Belle’s Parents Meet Aleem Properly
Chapter 25 – Belle’s Parents Meet Aleem Properly
Belle’s mother didn’t say it like a threat.
She said it like a rule of the universe.
“If he wants to be family, he comes properly.”
Properly.
Not through chance encounters.
Not through half-stories.
Not through a Christmas dinner where everyone smiled too hard.
Properly meant:
In daylight.
With intention.
With respect.
With the understanding that Belle wasn’t a prize.
She was a daughter.
And her parents had no interest in being replaced.
They only wanted what they had always wanted.
To stay close.
Even while hurting.
Aleem didn’t pretend he wasn’t nervous.
He just didn’t let it make him sloppy.
He arrived early.
He dressed simply–clean shirt, long pants, neat shoes.
No loud cologne.
No flashy watch.
No performance.
Just the version of himself that looked like responsibility.
He stood outside Belle’s block with a paper bag in his hands.
Inside the bag: fruit.
Not extravagant.
Not “buy your blessing” expensive.
Just… courtesy.
He also had a small box of pastries from a halal bakery–because he had asked Belle quietly,
“What do your parents like?”
And Belle had answered, equally quietly,
“My mum likes anything sweet. My dad likes anything practical.”
Aleem had nodded.
Sweet for the mother.
Practical for the father.
A simple logic.
A small attempt to show:
I see you.
I respect you.
I am not here to take.
Belle met him downstairs.
She was dressed modestly too, but that wasn’t a costume anymore.
It was a choice.
A way of arriving without noise.
Her eyes scanned Aleem’s face.
“You okay?” she asked.
Aleem exhaled.
“Okay,” he said.
Then, because he knew her mother’s language now, he added,
“My okay.”
Belle’s mouth trembled.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
A beat.
Then she looked at the bag.
“That’s… a lot,” Belle said.
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“It’s not a lot,” he said.
Belle gave him a look.
Aleem paused.
Then, with a resigned sigh, he reached into the bag and removed the pastry box.
“I’ll keep this in the car,” he said.
Belle blinked.
“What? Why?”
Aleem’s voice stayed calm.
“Your mother will worry you spent money,” he said. “Your father will think I’m trying too hard.”
Belle stared.
Then she let out a shaky laugh.
“You’re overthinking,” she whispered.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
“Proper is sometimes overthinking,” he said.
Belle’s laugh trembled.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he replied.
They took the lift up.
Belle’s fingers kept tightening and loosening at her side.
Aleem stood beside her–not touching, not crowding.
Just… present.
A steady point.
The lift dinged.
The corridor smelled like dinner.
Home.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
She walked to her unit.
She inhaled.
Then she unlocked the door.
Her mother opened it almost immediately.
As if she had been waiting right behind the wood.
Her mother’s eyes went straight to Aleem.
Then to the fruit.
Then back to Aleem.
Assessment.
Not hostility.
Her mother didn’t smile too big.
She didn’t frown.
She simply… looked.
“Hello, Auntie,” Aleem greeted, voice calm. “Assalamualaikum.”
Her mother blinked.
She didn’t know the phrase well.
But she recognised the respect.
She nodded stiffly.
“Hello,” her mother replied. “Come in.”
Come in.
The words mattered.
Belle exhaled a tiny breath she didn’t realise she was holding.
Aleem stepped inside.
He didn’t look around like he was evaluating the flat.
He kept his gaze gentle.
He held the fruit basket with both hands.
He waited for permission.
Her mother gestured toward the table.
Aleem placed the fruit down carefully.
“Thank you for having me,” Aleem said.
Her mother nodded, then turned to Belle immediately.
“You eat already?” her mother asked.
Always food.
Always proof.
Belle nodded. “Not yet.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed.
“Then later eat,” she said firmly.
Aleem stood quietly while the mother’s love language did what it always did.
Bossed.
Held.
Kept everyone alive.
Belle’s father appeared from the living room.
He looked at Aleem.
His expression was calm.
Not warm.
Not cold.
Just… steady.
The kind of steadiness that made a room straighten.
Aleem stepped forward slightly.
“Uncle,” he greeted respectfully. “I’m Aleem.”
Belle’s father nodded once.
“I know,” he said.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
Of course he knew.
Belle’s father gestured toward the sofa.
“Sit,” he said.
Aleem sat.
Properly.
Not sprawling.
Not stiff.
Just composed.
Belle sat too.
Her mother hovered at the edge of the room like she couldn’t decide whether to serve drinks or watch everything.
Finally, she went to the kitchen.
She returned with tea for her husband.
And water for Aleem.
Water.
Small hospitality.
A sign:
We are still human with each other.
Aleem nodded.
“Thank you, Auntie,” he said.
Her mother nodded briskly.
“Drink,” she said.
Aleem drank a small sip.
Not because he needed.
Because accepting hospitality was part of respect.
Belle watched him.
