Watched, Not Weighed
Chapter 26 – Watched, Not Weighed
Mak’s message came on a Tuesday afternoon, while Aleem was in a meeting and Belle was pretending she wasn’t refreshing her phone every five minutes.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t formal.
It didn’t say we need to talk.
It said:
Aleem. This weekend bring Belle over. Just tea. Don’t late.
Just tea.
Not an interview.
Not a tribunal.
A small invitation shaped like normal life.
Aleem showed it to Belle later that evening, when she was on his couch in socks, nursing a mug of warm water like it was a shield.
“She asked,” Aleem said.
Belle stared at the screen.
Her heart jumped.
Then immediately sank.
Second meeting.
First meeting had been cautious, polite, held at the edges.
A plate of kuih.
A container of vegetables.
A crack of door.
This–this felt like another step.
Not approval.
But continuation.
Belle’s fingers tightened around her mug.
“Just tea means what?” she asked.
Aleem shrugged lightly.
“Just tea,” he said. “Short. Calm. No pressure.”
Belle looked up.
“No pressure,” she repeated.
Aleem’s gaze was steady.
“You can say no,” he said. “If you’re not okay.”
Choice.
Always choice.
Belle swallowed.
Her chest felt tight, but not in the old collapsing way.
In the alive way.
The way that said:
I’m scared.
But I’m still here.
“I’ll go,” Belle whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Okay,” she echoed.
Then, because she couldn’t help it, she asked,
“What do I bring?”
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“You don’t have to bring anything,” he said, already knowing he was losing.
Belle stared at him.
“Aleem.”
Aleem sighed, surrendering properly.
“Fruit,” he said. “Simple.”
Belle nodded.
“Okay.”
Aleem added, carefully,
“And… don’t try too hard.”
Belle blinked.
“I always try too hard,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m saying it.”
On Saturday afternoon, Belle stood in front of her wardrobe and fought the urge to become someone else.
She had worn modest clothes for sessions.
Long sleeves.
Loose fit.
Neutral colours.
But today wasn’t a class.
Today was people.
Parents.
Expectations.
And Belle’s body had learned the old reflex:
If you want to be accepted, become perfect.
She stared at a blouse that looked too formal.
Then at a dress that looked too soft.
Then at a cardigan that made her look like she was auditioning for “good daughter-in-law.”
Belle exhaled.
She chose something she would wear on any normal weekend.
A long-sleeved top, simple.
Loose pants.
Comfortable flats.
Hair tied back.
Not trying to look like a different person.
Just trying to arrive without noise.
Her mother watched from the kitchen.
Chop chop chop.
Then pause.
“You going to see them?” her mother asked.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
“Yes,” Belle said softly.
Her mother’s eyes scanned her outfit.
Not judgment.
Worry.
Her mother nodded once.
“Come back for dinner,” her mother said.
Belle’s chest tightened.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I’ll come back.”
Her mother’s voice softened, small.
“Okay,” her mother whispered.
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” Belle replied.
Then her father appeared from the living room with his usual economy of words.
He looked at Belle.
He didn’t ask where.
He didn’t interrogate.
He just said:
“Okay.”
Permission.
Blessing.
Love.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Okay,” she answered.
Aleem picked her up downstairs.
He was dressed simply too.
Clean shirt.
Jeans.
No beard.
No fuss.
He stepped out of the car with a fruit basket in one hand.
Belle blinked.
“You bought already?”
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
“I didn’t trust you,” he said.
Belle gasped, offended.
“I wasn’t going to buy too much,” she protested.
Aleem raised an eyebrow.
“You said that last time,” he replied.
Belle stared at the basket.
It was… reasonable.
Not a supermarket sponsorship.
Not a desperate offering.
Just oranges and pears.
Belle exhaled.
“Okay,” she murmured.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
As they drove, Belle stared out at the estate blocks passing by.
Her heart kept trying to sprint ahead.
What if they don’t like me?
What if they decide I’m not worth the trouble?
What if they think I’m pretending?
Aleem’s voice cut through gently.
“Don’t rehearse,” he said.
Belle blinked.
“What?”
Aleem glanced at her briefly.
“You’re rehearsing answers,” he said. “I can see it.”
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
“I don’t want to say wrong thing,” she whispered.
Aleem’s tone stayed calm.
