Hard Talk Night
Chapter 28 – Hard Talk Night
Belle used to think hard talks happened when someone was angry.
Raised voices.
Door slams.
Ultimatums.
The end.
But the hardest talk of her life happened on a quiet Tuesday night, in Aleem’s car, with the air-conditioner humming softly and the city lights sliding across the dashboard like slow-moving thoughts.
No yelling.
No drama.
Just two people trying to look at the same future without flinching.
It started with a question Belle didn’t mean to ask out loud.
“What if… we lose them?”
Aleem didn’t answer immediately.
Not because he didn’t care.
Because he knew he had to answer properly.
They had just come back from a session with the ustazah.
Belle’s notebook was on her lap.
Her handwriting was messier than usual.
Because the topic today had been marriage.
Not romance.
Marriage.
Rights.
Responsibilities.
The seriousness of vows.
The way Islam treated marriage as worship, not a party.
Belle’s heart had been pounding the whole session.
Not because she felt pressured.
Because she felt the weight of what she was considering.
In the lift down from the community centre, Belle had been quiet.
Aleem had watched her reflection in the mirrored wall.
“Too much?” he asked.
Belle shook her head.
“No,” she whispered. “Just… real.”
Real.
That word had followed them into the car.
Aleem drove slowly, not rushing, like speed could make thoughts worse.
Belle stared out the window.
Then, without warning, the old fear rose.
Not fear of Islam.
Fear of family.
Fear of being the reason everyone hurt.
Belle whispered, “What if my parents can’t handle it.”
Aleem’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
He didn’t look away from the road.
“We won’t force,” he said.
Belle swallowed.
“What if… they love me but it still hurts too much,” she whispered.
Aleem exhaled.
“They’ll hurt,” he said honestly. “Even if they accept. Love doesn’t remove pain.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
Then she asked the question that made her voice shake.
“What if they feel like they’re losing me?”
Aleem’s gaze flicked to her briefly.
Then back to the road.
“They already fear that,” he said quietly.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Aleem continued, voice steady,
“That’s why we keep showing up. That’s why we keep Sundays. That’s why we keep the boundary alive.”
Boundary.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Don’t disappear.
She nodded.
But the fear didn’t leave.
Because another fear was waiting behind it.
The other side.
Aleem’s side.
Belle whispered, “What if your parents… never fully accept.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, softly,
“They will accept if they see sincerity. But… yes. There’s a chance they always carry worry.”
Worry.
Belle’s breath hitched.
“I don’t want to be a permanent worry,” Belle whispered.
Aleem glanced at her.
His gaze was steady.
“You’re not a worry,” he said firmly. “The situation is a worry. Not you.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
She nodded.
Then the hardest thought came, crawling up her throat.
“What if…” Belle whispered.
Aleem waited.
Belle swallowed.
“What if… we lose both sides,” she said. “What if my parents feel I chose you, and your parents feel you chose me over deen. And then… we’re alone.”
The word alone hung in the car.
It sounded like her breakup.
Like that night when her ex had ended their wedding plans and Belle had stood in her room feeling like the world had dropped away.
Alone.
Aleem didn’t respond quickly.
He pulled into a quiet parking lot near the beach.
The sea was dark, but you could hear it.
He turned off the engine.
The silence became a room.
Aleem finally looked at Belle.
His voice was low.
“This is the hard talk,” he said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Aleem exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle blinked.
Aleem’s okay wasn’t casual.
It meant:
We’re here.
We’re not running.
They sat there for a moment.
Belle’s fingers twisted around the strap of her bag.
Aleem watched her hands.
Then he spoke.
“Belle,” he said quietly, “I need you to understand something.”
Belle looked up.
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
“My deen is not a hobby,” he said.
Belle’s chest tightened.
“I know,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“It’s my foundation,” he continued. “If I compromise it to keep people happy, I lose myself. And that’s not a marriage. That’s a slow death.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
“I don’t want you to compromise,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“And I don’t want you to compromise yourself either,” he said. “That’s why I keep saying–if you don’t believe, we stop.”
