Engagement Direction
Chapter 27 – Engagement Direction
Belle realised she had started counting time again.
Not in the old way.
Not in weeks till ROM deposit and days till gown fitting.
Not in colour-coded spreadsheets that made a future feel controllable.
This time, she counted time like someone holding something fragile.
Softly.
Carefully.
As if one wrong squeeze would break it.
She was standing at her kitchen counter when it happened.
Her mother was frying something–garlic popping in oil, the kind of sound that made a flat feel alive.
Her father was in the living room, TV volume low.
Belle scrolled through her phone absentmindedly, the way people did when their brains were tired.
A calendar notification popped up:
One year ago: Venue viewing.
Belle froze.
Her throat tightened.
Her body remembered the smell of hotel carpet, the way she had walked into ballrooms with her ex and imagined herself in white.
The memory came with a sharpness that surprised her.
Not because she missed him.
Because she missed the certainty.
Even if that certainty had been fake.
Her thumb hovered.
Then, without thinking, she opened her calendar.
Not to delete the old entries.
She had learned not to rewrite history like it never happened.
She scrolled to the present.
Her finger tapped a date.
Then another.
She added nothing.
But her mind did.
Ramadan (approx.).
Ustazah session.
ABIX dinner.
Time.
Life.
Two worlds.
And somewhere in the middle–
A question she had been avoiding because it sounded too much like planning:
Where is this going?
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Aleem.
Free tonight? I want to talk.
Belle’s heart jumped.
Then did that awful little stutter it always did when a future tried to enter the room.
She typed back:
Okay. Where?
His reply came quickly.
ECP. Just walk. No pressure.
No pressure.
Belle stared at the words.
Then she swallowed.
And typed:
Okay.
ABIX, of course, sensed the shift before Belle could even pretend she was normal.
They met at a kopitiam near Ivan’s place, because Ivan had declared it “optimal” and Crystal had complained it was “ugly” and Aleem had said, calmly, “We’re here to eat, not to model.”
Crystal arrived first, dramatic as always.
She plonked her bag down and immediately leaned over the table toward Belle.
“You look like you have a secret,” Crystal whispered.
Belle blinked.
Ivan, already seated, didn’t even look up from his drink.
“She always looks like she has a secret,” Ivan muttered.
Crystal gasped. “Don’t insult her mystique.”
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
Aleem arrived a minute later with his tray.
Simple food.
Halal.
No fuss.
He sat down beside Belle, close enough that she felt anchored.
Not so close it felt like ownership.
Proper.
Crystal’s eyes glittered.
“Okay,” she announced, clapping her hands lightly, “I am calling a meeting.”
Ivan sighed. “We’re literally already at a table.”
Crystal ignored him.
“This is ABIX Family Council,” she declared. “Agenda item: When are you two getting engaged?”
Belle almost inhaled her drink.
Aleem didn’t choke.
He just looked at Crystal.
His voice was calm.
“Crystal,” he said, “stop.”
Crystal pouted. “Why? It’s a valid question.”
Ivan finally looked up.
“It’s a premature question,” Ivan said flatly.
Crystal blinked. “You’re premature.”
Ivan sighed. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Crystal leaned forward again, softer now.
“Okay lah,” she said, “not engaged engaged. But… direction.”
Direction.
The word landed differently.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Because that was exactly what Aleem wanted to talk about.
Aleem’s gaze flicked to Belle.
Checking.
Belle nodded slightly.
Aleem exhaled.
“We’re talking about it,” Aleem said.
Crystal’s eyes widened.
Ivan’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened–focused.
“What kind of talking?” Ivan asked.
Aleem answered without fuss.
“Timeline, expectations,” he said. “Family integration. Not a date. A direction.”
Crystal let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Wah,” she murmured, “so adult.”
Ivan nodded once.
“That’s the correct approach,” Ivan said.
Crystal squinted at him.
“Why you suddenly sound like you’re approving a project plan?”
Ivan sipped his drink.
“Because it is a project plan,” he said.
Belle laughed despite herself.
The laugh was small.
But it loosened something in her chest.
Aleem glanced at her.
His mouth twitched faintly.
Crystal’s expression softened.
“Belle,” Crystal said, quieter now, “you okay with talking about it?”
Belle swallowed.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
Crystal’s eyes widened.
Ivan’s gaze softened.
Aleem didn’t look surprised.
Belle continued, voice careful,
“Not scared of him,” she clarified quickly. “Scared of… planning again. The last time I planned a future, it died.”
Silence.
ABIX’s humour dimmed.
Because they remembered.
The BTO.
The collapsed wedding plans.
The months where Belle had barely eaten.
