Two Worlds
Chapter 23 – Two Worlds
The first time Belle realised “two worlds” was not a metaphor, it was when she stood in NTUC FairPrice and stared at a bottle of cooking wine.
She didn’t even want it.
Her mother had asked her to buy ingredients for Sunday dinner.
Belle had wandered into the aisle out of habit.
Then she froze.
Because her mind did the new thing it had learned to do:
Is this halal?
The question wasn’t an accusation.
It wasn’t guilt.
It was just… awareness.
And that awareness followed her into everything now.
Not only food.
Time.
Holidays.
Family expectations.
The shape of a future.
Two worlds.
Not in a romantic “we are star-crossed” way.
In a practical way.
A calendar way.
A dinner table way.
A “what do we do when it’s Christmas and Ramadan overlaps” way.
This was the chapter where love stopped being private and started becoming logistical.
And for Belle, logistics were terrifying–because the last time she planned a future, it had collapsed.
It started with a question from Crystal, of course.
ABIX met for dinner at their usual place–nothing fancy, just a mall food court that had become their default because nobody had to dress up and nobody had to pretend they were fine.
Crystal arrived with her tray like she was making an entrance.
“Okay,” she announced, “I have a question for the couple.”
Belle almost choked on her soup.
Aleem didn’t react.
Ivan looked tired pre-emptively.
Aleem’s voice was calm. “We are not a couple in your mouth.”
Crystal gasped. “Excuse me? In my mouth???”
Ivan sighed. “You set yourself up.”
Belle’s cheeks burned.
Crystal waved her hands dramatically. “You know what I mean. You two are… trying. Whatever.”
Aleem nodded once, approving the safer label.
Crystal leaned forward.
“So… how you all going to do holidays?” Crystal asked, eyes shining like she had discovered a new plotline.
Belle froze.
Holidays.
The question landed like a weight.
Because Belle had been thinking about it too.
Not because she wanted to rush into marriage.
Because the calendar didn’t care about her pace.
It was already moving toward December.
And December meant Christmas.
And January meant Chinese New Year.
And somewhere in between, Ramadan would appear like a moon-shaped reminder that Aleem’s world had rhythms hers didn’t.
Aleem’s gaze flicked to Belle.
Checking.
He answered Crystal calmly.
“We haven’t planned,” he said.
Crystal’s eyes widened. “Haven’t planned?? But holidays are like… identity.”
Ivan muttered, “Holidays are logistics.”
Crystal glared. “Identity and logistics can coexist, Ivan.”
Ivan sighed. “Everything you say is a TED Talk.”
Crystal ignored him.
She turned back to Belle.
“Belle, you will still do Christmas right?” she asked.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Christmas.
Her mother’s favourite.
The only time of year her mother would put up a small tree even though their flat was cramped.
Fairy lights.
Log cake.
Her father pretending he didn’t care but secretly buying better ham.
Christmas wasn’t just religion.
It was family.
It was memory.
Belle swallowed.
“I…,” she began.
Aleem spoke before she could panic.
“Christmas is her family time,” he said calmly. “I’m not stopping that.”
Crystal blinked.
Ivan’s gaze softened slightly.
Belle’s chest loosened.
Aleem continued, voice steady, “If she wants to celebrate with her family, she should. We just talk about what parts are comfortable for me, and what parts are for her family.”
Crystal frowned, thinking.
“So like… you can’t go church?”
Aleem’s expression remained calm.
“I can’t participate in worship,” he said gently. “But I can still show up as support. If it’s family dinner, it’s family dinner.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Show up.
Support.
Not participate in worship.
A boundary spoken without contempt.
Just clarity.
Crystal leaned back slowly, impressed.
“Wah,” she whispered. “Proper.”
Ivan muttered, “Yes. Proper.”
Belle stared at Aleem.
Two worlds.
But maybe… bridges.
After dinner, Aleem drove Belle home.
Not all the way to her door–yet.
He dropped her at the nearby bus stop, a small courtesy to keep things calm with her parents.
