Aleem’S Dilemma
Chapter 13 – Aleem’s Dilemma
Aleem did not sleep.
Not because his body refused.
Because his mind refused him the mercy of silence.
Back in the hotel room, Ivan had already knocked out–head tilted slightly, blanket pulled up to his chest, phone facedown like he was tired of being a responsible person.
Aleem lay on the other bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
The heater hummed.
Outside, winter pressed against the glass.
And somewhere in the middle of the day–between ramen and glass shops, between Otaru’s quiet canal and a warm café window–Belle had said something that rearranged everything.
I think I… like you.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t a confession with tears and music.
It was honest.
And honesty was heavier than drama.
Aleem exhaled slowly.
He could still see her hands tightening around her cup.
The way she looked down like she was ashamed of wanting.
The way her voice trembled, but she still said it.
He remembered the first week after her breakup.
Belle’s eyes unfocused.
Her mouth too quiet.
Her body existing like it didn’t want to.
He remembered sitting on her living room floor, just outside the doorway, because he refused to cross into her room.
Proper.
He remembered counting her breaths when she forgot how.
He remembered the way her fingers shook when she tried to hold a mug.
And now–now–she had offered him something that could be tender.
Or dangerous.
Or both.
Aleem turned his head slightly.
Ivan’s breathing was steady.
The room was dark.
But Aleem felt like someone had switched on a harsh light inside him.
Because he wanted to say yes.
The truth sat in him like a hot stone.
He wanted to say yes.
But wanting was not the only thing that mattered.
If wanting was all that mattered, his life would be easier.
He could take the warmth.
Take the relief.
Take the sweetness of being chosen.
But then he would be a different kind of man.
Not the kind he had trained himself to be.
Not the kind his faith demanded.
Not the kind Belle deserved.
Aleem swallowed.
Proper.
He had to do this properly.
And proper meant thinking past his own hunger.
Proper meant seeing the whole road.
He got up quietly and moved to the small sink area.
He ran the tap low.
Cold water in winter felt like punishment.
But it also felt like clarity.
He washed his face, then sat on the edge of the bed, towel in hand.
His thoughts wouldn’t stop.
Not about romance.
About consequences.
About responsibility.
About the kind of love that didn’t just take.
He had grown up knowing certain lines weren’t optional.
That when you loved someone, you didn’t just imagine the best parts.
You imagined the hard parts too.
The families.
The holidays.
The children.
The community.
The religion.
The future that would ask for decisions you couldn’t undo.
Aleem closed his eyes.
If he said yes to Belle–not just in a warm, vague way, but in a serious, forward-facing way–he would be bringing her into a reality that was bigger than them.
He would be asking her to walk into a space where people would assume things.
Judge things.
Say things.
He could shield her from strangers.
But he could not shield her from the weight of being intertwined with his life.
And he could not pretend his family would be simple about it.
His parents were not cruel.
They were not caricatures.
They were, in the most honest sense, protective.
They had raised him with love and structure.
They prayed.
They cared.
They worried.
And they had a clear, quiet fear:
What if our son marries someone who does not understand our deen? What if it breaks him? What if it breaks the family? What about the children?
Fear-based.
Values-based.
Not hateful.
But still… heavy.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He could already hear the questions.
Not shouted.
Spoken gently, like concern.
Which would make it worse.
Because he couldn’t reject their concern without rejecting their love.
And he couldn’t drag Belle into that without certainty.
Not certainty of feelings.
Certainty of approach.
Proper.
He reached for his toiletry bag again.
Not because he needed anything.
Because his hands needed a task.
He opened it, closed it.
Opened it again.
Then stopped.
Ridiculous.
Aleem exhaled.
He slipped on his jacket and stepped out into the corridor.
The hotel hallway was quiet.
Warm carpet.
Muted lights.
The kind of quiet that made your own thoughts louder.
He walked toward the prayer room.
It was small–just a modest space designated for guests, with a simple sign.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of clean fabric.
A few prayer mats folded neatly.
A small shelf with a worn Quran.
The room wasn’t special.
But it felt like a pocket of order in a world that had suddenly become complicated.
Aleem took one prayer mat and laid it down.
His movements were familiar.
Ritual.
Rhythm.
He made wudu earlier, but he refreshed it anyway, letting the cold water bring him fully into his body.
Then he stood.
And when he raised his hands, his chest finally loosened in the way it always did.
Not because prayer erased problems.
Because prayer placed them where they belonged.
Not on his shoulders alone.
He began.
Quiet words.
A familiar cadence.
In the stillness, he felt the sharp edge of his own desire and the heavier edge of his own caution.
He held both.
He did not pretend one cancelled the other.
After he finished, he sat on the mat and stared at the floor.
He could hear his own breathing.
For the first time since the café, it felt steady.
