Alone Time
Chapter 12 – Alone Time
They didn’t plan it.
If they had planned it, Belle would have backed out.
Because the thought of alone time with Aleem–real alone time, not “ABIX in the next room,” not “everyone within texting distance”–made her nervous in a way she couldn’t categorise.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Something warm and dangerous.
A wanting that made her feel guilty.
Because she was still healing.
Because Aleem had been her anchor.
Because anchors weren’t supposed to become… this.
But winter had a way of making everything quieter.
And in quiet, feelings had space to grow.
The morning in Sapporo started with Crystal shouting in the hotel room like the sun was personally late.
“BELLE! WAKE UP! WE HAVE AGENDA!”
Belle blinked awake, disoriented, the heater humming softly, her skin still dry from the cold.
Crystal was already dressed in a beige coat and a fluffy hat, cheeks pink with excitement.
“This is my snow era,” Crystal announced.
Belle rubbed her eyes. “It’s 7.30.”
Crystal gasped. “Japan time is different. We must seize.”
Belle sat up slowly.
Her body felt heavy.
Not sadness.
Just… winter.
From the other bed, Belle could hear Ivan’s voice faintly through the wall–Crystal’s voice carried, Ivan’s did not.
“Crystal, please stop screaming. It’s morning.”
Crystal shouted back through the wall as if the hotel was a shared flat. “It’s winter! Everyone is already awake! The snow is awake!”
Ivan’s reply was muffled but unmistakably tired. “Snow is not a conscious entity.”
Belle exhaled, a small smile forming.
Normalcy.
Even here.
Belle went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.
Her reflection looked… different.
Not prettier.
Not glowing.
Just less hollow.
Her eyes still held grief, but it was no longer the only thing living there.
She brushed her teeth, then stared at her lips.
The thought came again, soft and persistent.
I want to tell him.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
No.
Not today.
Not ever.
But her mind didn’t stop.
Because something had shifted.
Since the day she laughed.
Since the day she returned to work.
Since the day she touched snow and Aleem had quietly handed her warmth.
She felt… alive.
And being alive meant feeling.
Breakfast was at a small café near the station.
Warm wood, quiet jazz, pastries in a glass case.
Crystal insisted on taking photos of everything.
“Look, look, the croissant looks like it was baked by angels,” she whispered.
Ivan stared. “Croissants are made by humans.”
Crystal glared. “You don’t have to be like this.”
Aleem ordered a simple breakfast–toast, coffee–then sat down, scanning the café like he was taking inventory.
Not suspicious.
Just attentive.
Belle ordered hot chocolate because it felt like winter in a cup.
They ate.
Crystal talked.
Ivan corrected.
Aleem listened.
Belle watched.
At one point, Crystal leaned forward and said, “Okay, today we go Otaru. Canal. Glass shops. Vibes.”
Ivan nodded. “We leave by 10. Train schedule is–”
Crystal interrupted, “We do not need schedule in Japan. Japan is schedule.”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not how it works.”
Aleem looked at Belle. “You okay with walking a lot?”
Belle hesitated.
Then she answered honestly. “Maybe… breaks.”
Aleem nodded. “Okay. We’ll take breaks.”
No fuss.
No complaint.
Just adjustment.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Signals.
The train to Otaru was quieter than the airport train.
The windows showed more snow now–thicker patches, rooftops dusted white, narrow roads edged with ice.
Crystal kept making excited sounds every time she saw a particularly pretty cluster of houses.
Ivan wore a look of resigned tolerance.
Aleem sat across from Belle, scarf tucked neatly, gaze calm.
Belle tried not to look at him.
She failed.
Every time the train rocked slightly, the movement made her aware of her own body.
Of her own breath.
Of the fact that she wasn’t numb anymore.
Her phone buzzed.
Her mother.
Eat properly ah. Don’t just take photo.
Belle smiled faintly.
She typed:
Okay. Going Otaru today.
Her mother replied quickly:
Okay. Cold? Wear more.
Okay.
Always.
A rope.
Belle slipped her phone back into her pocket.
Her gaze drifted to Aleem again.
