Aleem’s Parents Hesitate
Chapter 18 – Aleem’s Parents Hesitate
Aleem didn’t fear his parents.
He feared disappointing them.
There was a difference.
Fear was loud.
Disappointment was quiet.
It lived in the small pauses.
In the careful questions.
In the way a mother’s eyes softened not with anger, but with worry.
Aleem had grown up in a home where love came wrapped in structure.
Prayers on time.
Meals together.
Respect for elders.
A father who didn’t raise his voice often, but whose silence could straighten a room.
A mother whose gentleness had rules inside it.
When you lived like that, you didn’t rebel loudly.
You negotiated quietly.
Properly.
And now there was a new negotiation.
A Chinese Christian woman.
A confession in a Hokkaido café.
A hand held by a river.
A tenderness that had started private.
And the truth Aleem could no longer postpone:
If he wanted to do this properly, he had to bring it into the light.
Not for gossip.
For responsibility.
He told Belle first.
Not as permission.
As courtesy.
As a way of not letting her feel like she was being carried blindly into someone else’s world.
It was a Thursday night.
They were sitting in a quiet corner of a mall café after dinner–neutral ground, no romance lighting, just soft air-conditioning and people minding their own business.
Belle was stirring her drink slowly, eyes down.
Aleem watched her hands.
Not because he wanted to touch.
Because he wanted to read her body the way he had learned to.
When Belle was okay, her movements were steady.
When she was struggling, everything slowed.
Aleem spoke softly.
“I’m going to tell my parents.”
Belle’s spoon paused.
Her breath hitched.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Okay.
But her knuckles tightened around the cup.
Aleem kept his voice even. “Not to scare you. Not to rush you. Just… because it’s the next proper step. I don’t want you to feel like you’re hidden.”
Belle swallowed.
“I don’t feel hidden,” she said quickly. “I feel… protected.”
Protected.
The word warmed him and hurt him at the same time.
Because protection had limits.
He couldn’t protect her from everything.
He could only protect her from being used.
From being ambushed.
From being made small.
Aleem nodded. “Good. I want to keep it that way.”
Belle stared at her drink.
Then she whispered, “Will they… hate me?”
The fear in her voice was quiet.
Not dramatic.
Just real.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“No,” he said firmly. “They won’t hate you.”
Belle’s eyes flicked up.
Aleem softened his tone. “They might be cautious. They might ask hard questions. But my parents… they’re not cruel. They’re protective. They’ll worry about religion. Marriage. Children. Community. That’s their fear.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She nodded slowly.
Aleem continued, carefully, “I’ll tell them you’re exploring Islam because you want to understand. Not because I asked you. And I’ll tell them we’re taking it slow.”
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered again.
Aleem reached into his sling bag and placed a hand warmer on the table between them.
Not because Singapore was cold.
Because the object had become a language.
A small mercy.
A reminder of winter quiet.
“I’ll call you after,” he said.
Belle’s mouth trembled.
“Okay,” she said.
Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she added softly,
“Proper.”
Aleem’s lips twitched faintly.
“Proper,” he echoed.
ABIX, of course, found out about this step too.
Not because Aleem announced it.
Because Ivan noticed the shift in his body the moment Aleem entered the office pantry.
Ivan was filling his bottle, eyes half on his phone.
Then he looked up.
“You’re telling them soon,” Ivan said.
Not a question.
Aleem exhaled. “Yeah. Saturday.”
Ivan nodded once. “Good.”
Aleem stared at him. “Why are you always saying ‘good’ like you’re approving my life?”
Ivan blinked. “Because you need an external audit.”
Aleem scoffed. “I’m not a project.”
Ivan’s mouth twitched faintly. “You are always a project.”
Aleem couldn’t help the small laugh.
Then his face settled again.
Ivan’s gaze sharpened. “What’s your plan?”
Aleem leaned back against the counter. “Tell them honestly. No drama. No hiding. Set expectations.”
Ivan nodded. “And?”
Aleem’s jaw tightened. “And absorb the impact.”
Ivan stared for a moment.
Then he said, quietly, “Don’t absorb. Respond.”
Aleem frowned. “Same thing.”
Ivan shook his head. “Not same. If you absorb, you take everything as yours to carry. If you respond, you share the reality. You don’t let them place everything on you like you’re the only bridge.”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
Ivan continued, blunt as always, “You are their son. Not their insurance policy against discomfort.”
Aleem exhaled.
Ivan added, softer, “You can respect them and still be clear.”
Clear.
Clarity is mercy.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Ivan nodded. “Okay.”
Meanwhile, Crystal had already turned Belle’s anxiety into a battle plan.
She texted Belle a twenty-line essay in the middle of the day:
BELLE LISTEN. If Aleem’s mum asks scary questions, you breathe. If Aleem’s dad looks serious, you don’t panic. You just be you. You are respectful. You are kind. You show consistency. No big declarations. Small actions. Also, if anyone says anything rude, I will appear like ghost and fight.
