Proof Of Consistency
Chapter 21 – Proof of Consistency
The hardest part about sincerity wasn’t feeling it.
The hardest part was living it when nobody applauded.
Belle had always believed she was the kind of person who could commit.
She had committed before.
To a relationship.
To a BTO.
To wedding spreadsheets.
To a future that had felt locked in.
Then it had collapsed in one phone call, and Belle had learned something brutal:
Commitment was not the same as stability.
You could commit with your whole heart and still be left holding air.
So when Aleem’s world opened a door, Belle didn’t run through it like someone trying to prove she deserved to stay.
She walked slowly.
Because she wasn’t trying to earn a man.
She was trying to tell the truth.
And truth required consistency.
Not drama.
Not declarations.
Small actions that no one posted on Instagram.
It began with Fridays.
Not because Aleem asked.
Because Belle noticed.
On the first Friday after her session with Ustazah Sara, Belle had met Aleem for dinner near his office.
Nothing fancy.
Just a hawker centre.
Bright lights.
Plastic tables.
The smell of fried garlic and sambal.
Belle had ordered her usual–something she didn’t even think about.
Then Aleem had paused at the stall, scanning.
He didn’t say anything dramatic.
He simply asked, quietly,
“Do you mind if we choose halal?”
Belle blinked.
The question was gentle.
Permission.
Not demand.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Aleem’s shoulders loosened slightly.
They found a halal stall.
Nasi ayam.
Soup.
Simple.
As they ate, Belle realised something surprising.
It didn’t feel like sacrifice.
It felt like consideration.
And that was different.
Because Jason used to treat compromise like a debt Belle owed him.
Aleem treated it like a shared path.
After dinner, they walked in silence for a bit.
Then Belle asked, quietly,
“Is it hard… always checking?”
Aleem blinked. “Checking?”
Belle gestured at the stalls. “Halal. Ingredients. Like… always thinking.”
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“It becomes normal,” he said. “Like… you don’t think about breathing. You just do.”
Belle nodded.
Normal.
Not punishment.
A rhythm.
Belle found herself thinking about rhythm all week.
Because her grief had turned her life into chaos.
And the calm she felt around Aleem–around his faith–had a pattern.
Not rigid.
Just… anchored.
The second thing was prayer.
Not the act of praying.
The way prayer shaped time.
Belle noticed it first when they met after work on a weekday.
They had planned to watch a movie.
They were walking toward the cinema when Aleem checked his phone and slowed.
“I need to pray Maghrib,” he said.
Belle’s heart did a small jump.
Because in her head, prayer was always in a mosque.
Always formal.
Always a big thing.
Aleem’s tone was the same as someone saying, I need to pee.
Not disrespectful.
Just normal.
Belle blinked. “Where?”
Aleem nodded toward a nearby mall.
“There’s a prayer room,” he said.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
She didn’t know what to do while he prayed.
Sit outside like a stranger?
Follow him inside and stare?
Her fear rose.
Not fear of religion.
Fear of doing the wrong thing.
Aleem glanced at her, reading her face.
He softened his voice.
“You can wait outside,” he said gently. “Or you can come in and sit. Up to you.”
Choice.
Belle swallowed.
“I can… sit?”
Aleem nodded. “Yeah. There’s a women’s side.”
Women’s side.
Belle felt her heart beat faster.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
They walked into the prayer room.
It was clean and quiet.
Carpet.
A faint scent of soap.
A few people praying.
No one looked at Belle like she was trespassing.
No one asked her to leave.
There was a calm that made her breathe slower.
Aleem showed her a small space near the women’s section.
“Sit here,” he whispered. “I’ll be quick.”
Belle nodded.
Aleem moved away.
Belle sat down.
And watched.
Not in a voyeuristic way.
In a quiet, curious way.
The act wasn’t flashy.
Just movements.
Bowing.
Standing.
Words she didn’t understand.
A body surrendering to something unseen.
Belle didn’t feel jealous.
She felt… softened.
Like the air itself was telling her she could stop gripping her life so tightly.
When Aleem returned, he sat beside her, not too close.
Proper.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Belle nodded.
“It’s… peaceful,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s… why I need it.”
Belle stared at him.
He didn’t say, You should do it too.
He didn’t sell it.
He simply shared why it mattered.
And that–somehow–made it more real.
The third thing was her parents.
Because Belle’s sincerity didn’t only show in how she approached Islam.
It showed in how she held onto her family.
Love-first acceptance came with one sharp boundary.
Don’t disappear.
Don’t isolate.
And Belle took that boundary seriously.
Not to appease.
To honour.
So she started doing small things.
Calling her mother after work.
Dropping by on Sunday afternoons even when she was tired.
Texting her father photos of random things–clouds, street cats, her kopi cup–like reminders:
I’m still here.
Her mother sometimes replied with emojis.
Her father replied with one word.
Okay.
One evening, Belle’s mother called her unexpectedly.
“Belle,” her mother said, voice careful.
“Yeah?” Belle replied.
Her mother hesitated.
“Today you go class again?”
Belle’s heart tightened.
Her mother didn’t say Islam.
But she knew.
Belle swallowed.
“Yes,” Belle said softly. “I went.”