He was looking out the window, not scrolling, not restless.
Just… being.
Belle’s chest felt strange.
Steady.
Otaru was prettier than Belle expected.
Not in an Instagram way.
In a quiet way.
The canal ran through the town like a memory–old warehouses turned into cafés, gas lamps lining the water, snow gathered along the edges.
The air was colder here.
And the cold made the world feel honest.
Crystal squealed the moment they reached the canal.
“Oh my god. This is like movie. Belle, take photo of me.”
Ivan sighed. “Why do you need fifty photos of the same pose?”
Crystal gasped. “Because I am iconic.”
Aleem stood a little back, watching the canal.
Belle watched him.
He looked peaceful.
Not happy in a loud way.
Just… calm.
Crystal shoved her phone into Belle’s hand and dragged Ivan to pose.
“Couple photo,” Crystal announced.
Ivan froze. “We’re not a couple.”
Crystal grinned. “Then act like colleagues. Colleagues also can stand side by side.”
Ivan muttered, “This is workplace harassment.”
Crystal laughed and tilted her head sweetly.
Belle held the phone, trying to frame them.
Then she realised Aleem had stepped closer quietly.
“Want me to take?” he asked.
Belle blinked. “Huh?”
Aleem reached for the phone, but paused.
“Can?” he asked again, softer.
Permission.
Always.
Belle nodded.
Aleem took the phone carefully.
Crystal and Ivan posed.
Crystal forced Ivan to do a half-heart.
Ivan looked like he wanted to file a complaint.
Aleem took the photo, expression neutral.
Then he handed the phone back to Belle.
No lingering.
Proper.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She hated how that simple exchange made her feel warm.
They walked through glass shops.
Snow crunched under boots.
Bell chimes rang softly when they entered stores.
Crystal bought tiny trinkets–glass stars, little charms.
Ivan pretended to judge but kept following.
Aleem bought nothing.
He watched.
Belle thought he was bored.
Then she saw him pick up a small glass paperweight–a clear sphere with a pale blue swirl inside.
He held it up to the light.
The swirl looked like frozen water.
Aleem stared at it for a beat.
Then he put it down and walked away.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She didn’t know why.
Maybe because it looked like something he would keep.
Something quiet.
Something steady.
But he didn’t.
Because he didn’t take things carelessly.
Even souvenirs.
Proper.
They ate lunch at a small seafood place.
Crab.
Grilled scallops.
Hot soup that warmed Belle’s fingers through the bowl.
Crystal talked with her mouth full.
Ivan scolded her.
Aleem ate quietly, occasionally nodding.
Belle tried to eat without thinking.
But then Crystal said, “Okay, after this, we go that famous cheesecake shop.”
Ivan checked his phone. “Queue will be long.”
Crystal grinned. “We have time. We are healing.”
Ivan looked at Belle. “You okay with queue?”
Belle hesitated.
Crowds.
Waiting.
Time to think.
Her chest tightened.
Aleem’s voice cut in gently. “If not, we can split. Crystal can queue with Ivan. We can find a café nearby and wait.”
We.
The word landed.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
Crystal’s eyes widened immediately.
“OH,” Crystal said loudly, too loudly. “Yes! Great! Ivan and I queue. You two go café. Romantic.”
Ivan’s head snapped. “Crystal.”
Crystal held up both hands, grinning. “What? I’m just logistics.”
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
She glanced at Aleem.
His expression remained calm, but his ears looked slightly pink.
He didn’t scold Crystal.
He didn’t fluster.
He just said, evenly, “It’s just to avoid crowd.”
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Crystal clapped her hands. “Okay! Done! Bye!”
Ivan sighed deeply, like he had been drafted into a war.
“Text if anything,” Ivan said to Belle, serious.
Belle nodded.
Crystal grabbed Ivan’s sleeve and dragged him toward the queue, still talking.
“Come, come. We suffer together. That’s love.”
Ivan muttered, “That’s not love.”
Crystal yelled back, “Love is suffering!”
Their voices faded into the street.
And suddenly, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Belle stood beside Aleem on the snowy sidewalk.
The air felt colder.
Not because the temperature changed.