Stop.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Aleem continued, voice calm,
“But you asked about losing families. That’s real. So we talk about it properly.”
Proper.
Belle swallowed.
Aleem raised his hand slightly, as if placing things on a table.
“First,” he said, “your parents.”
Belle’s heart hammered.
Aleem’s voice stayed gentle.
“Your parents love you,” he said. “They are love-first. They will show up. But they will hurt. And we must honour their hurt. Not dismiss it.”
Honour.
Belle’s eyes stung.
Aleem continued,
“That means we don’t treat conversion like a celebration they must clap for. We treat it with gentleness. We give them time. We keep visits. We keep small contact.”
Belle nodded.
Aleem added,
“And we don’t isolate you. Even if it’s inconvenient. Even if it’s busy. Even when we have kids.”
Kids.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Aleem said it calmly.
Not as a weapon.
As a reminder of what mattered.
Belle swallowed.
“And your parents?” she asked softly.
Aleem exhaled.
“My parents,” he said, “will not abandon me. But they will worry if they think you’re not sincere. They worry about community comments. They worry about future.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem continued,
“So we don’t give them reasons to feel unsafe. We show consistency. We show respect. We show that you’re not here to play.”
Belle nodded.
“I can do that,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“You already are,” he said.
Belle’s eyes burned.
Then Aleem said the part that made Belle’s chest ache.
“But there is something,” he said.
Belle froze.
Aleem’s voice was calm.
“If we marry, you will be Muslim,” he said. “And the kids will be Muslim. That means there will be moments your parents feel outside. Like they don’t understand. Like they can’t share certain rituals.”
Belle’s breath caught.
Aleem continued,
“And there will be moments my parents feel protective of you. Like they want to shield you from the community. That might feel like pressure.”
Belle swallowed.
Aleem looked at her.
“So yes,” he said, voice low, “there is a risk of feeling alone between worlds.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She whispered, “That’s what I’m scared of.”
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he said.
A beat.
Then he added quietly,
“But we are not doing this alone.”
Belle blinked.
Aleem’s gaze held.
“ABIX exists,” he said.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Aleem continued,
“And we build bridges deliberately. Not by hoping. By planning.”
Planning.
The word made Belle flinch.
Aleem noticed.
He softened.
“Not wedding planning,” he clarified. “Family planning. Relationship planning. Boundaries planning.”
Belle exhaled.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle stared at the dark sea.
Waves.
Noise.
Then she whispered,
“I’m scared I’ll hurt them.”
Aleem’s voice was gentle.
“You will,” he said.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Aleem continued,
“And you will also love them. And show up. And comfort them. Love and hurt can coexist.”
Coexist.
Belle swallowed.
Her hands trembled.
She whispered, “What if my mother cries when I tell her.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“Then we let her cry,” he said. “We don’t rush her to be okay. We sit with her. We don’t defend. We don’t argue.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“And my father?” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Your father says ‘okay’ when he’s trying to be brave,” Aleem said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem continued,
“And when he says ‘okay,’ we treat it like a gift. We don’t waste it.”
Gift.
Belle nodded, tears slipping.
Then Belle whispered, voice shaky,
“What if… one day they say they can’t attend.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“Then we don’t punish them,” he said. “We keep the door open. We keep inviting. We keep sending food. We keep visiting. We keep love available.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Love available.
Not conditional.
Not retaliatory.
Belle exhaled.
Then she asked the question she was terrified to ask.
“What if… your parents say no.”
Aleem’s gaze steadied.
“If my parents say no now, we wait,” he said. “But… they’ve already said okay to proceed. That’s already a step.”
Belle nodded.
Aleem continued, voice low,
“If there is one person who might say no… it’s not them. It’s you.”
Belle froze.
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
“You’re the one who has to choose belief,” he said. “And you’re the one who has to decide if this life is yours.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She whispered, “I don’t know yet.”
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he said. “And that’s okay.”
Okay.
Belle exhaled shakily.