“You won’t,” he said. “Just be honest. That’s all.”
Honest.
Belle nodded.
Aleem added, quieter,
“They’re not trying to trap you.”
Belle swallowed.
“They’re watching,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But watching is not the same as judging. They’re… trying to understand.”
Trying.
Belle exhaled.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“Okay.”
Mak opened the door before Aleem could knock twice.
She was in her tudung, sleeves rolled up slightly.
Her eyes went to Aleem.
Then to Belle.
Then to the fruit.
Mak’s mouth tightened.
“Aiyo,” Mak murmured immediately. “Why buy? I say just tea.”
Belle’s cheeks burned.
The reflex to apologise rose.
But Belle remembered: don’t perform guilt.
Just respond respectfully.
“Auntie,” Belle said softly, holding the basket with both hands, “small only. Just… courtesy.”
Mak stared at the basket.
Then her eyes flicked to Belle’s face.
Not scanning for makeup.
Scanning for something else.
Sincerity.
Mak took the basket with a sigh.
“Next time don’t waste money,” she scolded lightly.
Then, to Aleem, she added, “You also. Don’t let her.”
Aleem nodded once.
“Okay, Mak,” he said.
Belle’s chest tightened.
This wasn’t hostility.
It was… mothering.
Mak stepped aside.
“Come in,” she said.
Come in.
Again.
The door stayed open.
Belle removed her shoes carefully.
Placed them neatly.
Small adab.
Small respect.
Ayah appeared from the living room.
Glasses.
Calm face.
He looked at Belle.
Then nodded.
“Hello,” he said.
Belle bowed her head slightly.
“Hello, Uncle,” she replied.
Ayah’s gaze moved to Aleem.
“Tea?” Ayah asked.
Mak snorted. “Tea already. But you don’t help. Only ask.”
Ayah muttered, “I ask because I care.”
Mak rolled her eyes.
Belle blinked.
Then, unexpectedly, a small laugh rose in her chest.
Because the banter was ordinary.
A home.
Not a court.
Not a stage.
Mak waved them toward the sofa.
“Sit,” she ordered.
Belle sat near the edge.
Aleem sat beside her.
Not too close.
Still proper.
Mak returned with drinks.
Tea for Ayah.
Water for Belle.
And tea for Aleem.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Small hospitality again.
A sign:
We are still human with each other.
Mak placed the cups down.
Then she looked at Belle.
“You eat already?” Mak asked.
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
Food as care.
Always.
“Not yet, Auntie,” Belle said.
Mak clicked her tongue.
“Aiyah,” she scolded, already rising. “Why always don’t eat?”
Belle started to panic.
“It’s okay–”
Aleem spoke calmly.
“She was nervous,” he said.
Mak paused.
Then her expression softened just slightly.
“Nervous for what,” Mak muttered, but her voice wasn’t sharp. “We not tiger.”
Ayah’s mouth twitched.
Mak glared at him.
“You smile, you think you handsome?”
Ayah muttered, “I always handsome.”
Belle choked on a laugh.
The sound escaped.
Small.
Real.
Mak looked at her.
Belle froze.
Then Mak’s eyes softened.
“Hah,” Mak said, almost satisfied. “Can laugh.”
Belle’s cheeks burned.
“Yes, Auntie,” she whispered.
Mak disappeared into the kitchen.
Belle sat still, heart pounding.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You okay?” he murmured.
Belle nodded, barely.
“My heart is loud,” she whispered.
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Normal,” he replied.
When Mak returned, she didn’t bring out a feast.
She brought out a small plate of biscuits.
And a bowl of fruit.
Tea, biscuits, fruit.
Just tea.
No performance.
Mak placed the plate down in front of Belle.
“Eat,” she ordered.
Belle nodded.
She took one biscuit.
Held it.
Then took a bite.
Sweet.
Simple.
A small act of trust.
Mak sat down.
Ayah leaned back, watching quietly.
The air settled.
Mak asked the normal questions first.
“You work where?”
Belle answered.
“What you do?”
Belle answered.
“Busy?”
Belle answered.
Not dramatic.
Not oversharing.
Just being a person.
Then, gently, Mak’s questions shifted.
“Your parents… okay?” Mak asked.
Belle’s throat tightened.
This was the real thing.
