When It Broke
Chapter 1 – When It Broke
Singapore didn’t do silence.
Even on weekday nights, the city hummed–MRT brakes in the distance, someone’s TV bleeding through thin walls, scooters whining past a void deck, a lift chime that sounded like a doorbell you couldn’t answer. The air itself seemed busy, warm and wet, the kind that clung to your skin like an opinion.
Isabelle Tan sat in the back of a Grab, her phone heavy in her palm like it had a pulse.
She had been staring at the same message for so long the screen had dimmed twice.
We need to talk. I’m outside.
No emojis. No “babe.” No softened edges.
A part of her–a rational part that usually handled emails, deadlines, family group chats–thought: This is just a talk.
Another part of her, the one that had spent months colour-coding wedding spreadsheets, the one that knew the exact shade of off-white her dress was supposed to be, whispered: This is the talk.
Her fingers hovered over the reply. She typed Okay, deleted it. Typed Where are you?, deleted it. Typed nothing.
The Grab driver’s radio was on low. A cheerful deejay’s voice floated out like someone laughing in the wrong room.
“Miss, can go right?” the driver asked at the junction.
Belle blinked. “Sorry–yes, right.” Her voice sounded normal. That was the strange part. Everything inside her felt like it was leaning forward into a fall, but her mouth still knew how to behave.
Proper, she heard in her head–someone else’s word, as familiar as a refrain.
She had no idea she was already borrowing it.
By the time she reached the carpark behind the condominium, the rain had started again.
Not a storm. Just Singapore rain–insistent, unbothered, a steady curtain that made the world slick and reflective. Her sandals slapped wet concrete as she hurried under the shelter. The lobby lights made everything look too clean.
He was there.
Her fiancé–Jason, with the same neat haircut he always got before important dates, the same watch she had gifted him last Christmas. He stood with his arms folded, shoulders tight, eyes fixed on the ground like he was bracing himself.
Belle stopped a few steps away.
For a second, she thought about the last time she had stood like this in a carpark. Different one, older, back when they were still university kids and he had chased after her because she was upset over nothing–some silly misunderstanding, some small pride. He had grabbed her wrist then, laughing, saying Eh, come on lah. Don’t like that.
He didn’t laugh now.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hi.”
The rain was loud.
He swallowed. “Can we talk?”
Her throat felt dry. “You said you’re outside. So… yes.”
He flinched, just slightly, like the bluntness hit him. “Belle… I–”
She waited. Her brain had shifted into a mode she didn’t recognise. Not calm. Not numb. More like… watching. Like someone had placed her behind glass.
He looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed, not crying but tired. “I don’t think I can do this.”
The sentence was so ordinary it didn’t fit what it meant.
Belle frowned, genuinely confused for a beat. “Do what?”
He exhaled. “Us. The BTO. The wedding… everything.”
Her heart didn’t shatter. It didn’t do anything dramatic.
It simply stopped believing.
“You’re joking,” she said.
Jason shook his head. “I’m not.”
Belle’s fingers tightened around her phone until her knuckles ached. “Jason. We’ve paid the deposit. We already told our families. We’ve–”
“I know.” His voice cracked on the last word. He pressed a hand to his face. “I know, I know, I know. That’s why I’ve been… trying. But the more we plan, the more I feel trapped. And it’s not fair to you.”
Trapped.
That word swam in her mind like something poisonous.
“You feel trapped by… me?”
“No, not you.” He stepped closer, then stopped himself, hands hovering in the air like he didn’t know where to put them. “Not you as a person. You’re good. You’re… you’re honestly the best person I know. But I–”
“But you don’t want to marry me.”
The rain hit the roof harder, as if it was reacting.
Jason’s shoulders fell. “I don’t think I’m the right person for you.”
Belle laughed.
It came out wrong–sharp, short, like a cough.
“You’re saying this now? After… after we chose the flat? After we booked everything?”
