He's Not An Ordinary Customer

Chapter 7 : The Routine of Him

Human beings were creatures of habit. Yira understood that better than most people. Every morning, she tied her hijab the same way before leaving for work. Every shift began with checking attendance systems, replying to overnight emails, and reorganizing schedules that other people somehow always managed to ruin. Even her coffee orders rarely changed. Life became easier when routines stayed predictable. Safer. That was why Tengku Syazir Muzhir unsettled her so badly. Because without permission, he had slowly inserted himself into her routines. And Yira hated how naturally it happened.

By the third week, his presence inside Titan Core Fitness had become almost impossible to ignore. Not because he was loud — although he certainly could be — but because he carried the kind of energy that occupied spaces effortlessly. People noticed him. The trainers greeted him like an old friend. New gym members watched him with subtle admiration. Even older clients seemed strangely fond of him despite his irritating confidence. And unfortunately, Syazir seemed to spend an unreasonable amount of time near the reception counter lately. At first, Yira convinced herself it meant nothing. Perhaps the lounge area nearby was colder. Perhaps the WiFi signal was stronger there. Perhaps the universe simply enjoyed tormenting her specifically. But after several nights of catching him sitting across from the counter long after finishing his workouts, she finally accepted the truth. He liked being near her. The realization should have annoyed her more than it did. Instead, it left behind a strange nervousness she refused to examine too closely.

That evening, the gym atmosphere felt calmer than usual. Rain had driven away most late-night members, leaving only scattered conversations and the low hum of treadmills filling the building. Yira sat behind the reception desk reviewing monthly reports while soft jazz played faintly through the speakers overhead. For once, no one was demanding her attention.

No complaints or emergencies. Just silence. And somehow, Syazir still appeared. He arrived carrying two iced coffees in one hand and his gym bag slung lazily over his shoulder. His hair remained slightly damp from showering, and exhaustion softened the sharper edges of his usual confidence. Without asking, he placed one of the drinks carefully beside her keyboard.

Yira looked up immediately. “I didn’t order anything.”

Yazir : “I know.”

Yira : “That’s suspicious.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You looked tired yesterday.”

The simplicity of the answer caught her off guard. Not flirtation. Not teasing. Just observation. And somehow, that affected her more than any compliment could have. Yira stared quietly at the iced coffee for several seconds before finally accepting it with a reluctant murmur of thanks. Syazir only nodded before settling into the lounge chair across from the counter like this had already become familiar territory between them. Which, disturbingly enough, it had. The hours passed quietly afterward. He scrolled through his phone occasionally. She completed reports. Sometimes customers interrupted the silence briefly before disappearing again into the night. And yet the atmosphere never felt awkward. That was the dangerous part. Yira had spent years mastering distance. She knew how to keep people politely separated from her real thoughts, real emotions, real exhaustion. But Syazir kept bypassing those walls in the smallest ways possible.

A cup of coffee. A lingering presence after midnight. The instinctive way he noticed when she skipped meals or looked overwhelmed. None of it should have mattered. Yet somehow, it did. Near closing time, Yira removed her glasses briefly and pressed her fingers against her tired eyes. The fluorescent lights had started giving her headaches hours ago. Across from her, Syazir noticed immediately. Again. He always noticed. Something unreadable flickered across his expression before he stood quietly from his seat. “I’ll head out first.” Yira nodded faintly. For reasons she refused to analyze, the thought of the gym suddenly felt emptier the moment he picked up his bag. But just before leaving, Syazir paused near the counter. And then, with the kind of casual gentleness that had become uniquely his, he pushed a small packet toward her across the desk.

Painkillers. “For the headache,” he said softly.

Then he left before she could properly respond. The automatic doors closed behind him, allowing rain-cooled air to slip briefly into the gym before silence settled once more. Yira stared at the medicine packet for a very long time afterward. Her chest felt strangely tight. Not because of romance. Not yet. But because people had rarely cared about her quietly before. And Tengku Syazir Muzhir, despite entering her life like chaos wrapped inside expensive perfume and infuriating smiles, was beginning to care in the gentlest ways possible. Which, somehow, felt far more terrifying than being disliked.