The next few days slipped by in a strange kind of calm.
No more whispers.
No more paper traps.
No more smug looks from Hafiz and his gang.
It was almost... too quiet.
Azril didn't trust it.
Still, he went about his days the way he always had — head down, focus sharp, patience worn like armor.
Classes blurred into one another.
Tests, assignments, drills.
The usual grind of school life.
But under it all, a tension hummed.
A storm waiting to break.
Friday afternoon, just as the last bell rang, Iman caught up to him at the shoe racks.
"You walking home?" she asked, tossing her bag over her shoulder.
Azril nodded, slipping on his sneakers.
"Good," she said. "You're buying me nasi lemak. I saved your reputation this week just by existing."
Azril gave her a sideways look.
"Saved me? How exactly?"
Iman grinned.
"Distraction, lah. They were too busy being scared I'd knock them out."
Azril chuckled under his breath.
"Yeah... sure."
They made their way through the crowd, the late afternoon sun pressing heavy on their backs.
At the edge of the school gate, a shadow peeled off from the wall.
Hafiz.
And two of his usual followers — Kamal and Rizwan.
Azril felt Iman tense beside him.
He kept walking, slow and steady, as if he hadn't seen them.
But Hafiz stepped into their path, arms folded, an ugly smile curling his mouth.
"Leaving already, hero?" he said loudly enough for others nearby to hear.
Some of the students slowed, pretending to tie their shoelaces, pretending not to listen.
Azril met Hafiz's gaze without flinching.
"Move," he said, voice even.
Hafiz laughed, but there was a crack in it — a nervous edge.
"You think you're better than us just because you know big words? Because you can act all holy?"
Azril said nothing.
Silence was sometimes heavier than any punch.
Iman shifted, about to say something, but Azril gently touched her wrist — a small warning.
Not yet.
Not here.
"Scared to fight?" Hafiz taunted.
"No," Azril said finally, his voice low. "I'm not scared."
He stepped forward, and for the first time, Hafiz actually took a step back.
Azril didn't raise his fists.
Didn't even clench them.
He just looked.
And Hafiz saw something he hadn't expected.
A kind of calm.
A kind of power.
Something stronger than rage.
Stronger than fists.
Azril leaned in just slightly, voice barely above a whisper.
"One day," he said, "you'll understand that winning a fight isn't the same as winning."
Then he stepped around them, Iman following close behind.
No more words.
No need.
The crowd slowly dissolved as they walked away, the weight of the moment hanging thick in the air.
Later, at a rundown kopitiam near the edge of town, they sat at a plastic table under a flickering light.
Iman tore into her nasi lemak like a soldier back from war.
Azril picked at his food, still feeling the heat of the earlier encounter burning in his chest.
"You know," Iman said around a mouthful of sambal, "I don't get it."
Azril raised an eyebrow.
"Why not just fight them? It'd be easier. Quicker."
Azril sipped his teh ais before answering.
"Maybe," he said. "But easy isn't always right."
He leaned back, watching the night gather outside the shop — the stars hidden behind heavy clouds.
"Where I come from," he said softly, "fights don't end when you throw the last punch."
Iman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, frowning thoughtfully.
"And what ends them?"
Azril smiled faintly.
"Forgiveness."
Iman snorted.
"Sounds fake."
"Maybe," Azril said. "But it's real to me."
For a while, they ate in silence, the sounds of clinking plates and soft conversations filling the space between them.
Outside, thunder rumbled far away.
A warning.
A promise.
Azril felt it settle deep in his bones.
The storm was still coming.
And when it broke...
He would be ready.
[End of Chapter 7]