Crystal reached across the table and squeezed Belle’s hand.
“Okay,” Crystal whispered. “We go slow. We don’t do spreadsheet trauma again.”
Ivan nodded once.
“Direction is not a date,” Ivan said, like he was reciting a principle. “It’s a boundary.”
Aleem’s gaze stayed on Belle.
“It’s not a trap,” Aleem said quietly.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“I know,” she whispered. “I just… need to feel safe.”
Aleem nodded.
“We’ll do it properly,” he said.
Proper.
Crystal sniffed dramatically.
“Okay,” she announced, slamming her palm lightly on the table, “ABIX Family Council approves direction, not date.”
Ivan sighed. “Stop saying council.”
Crystal glared. “Let me have my moment.”
Belle laughed again.
The laughter held.
For a second.
Belle realised:
Even the idea of a future didn’t feel like drowning anymore.
Not when the people around her were making space.
East Coast Park at night was a different kind of Singapore.
Less fluorescent.
More breath.
The sea was dark, but you could hear it–waves brushing the shore like a quiet conversation.
Cyclists passed.
Dogs pulled their owners.
Families sat on mats.
Ordinary life.
Blessed ordinary.
Aleem walked beside Belle, hands in his pockets.
He didn’t try to hold her hand immediately.
He let the space exist.
Belle matched his pace.
The air was humid but softer by the sea.
After a few minutes, Aleem spoke.
“I talked to my parents,” he said.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
“About… direction?” Belle asked.
Aleem nodded.
“Mak asked me to bring you again,” he said. “And after that… she asked me what my intention is.”
Intention.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Aleem continued, voice steady,
“I told her the truth. That I’m serious. That I want to marry you–if you reach the place where it’s sincere for you.”
Belle’s breath caught.
Aleem’s tone didn’t change.
No drama.
Just honesty.
Belle whispered, “What did she say?”
Aleem exhaled.
“She didn’t say yes,” he said. “She said… we watch. We go slow. But she also… started protecting you.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“The comments?” Belle guessed.
Aleem nodded.
“She told you not to answer,” he said.
Belle blinked.
“You know.”
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“You told me,” he said.
Belle swallowed.
Aleem’s gaze shifted to the sea.
Then back to Belle.
“Belle,” he said quietly, “I want to set direction with you. Not a date. Not a promise that ignores reality. Direction.”
Direction.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice stayed calm.
“Direction means… we decide whether we’re moving toward marriage,” he said. “And if yes, we decide what needs to happen before that.”
Belle stared at her shoes.
Her hands were cold despite the humidity.
Because the word marriage still carried ghosts.
Aleem seemed to read it.
He softened his voice.
“Not because I want to lock you in,” he said. “But because if we don’t have direction, we’ll drift. And drift makes you anxious.”
Belle blinked.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
Belle swallowed.
“I don’t want to drift,” she admitted.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
They walked in silence for a while.
Belle listened to the waves.
Then she asked the question that had been sitting in her chest like a stone.
“What does moving toward marriage mean… for you?”
Aleem exhaled.
“It means I keep being proper,” he said. “It means I keep shielding you. It means I involve our families, not hide. And it means… we respect the deen part.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“The conversion part,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “But not as a checkbox. Not as a timeline pressure. As a sincerity journey. If you don’t believe, we don’t proceed. It will hurt, but we don’t proceed.”
The sentence was heavy.
But it was clean.
No manipulation.
No bargaining.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“You’re not scared you’ll lose me?” she whispered.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“I am,” he admitted. “But I’m more scared of you doing something for me and resenting it later. That would break you. And it would be haram for me to be the reason you lied to yourself.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
Haram.
The word still felt like a fence.
But his usage felt like protection.
A boundary that kept her from being coerced.
Belle swallowed.
“And… kids?” she asked softly, because she couldn’t avoid it forever.
Aleem’s gaze steadied.
“If we marry, our kids will be Muslim,” he said. “That’s non-negotiable for me.”
Non-negotiable.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
But Aleem didn’t say it like a threat.
He said it like a truth.
Then he added,
“And your parents will still be in their lives. They will still be grandparents. We will still visit. We will still show up. That’s part of direction too.”
Show up.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother’s boundary echoed in her head.
Don’t disappear.
Belle whispered, “I need that.”
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he said.
They reached a quieter stretch of path.
Less people.
More wind.
Aleem stopped walking.
Belle stopped too.
He looked at her.
His face was calm.
But his eyes held something vulnerable.
“Belle,” he said quietly, “I want to proceed. I want to move toward marriage with you. Properly. Slowly. With families. With sincerity.”
Belle’s breath caught.
The moment felt like a confession, but steadier.