Because ABIX was gone.
The café Aleem found wasn’t fancy.
It was small.
Warm.
The kind of place that smelled like butter and coffee and wood.
A tiny bell chimed when they entered.
Only a few tables were occupied.
A couple sat in the corner, speaking softly.
An old man read a newspaper.
Outside the window, snow drifted lazily.
Not falling hard.
Just… floating.
Belle’s chest tightened.
This was too cinematic.
Too intimate.
Aleem walked to the counter and turned to Belle.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Belle blinked, startled by the simple question.
Choice.
Again.
“I… hot latte,” she said.
Aleem nodded. “Okay.”
He ordered for himself too–black coffee.
When he paid, Belle reached for her wallet.
Aleem shook his head. “It’s okay. I offered café.”
Logic.
Rule.
Proper.
Belle sat at a table by the window.
Aleem sat opposite.
Not beside.
Not too close.
Space.
Respect.
Belle stared out at the snow, trying to slow her heartbeat.
She could hear the faint clink of cups.
The soft hiss of the coffee machine.
Her own breath.
Too loud.
Aleem’s coffee arrived.
Then Belle’s.
The latte art was simple–just a leaf.
Belle stared at it as if it held answers.
Aleem didn’t speak first.
He waited.
Always.
Belle swallowed.
Her chest tightened.
She didn’t know why her body felt like this.
She had been through heartbreak.
She had cried until she couldn’t breathe.
Why did this feel more terrifying?
Because this required risk.
Because this required wanting something again.
Belle’s fingers tightened around her cup.
Aleem’s voice came softly, careful.
“You okay?”
Belle blinked.
She forced herself to answer honestly.
“I… feel weird,” she admitted.
Aleem nodded slowly. “Because alone?”
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze lowered briefly.
He didn’t look uncomfortable.
But he looked… cautious.
Proper.
He took a sip of coffee.
Then he said, quietly, “We can leave if you want. Join them in queue.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
The offer was an escape.
And the fact that he offered it made her feel safer.
Safer enough to not take it.
“No,” Belle said, surprising herself with the firmness. “It’s okay.”
Aleem’s eyes softened slightly. “Okay.”
They sat in silence.
Outside, snow drifted.
Inside, warmth hummed.
And Belle’s thoughts began to gather.
Not grief.
Something else.
She remembered the way Aleem counted her breaths during her panic attack.
The way he sat in her doorway at night without crossing the line.
The way he asked permission.
The way he never took advantage.
The way he stayed “proper.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Because suddenly, she saw it clearly:
Aleem hadn’t just been kind.
He had been intentional.
Respectful.
Boundaried.
As if he was guarding something sacred.
Her.
Not her body.
Her dignity.
Belle’s eyes burned.
She lowered her gaze to her cup.
Her heart beat fast.
She whispered, almost to herself, “I don’t know how to do this.”
Aleem looked up immediately. “Do what?”
Belle’s throat tightened.
The moment she named it, she couldn’t take it back.
But she also couldn’t keep carrying it.
Not after weeks of being held.
Not after feeling her own life return.
Not after realising that the quiet ache in her chest wasn’t grief anymore.
It was a pull.
Belle inhaled shakily.
“Aleem,” she said softly.
He held her gaze.
“Yeah?”
Belle’s fingers tightened around her cup.
Her voice came out smaller than she wanted.
“I think…”
She stopped.
The words stuck.
Humiliating.
She tried again.
“I think I… like you.”
The café felt like it stopped breathing.
Aleem froze.
Not in a dramatic way.
In a way that looked like his brain had paused to recalibrate.
His hand stilled around his cup.
His eyes didn’t widen.
But the stillness in him sharpened.
Belle’s chest tightened instantly with regret.
She rushed, voice trembling, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– I know it’s messy. I know I’m still healing. I know you’ve just been–”
Aleem lifted his hand again, stopping her without touching.
“Belle,” he said softly.
His voice was steady.
But there was something new in it.
Shock.
Care.
Caution.
Belle’s eyes burned.
Her throat tightened.
She whispered, “I didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want to… use you. Or confuse kindness for something else. But I’ve been watching myself. And it’s not just gratitude.”