He reached for the Quran on the shelf and opened it gently.
The pages were thin, slightly yellowed.
He read without rushing.
Not looking for an answer like a vending machine.
Just… grounding.
Faith was not a solution he could use to avoid being human.
Faith was a structure that asked him to be better while being human.
Aleem closed his eyes.
Then he whispered a dua, low enough that only the room heard.
“Ya Allah. If this is good for me, make it easy. If this is not good, make it leave me gently.”
Istikhara.
Not superstition.
Not a magical sign.
Just surrender.
Just a request for clarity.
He sat in silence.
And the image that kept returning wasn’t Belle confessing.
It was Belle healing.
Belle laughing.
Belle eating half a bowl of noodles.
Belle sending one word to her mother.
Belle stepping into snow and looking up like she hadn’t looked up in weeks.
Aleem’s throat tightened.
He wanted to protect that.
Not possess it.
Protect it.
And protection meant not turning her honesty into an opportunity.
It meant not letting his own feelings rush ahead of her stability.
It meant not confusing “she needs me” with “she wants me.”
Even if she had said she wanted.
Because grief could make people want safe things.
And he had been safe.
Aleem stared at the mat.
He whispered again, almost like he was confessing his own weakness.
“I want her.”
The words felt strange against the quiet.
Then he added, more softly,
“But I don’t want to take advantage.”
Proper.
He had built his entire life around not being the kind of man who took.
Not in money.
Not in power.
Not in love.
When he returned to the room, Ivan was awake.
Not fully.
But awake enough to look at Aleem with that INTJ precision that felt like being scanned.
Ivan’s voice was hoarse with sleep. “You went out?”
Aleem paused.
He could lie.
But lying would only make the truth heavier later.
“Prayer,” he said.
Ivan nodded once, as if that explained the calm in Aleem’s face.
Then Ivan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You look… stressed.”
Aleem exhaled.
Ivan was not emotional.
But he was observant.
And somehow that made him safe.
Aleem sat down on the edge of his bed.
He kept his voice low.
“Belle told me something today.”
Ivan blinked, alert now. “What?”
Aleem hesitated.
He could feel the weight of Belle’s vulnerability.
This was her truth.
Not his announcement.
He had to be careful.
Proper.
“She said she likes me,” he admitted.
Ivan’s expression didn’t change dramatically.
But his eyes sharpened.
He processed quickly.
Then he said, flat, “And?”
Aleem swallowed.
“I asked for time.”
Ivan nodded once, like that was the correct move in a decision tree.
“Good,” Ivan said.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
“Good?”
Ivan looked at him. “Yes. Because if you said yes immediately, you’d be either impulsive or opportunistic. You’re not either.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or exposed.
Ivan continued, voice calm. “You like her?”
Aleem stared at the floor.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Ivan’s gaze stayed steady. “Then what’s the problem?”
Aleem’s laugh came out without humour.
“The problem is everything outside ‘like.’”
Ivan nodded slowly. “Religion.”
Aleem’s throat tightened. “Family.”
Ivan nodded again. “Timing.”
Aleem exhaled. “And… her healing.”
Ivan’s eyes softened slightly.
Not sympathy.
Respect.
“She’s vulnerable,” Ivan said.
Aleem nodded. “Yeah. And I don’t want her to look back and feel like… she latched onto me because she was drowning.”
Ivan considered this.
Then he said, “Did she sound like latching?”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He remembered her words.
I’ve been watching myself. And it’s not just gratitude.
He shook his head slowly. “No. She sounded… aware.”
Ivan nodded. “Then trust that.”
Aleem looked up.
Ivan’s expression remained controlled, but his voice had that quiet firmness.
“Belle is not stupid,” Ivan said. “She’s hurting. That’s not the same thing.”
Aleem swallowed.
Ivan continued, “But you’re right to think about interfaith. It’s not a side detail. It’s… foundation.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
Foundation.
Exactly.
Ivan’s voice softened slightly. “You’re not asking her to convert for you. You know that’s wrong.”
Aleem nodded. “Yeah.”
Ivan leaned back against his pillow. “Then your job is to be honest. About what your life requires. What you can compromise on. What you cannot.”
Aleem’s throat tightened.
Ivan looked at him. “And then let her decide.”
Let her decide.
Choice.
Again.
Aleem exhaled.
“I’m scared,” he admitted quietly.
Ivan blinked. “Of what?”
Aleem stared at his hands.
“Of hurting her,” he whispered. “If I say yes and then realise I can’t carry the reality. Or if I say no and she thinks she was wrong to feel.”
Ivan’s gaze softened again, barely.
“Then don’t be careless,” Ivan said. “That’s all.”
Aleem let out a slow breath.
Ivan added, almost reluctantly, “Also… you don’t have to carry it alone. Talk to someone who knows the religious side properly. Not random internet.”