Not ignition.
Direction.
Belle stared at him.
Her heart hammered.
Then she whispered,
“I want to proceed too.”
Aleem’s shoulders loosened.
He exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem hesitated.
Then, with a carefulness that felt like he was asking permission with his whole body, he offered his hand.
Palm open.
Not grabbing.
Not claiming.
Just inviting.
Belle looked at it.
Then she placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed gently.
Warm.
Steady.
The sea breathed beside them.
Aleem squeezed lightly.
“Direction,” he murmured.
Belle’s mouth trembled.
“Direction,” she echoed.
Direction meant talking to her parents.
Not as a “FYI.”
As respect.
Belle chose a Sunday afternoon, because Sundays were family.
She sat at the dining table with her parents while her mother peeled fruit and her father read the paper like he wasn’t listening.
Belle inhaled.
“Mummy,” she began.
Her mother looked up immediately.
“Yes?”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“I met Aleem’s parents again,” Belle said.
Her mother’s hands paused.
Her father lowered the paper slightly.
“How?” her father asked.
Belle swallowed.
“It was just tea,” she said. “Short. They were… kinder.”
Her mother’s eyes searched Belle’s face.
“Did they say anything bad?”
Belle shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Mak told me not to answer people if they ask intrusive questions. She… she even said you can eat her cooking if you want.”
Her mother’s mouth tightened.
Her eyes glistened.
Her father’s gaze sharpened.
“Okay,” her father said quietly.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Then Belle continued, because direction required courage.
“I want to… proceed,” Belle said softly.
Her mother’s face crumpled slightly.
Proceed.
Her father’s gaze held.
Proceed meant:
This is real.
This is not a phase.
Belle continued, voice trembling but steady,
“Not rushing marriage. Not rushing conversion. But proceed like… we are moving toward it. With honesty.”
Her mother swallowed.
“Belle,” her mother whispered, “you sure?”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“I’m sure about him,” Belle said softly. “And I’m sure about wanting to learn properly. I’m not sure about everything yet. But I don’t want to drift.”
Her father lowered his paper fully.
He looked at Belle.
His voice was calm.
“What does proceed mean?” he asked.
Belle exhaled.
“It means… we start talking about expectations,” Belle said. “Holidays. Visits. If I ever become Muslim, it must be for Allah, not for him. Aleem keeps repeating that. And… if we ever marry, our kids will be Muslim.”
The last sentence landed heavy.
Her mother’s breath hitched.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
Belle rushed, “But that doesn’t mean you lose them. Aleem said you will still be grandparents. We will still visit. We will still show up.”
Her mother’s eyes filled.
Her father’s gaze stayed steady.
“You promise?” her mother whispered.
Belle’s chest tightened.
“Yes,” Belle said quickly. “You’re my parents. I won’t disappear.”
Her mother’s tears slipped.
Her father stared at Belle.
Then he asked, quietly,
“Is he rushing you?”
Belle shook her head hard.
“No,” she said. “He’s… careful. Sometimes too careful.”
Her father’s gaze softened slightly.
“Good,” he said.
Then, after a beat, her father spoke again.
“Then if you want to proceed, we proceed properly,” he said.
Belle’s breath caught.
Her father continued, voice steady,
“I want to meet him again. Not just hello. I want to talk. Man-to-man. Expectations. Boundaries. If he can hold responsibility, he can sit in this house and talk.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her mother’s voice was thick.
“And the boundary stays,” her mother said.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her father leaned back slightly.
He looked at Belle.
His voice was quiet.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s eyes burned.
The word wasn’t cheerful.
But it was love.
Permission to try.
To build.
To show up while hurting.
Belle whispered,
“Okay.”
Direction also meant Aleem talking to his parents.
Not in the abstract.
In real steps.
Aleem visited them mid-week after work.
Mak was folding laundry.
Ayah was watching TV.
Aleem sat at the dining table like he had something serious to say.
Mak glanced at him.
“You hungry?” Mak asked immediately.
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
“Not hungry, Mak,” he said.
Mak frowned.
“Then why you come with serious face?”
Ayah looked up.
Aleem exhaled.
“I want to proceed,” Aleem said calmly.
Mak froze.
Ayah’s gaze sharpened.
Proceed.
Aleem continued, voice steady,
“Not rushing. But direction. I want to move toward marriage with Belle, if she reaches sincerity.”
Mak’s throat moved.
Ayah remained calm.
“What direction?” Ayah asked.
Aleem answered clearly.
“More family meetings,” he said. “Clear expectations. And Belle continues learning at her pace. No one pressures. And I want you both to know: I’m not hiding her. I’m integrating.”
Mak exhaled.