Her mother was quiet.
Then she asked, voice small,
“Is it… scary?”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s… gentle. The teacher is kind.”
Her mother exhaled shakily.
“Okay,” her mother whispered.
Then, after a beat, “You still come Sunday?”
Belle’s chest tightened.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I’ll come. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her mother’s voice cracked.
“Okay,” she whispered again.
Belle hung up and stared at her phone.
Her mother was hurting.
But she was staying.
Showing up.
That was love.
Belle refused to make her mother feel abandoned.
So even when she met Aleem, she told him–clearly.
“Sunday is family,” Belle said.
Aleem nodded immediately.
“Okay,” he replied. “Family.”
No argument.
No guilt.
Respect.
That was another proof.
Not only Belle proving sincerity.
Aleem too.
The fourth thing was the invisible things.
Habits.
Words.
The way Belle started noticing what she said.
When she spoke about Islam, she stopped making jokes that used to slip out casually.
Not because she was trying to be “good.”
Because she wanted to be respectful.
She started catching herself.
Saying sorry when she made a careless comment.
Not performative.
Just honest.
At work, when her colleagues gossiped about someone wearing a tudung,
“Aiya, why she so covered up? So hot leh,”
Belle found herself saying, quietly,
“It’s her choice.”
Her colleague blinked.
“Huh? Since when you so feminist?”
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
“It’s not feminist,” Belle said softly. “It’s… respect.”
Respect.
She didn’t know when that word had become a muscle in her body.
But it had.
All of this… Aleem’s parents didn’t see.
Not yet.
They didn’t watch Belle quietly choose halal food.
They didn’t sit in a prayer room and observe her stillness.
They didn’t see her texting her father Okay like it was a vow.
They didn’t hear her mother asking, Is it scary?
And Belle didn’t post it.
Because she wasn’t doing it for applause.
But the world still tested her.
In small, ordinary ways.
Like one Saturday afternoon at a café, when Crystal burst in and immediately began talking too loud.
“Okay, I just want to say,” Crystal declared, slamming her iced latte down, “I am proud of Belle. She is learning religion like a scholar. Meanwhile I can’t even commit to drinking water.”
Ivan, already seated, muttered, “That’s because you survive on chaos.”
Crystal glared. “Don’t insult my culture.”
Belle’s cheeks burned.
“Aiyah, Crystal,” Belle whispered. “Stop saying it like that.”
Crystal leaned forward, eyes sparkling.
“Why? It’s cute. Belle the gentle convert arc.”
Belle flinched.
The word convert hit like a slap.
Not because it was offensive.
Because it was too final.
Too loud.
Too fast.
Aleem’s expression tightened slightly.
He didn’t scold Crystal.
He didn’t make a scene.
He simply said, calmly,
“Crystal. Don’t label her. She’s learning. That’s it.”
Crystal blinked.
Ivan sighed, “Yes. Stop narrating their lives like drama.”
Crystal pouted. “I’m just supportive.”
Aleem’s voice stayed gentle but firm.
“Support means protecting her pace,” he said.
Protecting her pace.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She stared at Aleem.
He wasn’t only protecting her from his family.
He was protecting her from even her friends’ enthusiasm.
Because he understood that sincerity needed space.
Crystal’s eyes softened.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Sorry. I got excited.”
Belle exhaled.
“It’s okay,” Belle whispered.
Ivan muttered, “It’s not okay. She’s annoying.”
Crystal threw a straw wrapper at him.
Belle laughed.
Small.
Real.
Then Crystal leaned closer to Belle, voice softer.
“But Belle,” Crystal whispered, “you’re doing okay right? Like… you’re not forcing yourself?”
The question was genuine.
No jokes.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She nodded slowly.
“I’m not forcing,” Belle said softly. “I’m just… trying to be honest.”
Ivan nodded once. “Good.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
He didn’t say anything.
But his presence said enough.
Okay.
That night, Belle lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.
Her booklet from Ustazah Sara sat on her bedside table.
Not a trophy.
Not a promise.
Just… material.
Information.
A path.
Belle thought about sincerity.
She thought about how easy it was to say,
“I’m learning.”
And how much harder it was to live:
I show up.
I respect.
I don’t rush.
I don’t perform.
I don’t disappear from my family.
I don’t use religion as romance.
I don’t use romance as religion.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She opened her phone.
Texted Aleem.
I’m scared I’ll disappoint everyone.
The reply came quickly.
You’re not responsible for everyone’s feelings. You’re responsible for your sincerity. That’s it.
Belle’s eyes burned.
She typed:
How do you know I’m sincere?
A pause.
Then:
Because you’re doing small things when nobody is watching.
Belle stared.
Small things.
No applause.
No performance.
Just… consistent care.
Her throat tightened.
She typed:
Okay.
His reply:
Okay. Sleep. Eat something tomorrow.
Belle’s mouth twitched.
Even now.
Food.
Care.
Ordinary love.
Belle placed her phone down.
And in the quiet of her room, she understood something for the first time:
Sincerity wasn’t proven by one big decision.
It was proven by the way you kept returning.
To respect.
To family.
To truth.
To mercy.
One small action at a time.
And Belle–still scared, still healing–was returning.
That was her proof.