“I kept telling myself it’ll get better,” he said, voice pleading now. “That it’s just stress. But Belle, I wake up and I feel… dread. And then I look at you and I feel guilty because you’re excited, you’re trying so hard, you’re so sure. I’m not sure.”
Belle’s stomach rolled. “So what. You’re just… cancelling?”
Jason’s mouth twisted. “I’m not cancelling you. I’m… ending it.”
Her ears rang.
She waited for something else–an explanation with a villain, a third party, a mistake that could be corrected.
“Is there someone else?” she asked, because the mind will always reach for a reason it can fight.
Jason’s eyes widened. “No. No, Belle, no.”
“Then why?”
He looked away. “I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like an asshole.”
Belle took a step back. The concrete under her feet was wet; she felt the slip and adjusted automatically.
Proper.
Even her body was trying to be proper.
She stared at him. “So you’d rather be an asshole and do it anyway.”
Jason winced. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry.
Another ordinary word. Another blunt object.
Belle’s vision blurred, not from tears–she wasn’t crying yet–but from the sudden need to blink hard to keep the world steady.
“Do your parents know?” she asked.
He hesitated. That was answer enough.
“I told my mum I’m not ready,” he said. “She… she cried. My dad said I’m selfish. Maybe he’s right. But I can’t–”
“Okay.”
The word slipped out of Belle’s mouth before she understood it.
Jason stared at her, startled.
She nodded like she was agreeing to a meeting time. “Okay. You’re not ready. So you’re leaving.”
“Belle–”
She raised a hand, stopping him. It felt like she was controlling the scene from outside herself.
“Don’t touch me,” she said quietly.
Jason froze.
Belle’s throat tightened. She tried to swallow and felt it fail.
The ring on her finger–simple, tasteful, the one she had insisted didn’t need to be big–glinted under the lobby light like it was mocking her.
Her fingers moved on their own.
She slid it off.
The skin beneath was pale where it had been protected.
She held it out.
Jason didn’t take it.
For a second she wanted to throw it at his face, to hear it clang and bounce and disappear into a drain. But anger required energy. She had none.
“Take it,” she said.
He stepped forward, finally, and his fingertips brushed her palm.
Her hand flinched.
Jason’s eyes watered. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
Belle’s mouth opened.
She wanted to say a thousand things–How dare you, What did I do, I built a future with you, I introduced you to my grandmother, I chose paint colours with you, You promised.
Instead, her voice came out small and strange.
“Can you… can you just go?”
Jason looked like he might argue. Then he nodded, slow.
He tucked the ring into his pocket, as if it was fragile.
Then he turned and walked away.
Just like that.
Belle stood under the shelter and watched his back disappear into the rain.
For a moment, she waited for the universe to correct itself.
It didn’t.
Her knees buckled.
She caught herself against a pillar, breath sharp, fingers gripping cold concrete.
And then the glass inside her cracked.
She didn’t remember how she got home.
She remembered the lift smell–someone’s curry, someone’s laundry powder. She remembered fumbling for her keys. She remembered the way her unit felt too bright when she turned on the lights, like the room didn’t know it was supposed to be grieving.
Then she was on the floor of her bedroom with her back against the bedframe, still wearing damp clothes.
Her phone buzzed.
Her mother.
Then again.
Her father.
Then the group chat.
ABIX 🏸🔥
Crystal: BELLE WHERE ARE YOU
Ivan: You ok?
Aleem: You home?
The last message made her chest tighten.
Aleem always asked questions like that. Not what happened first. Not why didn’t you tell us.
Just: You home?
Safe.
Belle stared at the screen until her eyes hurt.
Her fingers typed: I’m home.
Then: It’s over.
Then she threw her phone onto the bed like it had burned her.
The first sob came from somewhere deep, ugly and involuntary.
It shocked her with its violence. Her body folded in on itself.
She hugged her knees and made a sound she had never heard herself make.
Outside, someone’s laughter floated up from the corridor.
Inside, something ended.