Aleem nodded.
He had already thought of it.
He just hadn’t wanted to admit he needed counsel.
Ivan turned his face toward the wall, signalling the end of the conversation.
But before he drifted back into sleep, he muttered,
“You’re doing the right thing. Asking for time.”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He stared at Ivan’s back.
It was such an Ivan way of caring.
Blunt.
Practical.
Steady.
Aleem lay back down.
But sleep still didn’t come.
The next morning, Sapporo looked even paler.
Snow fell lightly outside the window, not dramatic, just persistent.
Crystal burst into the boys’ room without knocking, as if privacy didn’t exist in Japan.
“WAKE UP! We have day two! We have itinerary! We have–”
Ivan groaned. “Crystal, it’s 8.”
Crystal gasped. “Exactly. Prime time.”
Aleem sat up slowly, rubbing his face.
Crystal’s eyes narrowed at him.
“Why you look like you fought a demon?” she asked.
Ivan’s voice came muffled from his pillow. “He fought feelings.”
Crystal froze.
Then she turned her head slowly toward Ivan.
“What do you know?”
Ivan didn’t open his eyes. “Nothing.”
Crystal’s gaze snapped to Aleem.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He kept his voice calm. “Nothing.”
Crystal narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but then Belle’s voice sounded from the hallway.
“Crystal? Hurry. I want to go downstairs before the queue.”
Crystal immediately forgot everything and bounced out.
“COMING! Belle is motivated! This is new era!”
The door slammed.
Ivan exhaled. “You’re lucky she has attention span of a sparrow.”
Aleem couldn’t help it.
A small smile flickered.
Then disappeared.
Because Belle was outside.
And Aleem’s dilemma was not theoretical anymore.
It was waiting in the corridor.
In a beige coat.
With a scarf pulled up to her cheeks.
With eyes that had started to hold light again.
They spent the day in the city.
Markets.
Warm shops.
Hot food.
Crystal filming everything.
Ivan steering them away from tourist traps like it was his job.
Belle walking with more steadiness than she had in months.
And Aleem–Aleem stayed careful.
He didn’t pull away from Belle.
He didn’t overcompensate by being cold.
He stayed the same.
Because changing would make her feel punished.
And she didn’t deserve punishment for honesty.
So he matched her pace.
Answered her questions.
Listened.
And when they were in a crowded crosswalk, he shifted his body slightly so she wouldn’t be bumped.
Not touching.
Just shielding.
Proper.
But inside him, the questions kept circling.
If he said yes, what then?
If she ever explored Islam–would it be for him?
How would he ensure she had space to be sincere?
If she didn’t convert, could he marry her?
In Singapore, he knew the reality.
Islam wasn’t a hobby.
Marriage wasn’t casual.
Children wouldn’t be neutral.
Families wouldn’t be silent.
He couldn’t pretend love was enough.
Love had to be built on something that could hold.
Deen.
Family.
Proper integration.
He watched Belle laugh once–small, quiet–when Crystal almost slipped on ice.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He wanted her laughter.
He wanted her softness.
He wanted her in his future.
But he wanted her in his future in a way that didn’t break her.
That night, back in the room, Aleem finally did something he had been avoiding.
He opened his phone.
He searched for a contact he hadn’t messaged in months.
Ustaz Hakim.
A man he trusted.
Not because the ustaz would tell him what to feel.
Because the ustaz would tell him what the boundaries were.
What was permissible.
What was wise.
What was proper.
Aleem stared at the empty chat.
His thumb hovered.
He didn’t want to treat faith like customer service.
But he also didn’t want to treat Belle’s heart like an experiment.
He typed slowly:
Ustaz, can I ask for advice? Something personal. Interfaith situation. Need guidance to do things properly.
He stared at the message.
Then sent it.
The message went through.
Aleem exhaled.
One step.
Not an answer.
A direction.
Ivan glanced up from his bed, eyes half-open. “You texted someone?”
Aleem nodded. “Ustaz.”
Ivan grunted. “Good.”
Then Ivan rolled over and went back to sleep like the world was solved.
Aleem lay down again.
His phone buzzed.
A reply.
Not long.
Just a few lines.
Of course. We can talk. When you’re free, call me. Do not rush. Do it with adab. May Allah guide you.
Adab.
Proper conduct.
Aleem stared at the screen.
His chest loosened slightly.
He wasn’t alone in this.
He didn’t have to guess.
He could seek guidance.
He could be honest.
He could move slowly.
In the dark hotel room, with winter pressing quietly outside, Aleem closed his eyes.
He didn’t have an answer yet.
But he had a compass.
And the next step was clear:
He would think.
He would consult.
He would be honest.
He would be proper.
Because Belle had offered him her truth.
And the least he could do was return it with care.