Belle had replied:
Crystal, you can’t appear like ghost.
Crystal:
I will find way.
Belle’s mouth had twitched.
Not fully laughter.
But enough.
Saturday came with the kind of bright, sweaty Singapore sun that made everything feel too exposed.
Aleem drove to his parents’ place in the late afternoon.
He had offered to pick up food.
His mother had said no, come and eat at home.
Which meant:
This is serious.
Aleem parked downstairs and sat in the car for a moment.
He didn’t check his reflection.
He didn’t rehearse a speech.
He simply breathed.
Then he texted Belle.
Going in now.
A moment later:
Okay. Breathe. I’m here.
I’m here.
Aleem exhaled.
Then he walked in.
His mother opened the door.
Mak stood in her tudung, face calm, eyes soft.
“Aleem,” she said, and kissed his forehead the way she still did sometimes, even though he was grown.
He felt that small sting in his chest.
This was love.
This was why it was hard.
“Mak,” he greeted.
Inside, the smell of home wrapped around him–rice, fried ikan, sambal, the faint scent of detergent.
His father sat in the living room, reading something on his phone, glasses low on his nose.
Ayah looked up.
“Assalamualaikum,” Aleem said.
“Waalaikumsalam,” his father replied.
The tone was normal.
But his father’s eyes held that quiet attention.
A readiness.
Mak led Aleem to the dining table.
“Eat first,” she said.
Aleem sat.
He tried to eat.
He managed three mouthfuls.
Then Mak sat opposite him, hands folded.
Ayah joined them.
The plates were still half-full when his mother said gently,
“You said you wanted to talk.”
Aleem’s throat tightened.
He nodded.
He placed his spoon down.
Proper.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m seeing someone.”
Mak’s eyes softened.
Ayah’s gaze stayed steady.
No shock.
No anger.
Just focus.
Mak asked, “Who?”
Aleem exhaled slowly.
“Her name is Isabelle,” he said. “We call her Belle.”
Mak nodded once. “Okay.”
Ayah asked, “Malay?”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He chose honesty.
“She’s Chinese,” he said. “Christian.”
The room didn’t explode.
There was no dramatic reaction.
There was simply… stillness.
Mak’s fingers tightened slightly.
Ayah’s eyes narrowed a fraction.
Not hostility.
Calculation.
Concern.
Mak spoke first, voice soft. “How long?”
Aleem answered truthfully. “Not long. We’re… trying. Slowly.”
Ayah’s gaze stayed on him. “Why?”
The question wasn’t cruel.
It was direct.
Aleem swallowed.
“Because I like her,” he said. “And I respect her. And I’m serious.”
Mak’s eyes flicked down briefly.
Ayah asked, “Serious meaning?”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“Meaning I’m not doing this for fun,” he said quietly. “If this continues, it’s toward marriage.”
Mak inhaled softly.
Ayah sat back slightly.
The word marriage changed the air.
Mak’s voice became even gentler, which made it heavier.
“Aleem,” she said, “you know… we worry.”
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he said.
Ayah asked, “Does she want to become Muslim?”
There it was.
The question Aleem had expected.
He kept his voice steady.
“I didn’t ask her to,” he said. “I won’t pressure. But she said she wants to learn. Sincerely.”
Mak’s eyes sharpened slightly. “Learn because she wants, or learn because she wants you?”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He answered carefully.
“She told me she wants to understand. Not as a price. And I told her… it has to be for Allah, not for me.”
Mak’s gaze held his.
She nodded slowly.
Ayah’s voice was quiet. “And if she learns and she decides no?”
Aleem swallowed.
The truth was hard.
But hiding it would be worse.
“Then we’ll have to face it,” Aleem said. “With respect. I won’t drag her. And I won’t pretend the deen doesn’t matter.”
Ayah’s eyes stayed steady.
Mak’s lips pressed together.
She didn’t look angry.
She looked… afraid.
Afraid of complications.
Afraid of heartbreak.
Afraid of a life where family gatherings became negotiations.
Mak asked softly, “What about children?”
Aleem’s stomach tightened.
Ayah added, calm, “In our family, our children are Muslim.”
Aleem nodded. “I know.”
Mak’s eyes glistened slightly, but her voice remained controlled.
“We don’t want your children confused,” she said.
Not racist.
Not hateful.
Just fear.
Aleem leaned forward slightly.
“Mak,” he said gently, “I’m not trying to build confusion. I’m trying to build something honest.”
Ayah watched him.
“And her family?” Ayah asked. “They will accept?”
Aleem exhaled.
“Yes,” he said. “They love her. They’re scared, but they’re present. Their boundary is… they don’t want her isolated from them.”
Mak’s eyes softened a fraction.
“That’s good,” she whispered. “Parents who show up.”