Her voice cracked.
“I think about you,” she admitted, quiet and raw. “I notice you. I feel calm with you. And it scares me.”
Aleem’s jaw flexed.
He looked down for a moment.
A long moment.
As if he was steadying himself.
Belle’s hands trembled.
Her heart hammered.
This was the most vulnerable thing she had done since the breakup.
More vulnerable than crying.
Because crying didn’t ask for an answer.
This did.
Aleem finally looked up.
His gaze was gentle.
And heavy.
“Belle…” he began.
Then he stopped.
He exhaled slowly.
The breath looked like it hurt.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Thank you.
Not yes.
Not no.
Just… thank you.
Aleem continued, voice careful, “I didn’t expect that.”
Belle swallowed.
Her cheeks burned.
Aleem’s gaze stayed on her, steady.
“I need to be honest with you,” he said softly.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Aleem looked down briefly, then back up.
“I’m… surprised,” he admitted. “And I don’t want to respond wrongly.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Wrongly?” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice remained calm, but there was a weight behind it now.
“Yeah,” he said. “Because you’re important. And because… this is not small.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
She nodded weakly. “Okay.”
Aleem swallowed.
He chose his words like he chose his steps–careful, measured.
“Can you give me time?” he asked.
The sentence landed softly.
Not rejection.
Not acceptance.
A pause.
Time.
Belle’s chest tightened.
But it also… steadied.
Because of the way he asked.
Not a demand.
A request.
Proper.
Belle nodded, tears rising. “Yes. Of course.”
Aleem’s gaze softened further.
“Thank you,” he said again.
Belle swallowed.
She tried to smile.
It came out shaky.
“I’m sorry if I made it weird,” she whispered.
Aleem shook his head immediately. “You didn’t. You were honest.”
Honest.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Aleem’s eyes lowered briefly, as if he was looking for the right next step.
Then he said quietly, “I just… need time to think properly.”
Properly.
The word echoed.
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem exhaled.
“Okay,” he replied.
They sat in silence again.
But it was a different silence now.
Outside, snow drifted.
Inside, Belle’s chest hurt.
Not like heartbreak.
Like exposure.
Like she had opened a door and now the air was rushing in.
She stared at her latte.
The leaf in the foam had collapsed.
The art was gone.
Only coffee remained.
Warm.
Bitter.
Real.
When Crystal finally texted:
QUEUE DONE. CHEESECAKE ACQUIRED. WHERE ARE YOU LOVE BIRDS
Belle’s cheeks burned.
Aleem’s phone buzzed too.
He glanced at the message, then looked up.
His expression was calm again, but his eyes carried the aftershock.
“We should go meet them,” he said softly.
Belle nodded.
She stood, legs slightly shaky.
Aleem stood too.
He didn’t reach for her.
He didn’t touch her sleeve.
He didn’t guide her by the elbow.
Proper.
But he stayed close enough that if she stumbled, she wouldn’t fall far.
At the café door, Aleem paused.
He looked at Belle.
His voice was low. “Thank you for telling me.”
Belle swallowed. “Okay.”
Aleem nodded once.
Then they stepped out into the cold.
Snow hit Belle’s eyelashes in tiny flecks.
The world looked the same.
Otaru canal.
Gas lamps.
People walking.
But Belle felt different.
Because she had spoken the truth.
Because Aleem had asked for time.
Because the future had just become uncertain again.
Not because it was broken.
Because it was open.
As they walked toward the cheesecake shop, Belle’s phone buzzed again.
Her mother.
Everything okay?
Belle stared at the message.
Her fingers hovered.
One word.
One bridge.
Belle typed:
Okay.
She hit send.
Then she slipped the phone away and kept walking.
Beside her, Aleem’s steps matched hers.
Not rushing.
Not pulling.
Just… beside.
And in the cold, Belle realised that even in uncertainty, there was a strange comfort.
Because he hadn’t taken advantage.
He hadn’t rejected her carelessly.
He had asked for time.
To answer properly.
The snow kept drifting.
Soft.
Patient.
Like the story itself.