The knock came twenty minutes later.
Belle didn’t answer.
Another knock. Then a third, firmer.
“Belle,” Crystal’s voice called through the door, already half-panicked, half-angry. “Open the door. Don’t play.”
Belle squeezed her eyes shut.
She couldn’t move.
Her phone buzzed again.
Aleem: We’re outside. Open, okay?
Okay.
Why did that word feel like a hand on her shoulder, steady?
Belle dragged herself up. Her legs felt like someone else’s. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve and nearly laughed at the uselessness of it.
She unlocked the door.
Crystal surged in first.
She was wearing slippers and a hoodie, hair tied up messily, eyes already shiny with fury. “Where is he?” she demanded, as if she could hunt him down like a creature.
Behind her, Ivan stepped in with two plastic bags–one looked like it held drinks, the other food. He had that calm face he always wore when things were on fire.
And then Aleem.
He entered last, closing the door gently. He was in simple dark jeans and a plain tee, hair neat even in rain. He held an umbrella, dripping on the tile, and a small pack of tissues like it was an offering.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Aleem’s eyes scanned her–quick, careful. Not in a way that felt invasive. More like he was reading a situation the way people read traffic.
He said, softly, “Hi.”
Her mouth trembled. “Hi.”
Crystal’s face changed when she looked at Belle properly. Fury collapsed into something else.
“Aiyo,” she breathed, and then she was hugging Belle, hard.
Belle froze.
The hug was warm, human, too real.
Her body betrayed her again.
She cried into Crystal’s shoulder, messy, loud.
Crystal rubbed her back like she was trying to physically wipe the pain away. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re here. You hear me? We’re here.”
Ivan set the bags down on the dining table with quiet efficiency. He pulled out a cold bottled drink, a cup of warm soy milk, and a packet of nasi lemak like he had already decided Belle needed calories whether she agreed or not.
Aleem didn’t crowd them.
He took off his shoes neatly at the entrance–always–and moved the dripping umbrella into the bathroom so it wouldn’t flood the floor. Then he returned and stood a few steps away, hands at his sides, posture neutral.
Proper.
That word again, and this time Belle understood it wasn’t just a habit. It was a choice.
Crystal finally loosened her grip and looked at Belle’s face, fierce. “Tell me his location.”
Belle tried to laugh and it turned into a sob.
Ivan sighed. “Crystal.”
“What?” Crystal snapped. “I just want to talk.”
“Your ‘talk’ is usually assault,” Ivan said.
“It’s not assault if he deserves it.”
Aleem cleared his throat softly, an interruption that didn’t feel like a scolding. “Crystal. Let’s sit first.”
Crystal glared. “Aleem, don’t ‘proper’ me right now.”
Ivan blinked. “Did you just–”
Belle laughed again, this time a tiny, broken sound.
Crystal’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh! She laughed. Okay good. That means she not dead.”
Belle’s laugh turned into another wave of tears.
Crystal immediately softened again. “Okay okay. Sorry. Bad joke.”
Aleem moved then, not fast. He approached the sofa, pulled a cushion forward, and placed it behind Belle without touching her, like he was setting up a place for her body to be held.
“Sit,” he said quietly. Not a command. A suggestion wrapped in care.
Belle let herself be guided by gravity.
She sat.
Crystal sat beside her, legs folded, ready to become a human shield.
Ivan perched on the coffee table like an uncle during CNY visiting–present, attentive, trying not to overwhelm.
Aleem sat on the single chair opposite them, angled slightly, giving Belle space.
No one spoke for a full minute.
The silence wasn’t empty. It was crowded with things they were choosing not to say yet.
Finally, Ivan asked, gently, “What happened?”
Belle stared at her hands.
There was a pale strip of skin on her ring finger.
Her breath stuttered.
“He… he ended it,” she said.
Crystal’s jaw clenched so hard Belle heard it.
Ivan’s face went still.