Belle nodded.
“They’re scared,” she admitted softly. “But they… they’re love-first. They said they will show up. Their boundary is… I don’t disappear.”
Mak listened.
No interruption.
Ayah’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Good,” Ayah said quietly.
The word landed.
Not approval.
But recognition.
Mak nodded.
“You must keep them close,” Mak said.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Yes, Auntie,” she whispered. “I will.”
Mak’s voice softened a fraction.
“Parents worry because they love,” Mak said.
Belle swallowed.
“Yes,” she whispered.
A beat.
Then Mak asked, not like a test, but like a mother trying to understand the future shape.
“You learning still?” Mak asked.
Belle’s heart hammered.
She nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “I go when I can. I write questions. I’m not rushing.”
Mak studied her.
Belle forced herself to keep her voice steady.
“If it becomes anything,” Belle added softly, “I want it to be true for me. I don’t want to disrespect your faith by pretending.”
Silence.
Aleem’s chest rose in a slow breath.
Ayah’s gaze stayed steady.
Mak’s expression softened.
Not melting.
But less guarded.
Mak nodded once.
“Okay,” Mak murmured.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Okay.
Time passed in small domestic ways.
Mak asked if Belle knew how to cook.
Belle admitted she could cook instant noodles and eggs.
Mak sighed dramatically.
“Aleem,” Mak scolded, “you marry her, you must cook.”
Aleem’s voice was calm.
“I already cook,” he said.
Mak looked impressed for half a second.
“Cook what?” Mak demanded.
Aleem paused.
Then he said, with the seriousness of a man confessing sins,
“Chicken breast.”
Mak stared.
Belle blinked.
Ayah’s mouth twitched.
Mak threw her hands up.
“Chicken breast is not cooking!” Mak declared.
Belle laughed again–this time louder.
Mak looked at her.
Then, despite herself, Mak smiled.
A small thing.
A crack.
Not because Belle tried to be charming.
Because she was.
Naturally.
Without begging.
As the afternoon light shifted, Aleem checked his phone.
Then he stood.
“Maghrib soon,” he said.
Mak waved him toward his room.
“Go,” Mak said. “Pray.”
Aleem nodded.
He turned to Belle.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem left the living room.
The absence felt strange.
Not lonely.
Just… revealing.
Now it was Belle with Mak and Ayah.
No buffer.
No translator.
Just people.
Mak stood up too.
“I wash cups,” Mak muttered.
Belle reacted instinctively.
“I can help,” Belle offered.
Mak paused.
Then she nodded, not rejecting.
“Okay,” Mak said.
In the kitchen, Belle didn’t grab everything like she was trying to prove usefulness.
She simply stood beside Mak.
Took a cup.
Rinsed.
Washed.
Quiet.
Unshowy.
Mak watched her hands.
Then Mak asked softly, almost casually,
“You not scared when Aleem pray?”
Belle blinked.
Scared.
That word again.
Belle swallowed.
“At first I was,” she admitted. “Because I didn’t know what to do. But… it’s peaceful.”
Mak’s eyes softened.
“Hmm,” Mak murmured.
Belle dried a cup.
Then she added carefully,
“I don’t… want to disturb. So I just give space.”
Mak nodded.
“Good,” Mak said.
Good.
A small stamp.
Not blessing.
But recognition.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Mak continued washing.
Then she said quietly,
“You know, people talk.”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
Mak didn’t sound angry.
She sounded tired.
Belle nodded.
“I know,” she whispered.
Mak sighed.
“They will say you do for man. They will ask you convert already or not. They will… make noise.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
Mak glanced at Belle.
“You don’t need answer,” Mak said, voice firm. “You don’t owe them. Only you and Allah know.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
Mak wasn’t rigid.
Mak was protecting.
In her own mother language.
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Mak nodded.
“Okay,” Mak echoed.
When they returned to the living room, Aleem was still praying.
Belle sat back down quietly.
Ayah looked at her.
Not suspicious.
Just… measuring steadiness.
After a moment, Ayah asked,
“You have siblings?”
Belle blinked.
“No,” she said softly. “Only child.”
Ayah nodded slowly.
“Then your parents… very attached,” Ayah said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Ayah’s voice was calm.
“Good you keep them close,” he said.
Belle nodded.
“Yes, Uncle.”