Ayah nodded slowly.
Then he asked the question that made Aleem’s chest tighten the most.
“Do you think you can carry this?”
Not do you love her.
Not is she pretty.
Carry.
Responsibility.
Aleem swallowed.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “If we do it properly.”
Mak looked down.
Ayah’s voice was calm.
“We are not saying no,” Ayah said.
Aleem’s breath caught.
Mak lifted her gaze.
“We are saying… we need to see,” Mak said softly.
See.
Consistency.
Adab.
Sincerity.
Mak continued, “People can say they want to learn. But when it becomes hard–when it touches family, when it touches habits–then we see.”
Aleem nodded.
“That’s fair,” he said.
Ayah’s eyes held his.
“No rushing,” Ayah said.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
The phrase sounded familiar.
No rushing.
Proper.
Aleem nodded. “No rushing.”
Mak’s voice trembled slightly. “And… you must protect her.”
Aleem blinked.
Mak looked at him, eyes soft.
“If you bring her into our world, people will talk,” she said. “Not always kindly.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“I know,” he said.
Mak continued, “If she is sincere, you must not let her be shamed.”
There.
Another kind of fear.
Not only fear for Aleem.
Fear for the girl he chose.
Ayah nodded once.
“If we meet her, we will be polite,” Ayah said. “But we will also be honest. No pretending.”
Aleem’s chest loosened slightly.
Honesty.
That was all he wanted.
Mak asked, softly, “When will we meet?”
Aleem hesitated.
Not because he wanted to delay.
Because he wanted to protect Belle from being examined too early.
He answered carefully.
“Soon,” he said. “But let me tell her first. Prepare her. She’s… still healing.”
Mak’s eyes softened.
Ayah’s gaze remained steady.
“Healing from what?” Mak asked.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t want to expose Belle’s pain like gossip.
He chose the minimum truth.
“She went through a breakup,” he said. “Serious. She was engaged.”
Mak inhaled softly.
Ayah’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Mak’s voice softened deeply. “Poor girl.”
No judgement.
Just compassion.
Ayah asked, “And you were close before?”
Aleem held his father’s gaze.
“Yes,” he said. “We’re friends. Our group of friends supported her. I supported her. Properly.”
Ayah’s eyes searched his.
Then he nodded once.
Proper.
As if that was the only line that mattered.
Mak reached across the table and touched Aleem’s hand briefly–one quick squeeze.
A mother’s language.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Okay.
Not permission.
Not blessing.
Not yet.
But not rejection.
A bridge.
When Aleem left the flat, the corridor air felt thicker.
He walked to the lift, heart pounding.
Not because he had been attacked.
Because the reality had weight now.
He got into the car and sat for a moment.
Then he called Belle.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice sounded soft.
Careful.
Aleem exhaled slowly.
“I told them,” he said.
A beat.
Belle’s breath hitched.
“…Okay?” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice softened. “They didn’t say no.”
Belle let out a shaky breath.
“They’re cautious,” Aleem continued. “They have questions. But… they were respectful. They want to meet you. When you’re ready.”
Belle was quiet.
Aleem could hear her breathing.
Then she whispered, “Are you okay?”
The question was so Belle.
Even when she was scared, she checked him.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
“I’m okay,” he said quietly. “I’m… relieved. But it’s real now.”
Belle’s voice trembled. “I’m scared.”
Aleem closed his eyes.
“I know,” he said. “We go slow. Proper.”
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Okay.
Aleem’s voice softened further. “I’ll tell you everything they asked. But not tonight if it’s too much.”
Belle breathed out.
“Tell me,” she said softly. “I’d rather know. Clarity.”
Clarity.
Mercy.
Aleem exhaled.
He began to tell her.
Religion.
Sincerity.
Kids.
Community.
Not with panic.
With honesty.
Belle listened.
When he finished, there was a long pause.
Then Belle said, very softly,
“I can do questions.”
Aleem’s throat tightened.
“You don’t have to prove,” he said.
Belle’s voice was steady in a way that surprised him.
“I’m not proving,” she whispered. “I’m… showing. Because I want to be truthful too.”
Aleem’s chest loosened.
That.
That was the difference.
Not performance.
Consistency.
Sincerity.
He swallowed.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay,” Belle replied.
They hung up.
Aleem sat in the car for a long time.
The city around him moved as usual.
Cars.
Lights.
Noise.
But inside, he felt the quiet of Hokkaido again.
A white road.
A slow pace.
A decision that didn’t end with one conversation.
It began.
His parents hadn’t slammed the door.
They had opened it–just a crack.
And now, the work would be small actions.
Not speeches.
Not dramatic declarations.
Just showing up.
Properly.
Consistently.
Without taking.
And Aleem knew, with a strange calm under the fear:
Belle could do that.
Because she had already done the hardest thing.
She had been honest.
Even when it scared her.