“People talk,” Mak muttered.
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he said. “I handle.”
Ayah’s gaze held.
“Her parents?” Ayah asked.
Aleem nodded.
“They are love-first,” Aleem said. “Their boundary is she doesn’t disappear. They want access. They want to stay close. I agree.”
Mak’s expression tightened.
“Good,” Mak murmured. “Parents must stay close.”
Ayah nodded once.
Then Ayah asked the question that mattered.
“Belle understands kids?”
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I was clear. Kids will be Muslim.”
Mak’s eyes flashed with worry.
“And she okay?” Mak asked.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“She’s scared,” he admitted. “But she’s not running. She’s thinking. She’s learning. She’s honest.”
Mak stared at him.
Then Mak said quietly,
“You must not rush her.”
Aleem nodded.
“I won’t,” he said.
Ayah leaned back.
He watched Aleem.
“Then what you want from us?” Ayah asked.
Aleem swallowed.
“I want your support to proceed properly,” he said. “Not approval like… everything settled. But support like… we build. We meet her parents again. We set expectations. We don’t let relatives interfere.”
Mak snorted.
“Relatives always interfere,” Mak muttered.
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I need you.”
Mak’s eyes softened slightly.
Ayah stared.
Then Ayah nodded once.
“Okay,” Ayah said.
Aleem’s chest loosened.
Mak didn’t say okay immediately.
She looked worried.
But her worry wasn’t rejection.
It was… mother fear.
“Okay,” Mak said finally, voice soft. “But you do it properly. No scandal. No rushing. No making her parents feel like they losing daughter.”
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, Mak,” he said.
Mak sighed.
“And…,” Mak added, glancing away like she didn’t want to show softness, “when you meet her father again, you talk like man. Clear. Respect.”
Aleem’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” he said.
Ayah nodded.
“Her father wants talk?” Ayah asked.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
Ayah’s gaze sharpened.
“Good,” Ayah said. “Man-to-man is good.”
Aleem exhaled.
Direction.
Not a date.
Not a ring.
A series of proper meetings.
A series of boundaries.
A series of quiet permissions.
That night, Belle and Aleem stood under the void deck of Belle’s block, the air thick with the smell of someone’s curry and the distant sound of kids shouting.
Aleem hadn’t walked her to the door.
Yet.
But he had come close.
Close enough that Belle felt the seriousness humming between them.
“How did it go?” Belle asked softly.
Aleem exhaled.
“They said okay,” he said.
Belle’s breath caught.
“Okay like… okay?”
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Okay like… proceed properly,” he said.
Belle’s chest tightened.
“My dad also said okay,” Belle whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Okay like… talk again?” he guessed.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered. “He wants man-to-man expectations talk. Boundaries.”
Aleem nodded.
“Good,” he said quietly. “We do.”
Belle’s eyes stung.
Then she whispered the fear that still lived in her.
“Aleem,” she said, voice trembling, “what if we proceed and then… I can’t. What if I don’t reach belief.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He looked at her.
His gaze was steady.
“Then we stop,” he said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“And it will hurt,” he admitted. “But it will be cleaner than you forcing yourself. I’d rather lose you than make you lie.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened further.
“But for now,” he added quietly, “we proceed. Because you’re not lying. You’re learning. You’re trying. You’re honest.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
She nodded.
Aleem hesitated.
Then he squeezed her hand–gentle.
Not claiming.
Just grounding.
“Direction,” he murmured.
Belle’s mouth trembled.
“Direction,” she echoed.
Aleem’s voice was low.
“Proper,” he added.
Belle swallowed.
“Proper,” she whispered.
They stood in the warm Singapore night, two worlds still distinct, both families still cautious in their own ways.
But now, there was something new.
Not a ring.
Not a date.
A path.
And for Belle–who had once planned a future that vanished overnight–
a path built slowly felt like the only kind of future that was actually safe.
Aleem looked at her.
“You go upstairs,” he said gently. “Eat dinner. Don’t let your mum scold.”
Belle’s mouth twitched.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
Aleem’s mouth twitched too.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Okay,” she replied.
She turned toward her block.
Then, halfway, she looked back.
Aleem was still standing there.
Waiting.
Not to take.
Just to make sure she reached the lift.
Showing up.
Even in small, ordinary ways.
Belle raised her hand slightly.
A small wave.
Aleem nodded.
Then, as Belle disappeared into the lobby, she felt the quietest kind of gratitude settle in her chest.
Not because everything was solved.
Not because the path was easy.
Because for the first time in a long time, Belle could see the future without flinching.
It wasn’t a trap.
It was a direction.
And it was being built–
properly.
One “okay” at a time.