Ayah leaned back.
Then, almost as if speaking to himself, he murmured,
“Marriage should add family. Not break.”
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Aleem returned after prayer.
He looked calmer.
Like the act had smoothed something inside him.
He sat down again.
Mak glanced at the clock.
“Okay, enough,” Mak declared. “You all go. Belle must go back to parents.”
Belle blinked.
Mak was remembering the boundary.
Not isolating.
Not keeping Belle too long.
That mattered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay, Mak,” he said.
Belle stood.
She bowed her head slightly.
“Thank you for tea, Auntie. Uncle,” Belle said.
Mak waved her hand briskly.
“Next time eat before come,” Mak scolded.
Belle’s mouth trembled.
“Yes, Auntie,” she whispered.
Then Mak did something small.
She disappeared into the kitchen.
Returned with a container.
She shoved it into Belle’s hands.
“Take,” Mak said. “Vegetable. Not spicy.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Again.
But this time Mak added something else.
“And… if your mum want, tell her I made extra,” Mak muttered, eyes not meeting Belle’s. “She can eat also.”
Belle froze.
Her chest filled.
A bridge.
Not only to Belle.
To Belle’s mother.
Belle blinked fast.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Mak nodded.
“Okay.”
Ayah stood.
He looked at Belle.
His voice was calm.
“You good girl,” Ayah said simply.
Belle’s eyes stung.
It wasn’t a blessing.
It wasn’t permission.
It was… recognition.
Belle bowed her head.
“Thank you, Uncle,” she whispered.
Ayah nodded once.
“Okay,” he added.
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” she replied.
They walked to the lift.
Belle held the container like it was fragile.
Like it contained more than vegetables.
Inside the lift, Belle exhaled.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You okay?”
Belle nodded.
“I felt… watched,” she admitted softly.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Yeah,” he said. “But not weighed.”
Belle blinked.
Aleem continued, voice calm,
“They weren’t trying to find fault. They were trying to see if you’re steady.”
Steady.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Mak laughed today.
Ayah called her good.
Mak remembered her parents.
Small things.
Big meaning.
Belle whispered, “Mak told me people talk.”
Aleem nodded.
“She told you not to answer?”
Belle blinked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s her version of protecting you.”
Protecting.
Belle stared at the container.
Then she whispered, voice trembling,
“She said… my mum can eat also.”
Aleem’s eyes softened deeply.
“That’s huge,” he said quietly.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“It’s just vegetables,” she whispered.
Aleem shook his head.
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s… opening.”
Opening.
A door.
A bridge.
They reached the car.
As Aleem unlocked the door, Belle hesitated.
Then she asked, softly,
“Do you think they… like me?”
Aleem looked at her.
His gaze was steady.
“I think they’re starting to,” he said.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Aleem added, gently,
“Not because you tried to impress. Because you were… you. Kind. Respectful. You didn’t act like this is a game.”
Belle swallowed.
Her throat tightened.
“I didn’t want to take,” she whispered.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
“I know,” he said.
When Belle got home, her mother opened the door before Belle could knock.
Her mother’s eyes scanned her face.
“You okay?” her mother asked.
Belle lifted the container.
“Auntie gave,” Belle said softly. “Vegetable. Not spicy.”
Her mother’s mouth tightened.
She reached for the container.
Then Belle added, voice trembling,
“She said… if you want, she made extra. You can eat also.”
Her mother froze.
Her eyes flicked up.
“She said that?”
Belle nodded.
Her mother’s throat moved.
Then her mother exhaled shakily.
“Okay,” her mother whispered.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her father’s voice came from the living room.
“Okay.”
Two worlds.
Still two.
But now, in Belle’s kitchen, there was food from the other side.
Not as an obligation.
As a gesture.
A beginning.
Belle watched her mother put the container on the counter.
Her mother didn’t smile.
Her mother didn’t cry.
But her mother touched the lid gently, like the act itself mattered.
“Go wash up,” her mother said briskly, voice thick. “Then eat dinner.”
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
As she walked toward the bathroom, Belle felt the quietest thing settle in her chest.
Not certainty.
Not victory.
Just… a small mercy.
She had been watched.
But she had not been weighed and found lacking.
She had been seen.
And for now–
for this stage of their slow, careful love–
being seen was enough.