As Belle unbuckled her seatbelt, Aleem said quietly,
“We should talk about it.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
“The holidays?” she asked.
Aleem nodded.
“Not because we have to solve everything now,” he said. “But because you don’t like unknowns.”
Belle blinked.
How did he know?
Of course he knew.
He had watched her plan a wedding in spreadsheets.
He had watched her collapse when the plan died.
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem parked the car.
They sat inside, engine off, the night air pressing against the windows.
A quiet, private space.
Aleem spoke first.
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to abandon your family’s traditions,” he said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem continued, “And I also can’t abandon my deen. So… we find the overlap and we respect the boundaries.”
Belle stared at her hands.
Overlap.
Boundaries.
The words sounded like corporate alignment.
But this was life.
Belle whispered, “What does that look like?”
Aleem exhaled.
“It looks like us being clear,” he said. “For example–Chinese New Year. Your family gathers. There’s usually… offerings. Alcohol. Pork. Maybe temple visit.”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
Aleem’s voice stayed calm. “I can attend reunion dinner if the food is halal. If not, we find another way. Like I come after, when everyone is just talking. Or we host something.”
Host.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Hosting meant adulthood.
It meant being a bridge.
Aleem continued, “Temple visit–I won’t go inside to worship. But I can stand outside. Or I can wait. Or we agree you go with your family and I meet you later. No drama.”
No drama.
Belle exhaled.
She hadn’t realised how much she had feared he would demand purity like a weapon.
But Aleem was talking like someone who believed love could coexist with boundaries.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“And Ramadan?” she asked softly.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Ramadan is… important,” he said. “Not just fasting. The whole month changes how I live.”
Belle nodded slowly.
“I know,” she whispered. “I… don’t know how to fit.”
Aleem’s voice was gentle. “You don’t have to fit by becoming Muslim overnight. You can fit by being respectful.”
Respect.
Aleem continued, “During Ramadan, I won’t go for late-night supper like usual. I’ll be more tired. I’ll be at taraweeh sometimes. But I can still see you. Maybe earlier. Maybe in quieter ways. And if you want, you can join iftar dinners–just to eat together. It’s… nice.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Eat together.
Food again.
Care.
Belle whispered, “And Eid?”
Aleem’s lips pressed together.
“Eid is family,” he said. “Visiting. Prayers. Food. It’s joyful.”
Joyful.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She imagined Aleem in a baju melayu.
His mother smiling.
A house full of relatives.
Would she be there?
Or would she be an outsider standing at the edge?
Aleem seemed to read the thought.
“You can come,” he said softly. “If you’re comfortable. And if my parents are ready. And we keep it respectful.”
If my parents are ready.
Belle nodded.
The caution was real.
But the invitation existed.
A crack of door.
Belle swallowed.
Then she asked the question that made her voice shake.
“And… what about Christmas?”
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
He answered carefully.
“Christmas is… complicated,” he said. “Because it has religious meaning. But it’s also family.”
Belle nodded.
Her throat tightened.
“My mother will want me there,” Belle whispered. “She… she already worries I’ll disappear.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“I won’t let you disappear,” he said quietly.
Belle’s eyes stung.
Aleem continued, “If you want me to meet your parents more properly before then, we can. So it’s not a surprise. And for Christmas dinner, if it’s just family meal, I can attend. But I won’t do church. I won’t do prayer.”
Belle nodded.
She wasn’t asking him to betray himself.
She just wanted to know he would show up.
Aleem’s voice softened further. “And if your family does gifts, I can participate. Gifts are not worship.”
Belle’s mouth twitched.
“That’s very Ivan logic,” she murmured.
Aleem’s lips twitched. “Ivan trained me.”
Belle let out a small laugh.
Then her laughter faded.
The next thought was heavier.
“What if…” Belle whispered.
Aleem’s gaze sharpened gently. “What if what?”
Belle swallowed.
“What if both sides want us at the same time?” she asked softly. “Like… CNY day one lunch, and then your family Eid visiting, and then… I don’t know. What if we’re always choosing someone.”
Aleem’s chest rose with a slow breath.