Aleem’s eyes lowered, a brief closing of something in him. He didn’t react loudly. He just… absorbed it.
“Just like that?” Ivan asked.
Belle nodded. The motion felt too small for the scale of what it meant.
“He said he’s not ready,” she whispered. “He said he feels trapped. He said… he feels dread when he wakes up.”
Crystal let out a sound that was half growl. “Wah. So dramatic. Then don’t propose in the first place lah.”
Belle flinched.
Crystal caught it immediately. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at him. I just–” Her voice broke. “You planned so much.”
Belle pressed her palm to her chest like she could hold her heart in place.
“I thought… I thought we were almost there,” she said. “We were… building.”
Aleem’s voice came quietly from across. “Did he say anything else?”
Belle blinked at him.
She realised he wasn’t asking for gossip. He was asking for the shape of the wound.
She swallowed. “He said I’m… good. That I’m the best person he knows.”
Crystal scoffed. “Classic coward line.”
Ivan shot Crystal a look.
Crystal held up her hands. “Okay okay. Continue.”
Belle’s throat tightened. “He said he’s not the right person for me.”
“Then he’s right,” Ivan said, calm but firm.
Belle stared at him, startled.
Ivan leaned forward a little. “Not because you’re not enough. Because someone who can do this to you this late… is not right. That’s it.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
Crystal sniffed. “Ivan suddenly become wise uncle.”
“I am,” Ivan deadpanned.
A tiny smile tugged at Belle’s mouth and died.
Then the grief surged again.
Belle covered her face.
She cried until her chest hurt.
Crystal wrapped an arm around her again, less tight this time, like a seatbelt.
Ivan slid the warm soy milk closer, wordlessly.
Aleem didn’t say “don’t cry.” He didn’t say “be strong.” He didn’t offer motivational quotes.
He just sat there and stayed.
The way he stayed–still, steady, unafraid of her mess–made something inside Belle loosen. Like her body finally accepted: You are not alone.
When the crying slowed, Belle’s phone buzzed on the bed.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Ivan glanced at the screen from where he sat. “Your mum.”
Belle’s stomach twisted.
She pictured her mother’s face–worry first, then panic, then the desperate need to fix. Belle wasn’t ready.
Aleem spoke softly. “You want me to answer? Just tell her you’re with us?”
Belle lifted her head, eyes swollen. “Can you?”
Aleem paused. “Only if you’re okay with it. I won’t say more than you want.”
Proper.
Again, that word.
Belle nodded.
Aleem stood, picked up her phone carefully like it was glass, and answered.
“Auntie,” he said.
Belle heard her mother’s voice through the speaker–high, sharp with fear. “Aleem? Where is Belle? What happened? She texted something–”
Aleem’s tone remained calm. “She’s here with us. She’s safe. She’s… upset, but she’s not alone.”
A pause. Then her mother’s voice softened into something that sounded like it was trying not to break. “Can I talk to her?”
Aleem looked at Belle.
Belle shook her head, small.
Aleem said, “Auntie, she’s still crying. Maybe later. I promise she will call when she can.”
Another pause.
Belle heard her father’s voice in the background, lower, steady: “Ask if she eaten.”
Aleem’s gaze flicked to Belle again, and something like understanding passed between them.
He spoke into the phone. “Uncle asked if she ate. We brought food. She will eat a bit.”
Auntie’s breath caught. “Tell her… tell her don’t lock herself inside. Tell her come home if she wants. Or we come there. Anything. Just tell her–”
Her father’s voice, clearer now: “Okay. Tell her okay.”
That word.
Okay.
Belle’s eyes filled again.
Aleem repeated it gently into the phone, as if handing it over carefully. “Uncle said… okay. He said it’s okay. He just wants you safe.”
Belle pressed her fist to her mouth.
Her mother murmured, “Okay. Okay. Thank you, Aleem. Thank you.”
Aleem ended the call and placed the phone back on the bed where it had been, like he was returning it to its rightful place.