“But it’s also why we need this hard talk,” Aleem added gently. “Because I don’t want you to wake up one day and realise you gave up too much.”
Gave up.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Aleem continued,
“And I don’t want you to think marriage means choosing me over your parents. Marriage can be… choosing both. With boundaries. With respect.”
Choosing both.
Belle’s eyes burned.
That sounded like hope.
But it also sounded like work.
Belle whispered, “Can it really be both?”
Aleem’s voice was steady.
“It has to be,” he said. “Or it won’t survive.”
Belle swallowed.
They sat for a long time.
No music.
No distractions.
Just the sound of the sea.
Belle’s tears dried.
Her breathing slowed.
Then Belle whispered,
“I’m scared that if I become Muslim, my parents will think I’m rejecting them.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“Then we make it clear,” he said. “We tell them: Islam doesn’t erase your love for your parents. It gives you structure. But you’re still their daughter.”
Belle swallowed.
“And if they don’t believe that,” Belle whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Then we show them,” he said.
Show.
Don’t lecture.
Show.
Belle nodded.
She whispered, “And I’m scared… that if I don’t become Muslim, I’ll lose you.”
Aleem’s breath hitched.
He looked away for a moment.
Then back.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You will.”
The honesty hit like a slap.
Belle’s eyes burned.
Aleem didn’t rush to soften it.
He let the truth exist.
Then he added, voice low,
“And that’s why I’m not pushing. Because I don’t want you to choose Islam out of fear of losing me. That would be wrong.”
Wrong.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“So we accept the risk,” he said. “We accept we might lose. But we don’t cheat sincerity.”
Cheat sincerity.
Belle exhaled.
Her chest ached.
But something about the clean honesty felt… safe.
Because she had been in a relationship where the truth was hidden until it exploded.
Aleem was giving her the truth up front.
Not to scare her.
To respect her.
Belle whispered, “I hate that this has stakes.”
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Me too,” he said.
Belle laughed weakly.
Then she wiped her eyes.
Aleem watched her.
His gaze was gentle.
Then he asked softly,
“Are you still okay to proceed?”
Proceed.
Direction.
The word sat heavy.
Belle inhaled.
She thought of her mother’s wet eyes.
Her father’s “okay.”
Mak’s container.
Ayah’s “good girl.”
ABIX’s ridiculous council.
Aleem’s steady hand.
She exhaled.
“Yes,” Belle whispered. “I’m still okay to proceed.”
Aleem’s shoulders loosened.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s mouth trembled.
“Okay,” she echoed.
On the way home, Aleem drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting near the gear shift.
Not touching her.
Not claiming.
But close enough that Belle felt the option.
Belle hesitated.
Then she placed her hand over his.
His fingers tightened gently.
A small squeeze.
No words.
Just the understanding:
We’re here.
We’re not alone.
We’re doing this properly.
Belle stared at their hands.
Then she whispered, almost like a confession to herself,
“I don’t want to lose anyone.”
Aleem’s voice was low.
“Then we keep building bridges,” he said.
Belle swallowed.
“And if bridges break?” she whispered.
Aleem exhaled.
“Then we keep showing up,” he said.
Showing up.
While hurting.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
As they reached her block, Aleem parked at the familiar spot.
He didn’t turn off the engine immediately.
He looked at Belle.
His eyes held something soft.
“You did good tonight,” he said quietly.
Belle blinked.
“I cried,” she muttered.
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
“That’s part of doing good,” he said.
Belle laughed weakly.
Then she wiped her cheeks.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“Go upstairs,” he said. “Eat. Rest. Don’t carry this alone.”
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Belle opened the door.
Then paused.
She looked back.
Aleem was watching her–not possessive.
Protective.
Like a steady light.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She stepped out.
She closed the door gently.
And as she walked toward the lobby, she realised something quietly terrifying and quietly beautiful.
Hard talks didn’t mean the relationship was breaking.
Hard talks were proof they were building.
Not by pretending the stakes didn’t exist.
By facing them.
Properly.
One “okay” at a time.