Then he said, calmly,
“Then we alternate. Or we split the day. Or we host one side and visit the other. We talk. We don’t let anyone guilt you into disappearance.”
Belle’s eyes stung.
“No guilt,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded. “No guilt.”
A pause.
Then he added quietly,
“And if anyone tries to make you choose between your parents and me… that’s not love. That’s control.”
Control.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Jason had controlled her with silence.
Aleem was giving her a map.
A map that didn’t erase anyone.
Belle exhaled shakily.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“Okay.”
Later that week, Belle tested the “two worlds” conversation in the safest place she knew.
Her kitchen.
With her mother.
It was a Thursday night.
Belle had come home from work with a bag of groceries.
Her mother was chopping vegetables.
Belle placed the groceries down.
Then, casually, she said,
“Mummy, Christmas this year… you want to do what?”
Her mother paused mid-chop.
Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Why you ask?”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
Because her mother knew.
The calendar question was never just a calendar question anymore.
Belle swallowed.
“I’m just… planning,” she said softly.
Her mother resumed chopping.
Her voice was careful.
“Same as usual,” her mother said. “Dinner at home. Your aunties come. Your cousins.”
Belle nodded.
Then she asked, heart pounding,
“If… if Aleem comes, is it okay?”
Her mother’s knife stopped.
Silence.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her mother didn’t look angry.
She looked… scared.
But her voice was steady.
“If he come, he come properly,” her mother said.
Properly.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“He already met Pa?” her mother asked.
Belle nodded. “Not yet. But Pa said… when it’s time.”
Her mother exhaled.
Then she said the thing that made Belle’s eyes sting.
“If he come, we will be polite,” her mother whispered. “We will show up. But Belle, you also show up. Not only bring him. You still be our daughter. Okay?”
Okay.
Belle nodded hard.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Always.”
Her mother’s voice cracked slightly.
“Okay,” her mother whispered.
Belle also tested it with Aleem’s mother.
Not directly.
Not yet.
But in the safest way:
Food.
The next time Belle visited Aleem’s parents’ home, she brought a small container of kueh lapis her mother had made.
Not to impress.
To bridge.
Mak took the container, eyes widening slightly.
“You make?” Mak asked.
Belle shook her head quickly. “My mum made. She asked me to bring.”
Mak’s expression softened.
A crack.
“She… okay?” Mak asked.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“She’s scared,” Belle admitted softly. “But she said… she will show up. She just doesn’t want me isolated.”
Mak nodded slowly.
“Understand,” Mak murmured.
Then Mak placed the kueh carefully on the table like it was something precious.
“Tell your mum… thank you,” Mak said.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Okay, Auntie,” she whispered.
Mak’s gaze softened.
“Okay,” Mak echoed.
Two worlds.
Not a war.
Not a tragedy.
A series of small negotiations.
A constant choosing of respect over ego.
A constant returning to clarity.
Belle realised, slowly, that the future wasn’t going to be built by one huge dramatic moment.
It would be built by calendars and dinners.
By boundaries spoken gently.
By people showing up even when uncomfortable.
By a man who kept repeating:
No rush.
Proper.
And by a woman who kept repeating:
I will not disappear.
One evening, as Belle lay in bed scrolling through her phone, she opened her calendar app.
She marked upcoming events:
- Mum’s birthday
- ABIX dinner
- Ustazah session
Then, hesitating, she added something else.
Ramadan (approx.)
She didn’t even know the exact date yet.
But the act of adding it felt like respect.
A small declaration to herself:
I am aware.
I am learning.
I am trying.
Not to fit.
Not to perform.
To build.
Belle stared at the calendar.
Two worlds.
Two sets of holidays.
Two sets of expectations.
But maybe… not two separate lives.
Maybe one life, woven carefully.
Like a bridge made of small mercies.
And for the first time since her breakup, Belle looked at the future and didn’t feel like it was a trap.
It was uncertain.
Yes.
But it was being built with care.
And care–real care–was something that didn’t vanish overnight.
It stayed.
Properly.
One “okay” at a time.