He came back and sat.
No one made a big deal of the call.
But Belle felt the way her father’s “Okay” landed inside her like a small anchor.
Not permission to be fine.
Permission to not be fine.
Ivan opened the nasi lemak.
The smell of coconut rice filled the room, warm and familiar.
Crystal pushed it into Belle’s hands. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Belle whispered.
“I don’t care,” Crystal said, eyes fierce again. “You eat two bites. I will count.”
Ivan nodded. “Two bites. Then later one more.”
Belle looked at them, then at Aleem.
Aleem didn’t join the pressure. He just said, softly, “You can start with small.”
Small.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She took the spoon.
The first bite tasted like ash.
The second bite tasted like something that would keep her alive.
Crystal watched her like she was guarding a candle from wind.
Ivan reached for the drinks and arranged them in a line like a battlefield strategy.
Aleem’s gaze stayed low, respectful, but present.
Belle ate another bite without being told.
Crystal exhaled like she had been holding her breath.
“Good,” she said. “See. Your body still know what to do.”
Belle’s lips trembled.
She didn’t trust her voice.
They stayed late.
Not in a dramatic way. Not with speeches.
They stayed like people who understood that grief was not a single event–it was a tide.
Crystal turned on a random variety show for background noise, then got angry at the jokes and muted it.
Ivan took Belle’s laptop and, without asking too many questions, closed the wedding tabs that were still open in her browser. He didn’t delete anything. He just… tucked it away.
Aleem went to the kitchen and washed the cups they used, movements quiet, precise. When he returned, he placed a fresh cup of warm water near Belle.
“Drink,” he said gently.
Belle obeyed.
At some point, Belle’s body began to shake with fatigue.
Crystal noticed first. “She’s crashing.”
Ivan checked the time. “It’s almost midnight.”
Crystal looked at Belle. “You want us to stay?”
Belle’s panic flared at the thought of being alone.
But she also felt the weight of being watched.
She didn’t know what she wanted.
Aleem spoke before she could spiral. “We can stay until you sleep.”
Belle blinked. “But–”
“Ivan can sleep anywhere,” Crystal said. “He’s basically a cat.”
Ivan looked offended. “Cats are picky.”
“I can sleep on the floor,” Crystal added. “I don’t care.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She had never needed people like this before.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
There it was again.
Okay.
Not a promise.
A lifeline.
They set up camp in her living room like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Crystal took the sofa like she owned it.
Ivan pulled an extra pillow from Belle’s guest room and lay on the rug with the ease of someone who had survived many late-night group projects.
Aleem–proper to the bone–didn’t enter Belle’s bedroom. He didn’t even hover near the corridor.
He stood near the living room door and asked, “Do you want the lights off?”
Belle hesitated. Darkness felt scary.
But light felt too real.
“Can… can leave one lamp,” she said.
Aleem nodded. “Okay.”
He turned off the main lights, leaving only the warm pool from the standing lamp in the corner.
The room softened.
Belle sat on the floor with her back against the sofa, knees drawn to her chest.
Crystal’s hand rested on her head, fingers combing through her hair gently like Belle was a little sister.
Ivan’s breathing slowed into sleep.
Aleem remained awake, sitting on the dining chair angled toward them–not staring, not guarding in an obvious way. Just present.
Belle watched him through blurred eyes.
His profile was still, clean-cut, careful.
He wasn’t her person.
Not like that.
But right now, in the wreckage, he was the shape of steadiness.
Belle’s eyelids grew heavy.
Her last coherent thought was a bitter, fragile truth:
I don’t know how to be a person without that future.
But beneath it, softer, quieter, another truth tried to form:
At least I’m not alone while I learn.
Somewhere near the window, rain continued to fall.
Singapore didn’t do silence.
But it did, sometimes, offer company.
And in the warm half-light of the living room, with ABIX breathing around her like a circle of shelter, Belle finally let herself slip into sleep.
Not healed.
Just held.