stole my charger!"
"I rescued it!" Afidah corrected.
Muhammad, sitting on the floor with a comic book, didn't even look up. "Can the universe please be quieter?"
Hidayah laughed, shook her head, and looked back at her phone.
She typed her reply.
Yes, Ms Poh. I'll be there.
Sent.
She set the phone down and lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily above her.
She didn't speculate. Not immediately.
These days, she found she no longer enjoyed overthinking the future the way she used to. After months of exams, waiting, and results, her mind felt… done with unnecessary suspense.
Whatever it is, she thought, I'll find out when I get there.
Aishah suddenly appeared at her doorway.
"Are you busy?" she asked suspiciously.
"Define busy."
"Can you tell Afidah to stop being a criminal?"
"Define criminal."
"She took my charger."
Hidayah sat up. "Where was it?"
"On my bed."
Afidah's voice floated from the living room. "It was on the floor near her bed!"
"That is still my bed area!"
Hidayah sighed, the long-suffering sigh of an elder sister who had been mediating disputes since childhood.
"Okay, both of you. New rule," she said, standing. "If it touches the floor, it belongs to the universe. If you don't want the universe to have it, put it somewhere proper."
"That's not fair," Aishah protested.
"That's consequences," Hidayah replied.
Muhammad snorted.
They eventually retrieved the charger, peace was temporarily restored, and Hidayah returned to her room, only to find Afidah sitting on her bed, flipping through her notebook.
"Eh," Afidah said. "Kak Dayah is free now, right? No more school. No more exams. No more suffering."
"Don't jinx it."
"So what was that message just now?"
"From Ms Poh."
Afidah's eyes lit up. "SJAB Ms Poh?"
"Yes."
"Ooooh. Are you being recruited into some secret elite unit?"
"I doubt SJAB has a secret elite unit."
"You never know."
Hidayah smiled. "She just asked me to go back to school."
"For what?"
"I don't know."
Aishah leaned in from the door. "Are you in trouble?"
"I don't think so."
Muhammad finally looked up. "Are you getting a medal?"
"Probably not."
"Then what's the point?" he asked.
Hidayah laughed and gently flicked his forehead.
"Go read your comic."
That night, at dinner, her mother noticed her quieter-than-usual expression.
"What are you thinking about? So hard?," Azizah said mildly.
"Ms Poh asked me to go back to school next week."
Her father looked up. "Anything wrong?"
"I don't think so."
Her mother smiled. "Then there is no need to worry."
That, Hidayah thought, was very on brand for her family.
The following week, she returned to Northland in the late afternoon.
The school felt strange without its usual noise—no bells, no students rushing past, no teachers calling out reminders. The corridors echoed softly beneath her footsteps. Sunlight streamed through high windows, turning the polished floors into long, golden paths.
She passed the canteen and smiled faintly. It felt impossible that just months ago, this place had been loud, chaotic, and full of exam stress.
Now, it felt like a museum of her own memories.
She walked past her old classroom and slowed, peeking inside. The desks had been rearranged. The whiteboard was blank. For a moment, she imagined Jasmine sitting there, tapping her pen and whispering commentary under her breath.
Hidayah shook her head, amused.
At the SJAB room, she paused.
Straightened her hijab.
Then knocked.
"Come in," Ms Poh called.
Inside, everything looked exactly the same—and somehow, that made her feel oddly comforted.
"Hidayah," Ms Poh said, looking up and smiling. "You're early."
"Habit," Hidayah replied sheepishly.
Ms Poh laughed. "Sit. You don't have to stand at attention anymore, you know."
"Give me some time to unlearn that," Hidayah said, and they both smiled.
They talked first about small things—how her results were, how her family was, and what she planned to do during the break. Only after that did Ms Poh lean back slightly and say,
"I didn't call you here to talk about the past."
Hidayah's posture shifted, attention sharpening.
"I'm offering you the opportunity to continue with SJAB," Ms Poh said evenly, "as a Cadet Officer-in-Training."
Hidayah blinked.
Just once.
She didn't gasp. She didn't freeze. But her brain definitely took a second to catch up.
"Me?" she asked, then immediately felt silly. "I mean—yes. I mean—I know you mean me. I just—"
Ms Poh smiled. "Relax. You're not in trouble."
"That's usually when I get called in," Hidayah said.
"True," Ms Poh admitted.
They both laughed.
Then Ms Poh grew more serious—but never unkind.
"You're steady," she said. "You don't panic. You don't show off. And when juniors mess up, you don't make them feel small. You make them better."
Hidayah felt her ears warm slightly.
"I just… do what needs to be done."
"Exactly," Ms Poh said. "That's why I'm asking."
They spoke about training, responsibilities, and time commitment. Ms Poh didn't sugarcoat anything.
"This is work," she said plainly. "It's not a title. It's service."
Hidayah nodded. That part, she understood deeply.
"I don't need an answer today," Ms Poh added, sliding a folder across the desk. "Read this. Think about it. Talk to your family."
"Can I ask something?" Hidayah said.
"Of course."
"If I say no… will you be disappointed?"
Ms Poh considered her carefully, then said gently, "No. I'd only be disappointed if you said yes for the wrong reasons."
That stayed with her.
On the way home, Hidayah stopped for bubble tea after fetching Muhammad from school.
He insisted.
"You owe me," he said. "You made me imam that day."
"You did great," she said.
"I was terrified," he replied proudly.
At home, when she explained everything, her parents listened without interrupting