A strange tenderness rose in her chest.
He was doing it.
Not charming.
Not performing.
Just… showing up.
Her father spoke first.
Direct.
No warm-up.
“Aleem,” her father said.
Aleem met his gaze.
“Yes, Uncle.”
Her father’s eyes held his.
“What do you want?”
Belle’s heart slammed.
Her mother’s hands tightened on the towel she had been holding.
The question wasn’t cruel.
It was honest.
Aleem didn’t flinch.
He exhaled once.
“I want to get to know Belle properly,” he said calmly. “And if things go well, I want to marry her.”
The word marry landed.
Not like a proposal.
Like a declaration of responsibility.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother’s eyes widened.
Her father’s expression didn’t change.
But his gaze sharpened.
“And you know what that means?” her father asked.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, Uncle,” he said. “It affects religion. Family. Children. Expectations.”
Belle’s mother sat down slowly.
Her voice came out tight.
“So you really serious,” she said.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, Auntie,” he said.
Her mother looked at Belle.
Then back at Aleem.
Her voice trembled.
“Belle just… recovered,” her mother whispered. “You know?”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Recovered was generous.
She was still healing.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I was there when she… wasn’t okay.”
Her father’s jaw tightened.
Her mother’s eyes glistened.
Aleem continued, carefully,
“I’m not here to take advantage of her vulnerability. I’m here because I respect her. And because I want to do things properly.”
Proper.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her father watched him for a long time.
Then he asked, quietly,
“How you know you’re not rebound?”
The question stabbed.
Not because it was rude.
Because it was fair.
Belle’s eyes burned.
Aleem didn’t look offended.
He answered calmly.
“Because I didn’t pursue her when she was attached,” he said. “I respected that. And when she fell apart, I only supported. No romance. No pressure.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother blinked fast.
Her father’s gaze sharpened further.
“And now?” her father asked.
Aleem’s voice stayed steady.
“Now she chose to confess,” Aleem said. “And I took time to think. Because I knew it wasn’t only feelings. It was deen and family too.”
Deen.
Belle’s father’s eyes flicked.
He didn’t know the word.
But he understood the meaning.
Religion.
Aleem corrected gently, “Deen… my faith.”
Belle’s father nodded once.
Her mother’s voice came out small.
“You ask her to convert?”
Aleem shook his head immediately.
“No, Auntie,” he said firmly. “I told her not to convert for me. If she ever chooses Islam, it must be for Allah. Not for love.”
The sentence fell into the room.
Not preachy.
Just… clear.
Belle’s mother looked at Belle.
Belle nodded slowly.
“It’s true,” Belle whispered.
Her mother’s eyes watered.
Her father’s gaze stayed on Aleem.
“Then why you date?” her father asked. “If conversion not sure, marriage how?”
The bluntness made Belle’s heart race.
Aleem exhaled.
“We’re not rushing,” he said. “We’re learning. We’re discussing. We’re seeing if our values can align without anyone being forced.”
Forced.
Her father’s jaw flexed.
Her mother whispered, “But Muslim marriage… must Muslim, right?”
Aleem nodded slowly.
“Yes, Auntie,” he said. “If we marry, she would have to be Muslim. That’s why I’m careful. I don’t want to pull her into something she doesn’t believe.”
Belle felt the room hold its breath.
This was the part that scared everyone.
The part where love met law.
Belle’s mother’s eyes filled.
Her voice trembled.
“Then what if she becomes Muslim and then… regret?”
Regret.
The word cut.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Then it would be painful,” he said honestly. “That’s why we go slow. That’s why she learns without pressure. That’s why I shield her from comments.”
Shield.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her father’s voice was low.
“Shield can become cage,” he said.
Belle’s heart slammed.
Aleem looked at him.
No defensiveness.
Just calm.
“I agree,” Aleem said quietly. “That’s why I’m not hiding her from you. I’m here now. Because I want integration. Not isolation.”
Integration.
Belle’s mother’s mouth trembled.
Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Integration,” he repeated.
Aleem nodded.
“Belle is your daughter,” Aleem said. “If I ever become her husband, I’m not taking her away. I’m adding family. Not breaking family.”
The same language.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father stared at him.
Then he asked the question that made Belle’s chest ache.
“So what you want from us?”
Aleem swallowed.
He answered carefully.
“I want your permission to continue getting to know her,” he said. “I want to do it with respect. And I want you to know… I will not stop her from being your daughter.”
Her mother’s tears slipped.
She wiped them quickly, annoyed at herself.
Her father leaned back slightly.
He didn’t speak for a long moment.
The silence was heavy.
But not violent.
It was the silence of a man weighing a stranger who might become family.
Belle’s hands trembled.
She clasped them tightly.
Her mother’s voice broke.
“Aleem,” her mother whispered, “our only boundary is… don’t isolate her from us.”
There it was.
The core.
The fear.
The love.
Aleem nodded.
“I understand,” he said.
Her mother’s eyes pleaded.
“You promise?” she whispered.
Aleem didn’t answer quickly.
He answered like someone making a vow.
“I promise I will never ask her to abandon you,” he said. “And I will never allow anyone to shame her for loving you. Family ties are important in Islam too.”
Belle’s mother blinked.
“Really?” she asked, voice fragile.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, Auntie,” he said. “Islam doesn’t teach you to cut off parents because of marriage. It teaches respect. And mercy.”
Mercy.
Belle’s mother’s mouth trembled.
Her father’s gaze sharpened at that word.
Mercy sounded like something he could accept.
Not doctrine.
Not rules.
Mercy.
Belle’s father finally spoke.
His voice was low.
“Okay,” he said.
The word landed.
Belle’s breath caught.
Her mother turned sharply.
“Okay like that?” she whispered.
Her father looked at his wife.
His eyes were steady.
“Okay means… we stay close,” he said quietly. “Okay means… we watch. We don’t abandon our daughter. We don’t push her away to make a point.”
Belle’s tears spilled.
Her mother’s tears followed.
Her father looked back at Aleem.
His tone remained calm.
“Okay,” he repeated. “But listen. You don’t rush her. You don’t make her choose between us.”
Aleem nodded immediately.
“Yes, Uncle,” he said.
Her father’s gaze tightened.
“And you come properly,” her father added. “Not only today. If you want to be family, you show up.”
Show up.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Aleem’s voice was steady.
“Yes, Uncle,” he said again.
Her mother sniffed, wiping her tears aggressively.
“Okay,” her mother whispered, voice trembling. “We… we will show up too. But don’t let her disappear.”
Aleem nodded.
“I won’t,” he said.
After the heavy part, her mother did what mothers do.
She stood up.
“Eat,” she ordered.
Belle blinked through tears.
Her father muttered, “Always eat.”
Her mother glared. “You think love is air ah?”
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
Belle let out a shaky laugh.
The tension loosened–just a little.
Her mother brought out dinner.
Not a feast.
Just home food.
And she had done something quietly deliberate.
There was a halal dish.
No pork.
No cooking wine.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother placed the plate down and said briskly,
“I don’t know halal very well. I just… buy from halal stall. You can eat.”
Belle stared.
Her mother was scared.
But she was already making space.
Showing up.
While hurting.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
“Thank you, Auntie,” he said quietly.
Her mother waved him off, embarrassed.
“Eat only,” she muttered.
They ate.
Belle watched Aleem eat slowly.
Not like a guest trying to impress.
Like a man who knew how to sit in someone else’s home with respect.
Her father watched him too.
Quietly.
When Aleem finished, he didn’t just sit.
He stood.
“Thank you for dinner,” Aleem said. “Auntie, Uncle… thank you for hearing me.”
Her father nodded once.
Her mother’s eyes were still shiny.
Then Aleem did something small.
He looked at Belle.
Not asking permission.
Checking.
Belle nodded slightly.
Aleem turned back to her parents.
“I know Belle has been through a lot,” he said quietly. “If at any point you feel she’s not okay, please tell me. I don’t want anyone to carry alone.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her mother’s face crumpled.
Her father’s jaw flexed.
Then her father asked, quietly,
“You can handle?”
Aleem met his gaze.
“Yes,” Aleem said. “But I don’t want to handle alone. I want us to be… on the same side.”
Same side.
Belle’s throat tightened.
That sentence felt like a bridge being built in real time.
Her father stared.
Then he nodded once.
“Okay,” he said.
Not permission to take Belle.
Permission to stand beside them.
When Aleem left, Belle walked him to the door.
Her mother hovered behind Belle, arms crossed.
Her father stayed in the living room, watching quietly.
At the door, Aleem turned.
He bowed his head slightly.
“Thank you again, Auntie. Uncle,” he said.
Her mother’s voice was rough.
“Drive safely,” she muttered.
Her father called from the living room,
“Okay.”
Aleem paused.
He didn’t smile too wide.
He simply nodded.
“Okay, Uncle,” he replied.
Belle’s throat tightened.
After Aleem left, Belle closed the door and leaned against it for a moment.
Her legs felt weak.
Her mother exhaled long.
Her father returned to the sofa.
Life resumed.
But Belle could feel the shift.
Not full acceptance.
Not a blessing ceremony.
But a door opened.
And in her father’s living room, where grief and love had lived side by side for months, Belle heard her mother’s voice–small and honest.
“Belle,” her mother whispered.
Belle turned.
Her mother’s eyes were wet.
“Don’t disappear,” her mother said again.
Belle’s chest broke open.
“I won’t,” Belle whispered.
Her father’s voice came from the sofa.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” she replied.
Two worlds.
Still two.
But now, for the first time, the bridge felt real.
Not built on romance.
Built on boundaries.
Built on showing up.
Built on mercy.
Properly.