Respect Earned
Chapter 29 – Respect Earned
Belle’s father didn’t like long meetings.
He liked things that had a point.
If you were going to sit at his dining table and talk, you talked like an adult.
You didn’t circle.
You didn’t charm.
You didn’t waste time.
That was why, when Belle told Aleem, My dad wants to talk man-to-man, Aleem didn’t treat it like a threat.
He treated it like a responsibility call.
And Belle–who had spent months terrified of being the reason her parents suffered–realised something quietly profound.
This was the first time her father was not asking her to choose.
He was asking Aleem to show up.
Properly.
The dinner was set for a Friday night.
Not a family gathering.
Not a celebration.
Just dinner.
Belle’s mother cooked, as always.
Not because anyone demanded.
Because feeding people was how she loved when words were hard.
Belle helped chop vegetables.
Her hands were steady, but her stomach was not.
Every few minutes, her mother glanced at her.
“You okay?” her mother asked.
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” Belle said.
Her mother’s eyes stayed worried.
But she didn’t push.
Her father sat in the living room, TV volume low, as if it was any other Friday.
But Belle could tell.
He was listening.
Waiting.
He wasn’t nervous in a visible way.
He was nervous in the way he kept adjusting the position of his newspaper.
Small movements.
Control.
Belle’s phone buzzed.
Downstairs, Aleem texted.
Belle’s heart jumped.
She wiped her hands.
“I go down,” she told her mother.
Her mother nodded.
“Bring him up,” her mother said.
Bring him up.
Not chase him away.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She took the lift down.
Aleem was waiting by the letterboxes.
He wasn’t leaning casually.
He wasn’t scrolling.
He stood straight, hands holding a paper bag.
Fruit again.
Not grand.
Consistent.
Belle exhaled.
“You’re early,” Belle murmured.
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Proper,” he said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“You nervous?” she asked softly.
Aleem exhaled.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
Belle blinked.
Aleem continued, calm,
“Your father is… serious. I respect that.”
Respect.
Belle nodded.
They walked to the lift.
Belle’s hands were cold.
Aleem didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
He let her choose.
When the lift doors closed, Belle whispered,
“He won’t be rude. But he will be direct.”
Aleem nodded.
“Good,” he said.
Belle blinked.
“Good?”
Aleem’s gaze was steady.
“Direct is easier than pretending,” he said.
Belle exhaled.
True.
Belle’s mother opened the door.
Her eyes flicked to Aleem’s bag.
Then to Aleem’s face.
Then she nodded.
“Hello,” her mother said.
Aleem bowed his head slightly.
“Hello, Auntie,” he replied. “Assalamualaikum.”
Her mother blinked, still unused to the greeting.
But she nodded.
“Come in,” she said.
Aleem stepped inside.
He placed the fruit on the table.
“Thank you for having me,” he said.
Her mother waved him toward the living room.
Belle’s father stood up.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t frown.
He looked at Aleem like a man assessing another man.
Aleem stepped forward.
“Uncle,” Aleem said respectfully.
Belle’s father nodded once.
“Aleem,” her father said.
No titles.
No games.
Belle’s chest tightened.
This was the room where her father decided if someone deserved to sit near his daughter.
Her mother brought drinks.
Tea for her father.
Water for Aleem.
Belle sat slightly to the side, not between them.
Because this wasn’t about her being defended.
This was about two men talking.
Her father gestured toward the dining table.
“Sit,” he said.
They sat.
Her mother hovered.
Then, sensing the shift, she retreated to the kitchen.
Not leaving.
Just giving space.
Belle’s father stared at Aleem for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
“I don’t like wasting time,” her father said.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, Uncle,” Aleem replied.
Belle’s father’s gaze sharpened.
“You want marry my daughter,” her father said.
Not a question.
A statement.
Aleem’s chest rose in a slow breath.
“Yes,” Aleem said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father nodded once.
“Okay,” her father said.
The word landed.
Not approval.
Permission to continue.
Her father continued immediately.
“Then we talk properly.”
Properly.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, Uncle.”
Her father’s voice was calm.
“No rushing,” her father said.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes.”
“No making her disappear,” her father said.
Aleem’s gaze steadied.
“Yes.”
“No letting people talk until she cannot breathe,” her father said.
Aleem’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Yes.”
Her father paused.
Then he asked, directly,
“Why her?”
Belle’s heart slammed.
The question wasn’t romantic.
It was protective.
If Aleem wanted her, he had to know why.
Aleem didn’t smile.
He didn’t perform.
He answered like a man talking about a responsibility, not a fantasy.
“Because she’s sincere,” Aleem said quietly. “Because she’s kind. Because she’s steady even when she’s hurting. And because she’s honest.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
Her father’s gaze stayed sharp.
“Kind people easy to take advantage,” her father said.
Aleem’s gaze did not flinch.
“Yes,” Aleem said.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
“So you won’t,” her father said.
Aleem’s voice was low.
“I won’t,” he said.
The words landed like a vow.
Her father watched him.
Then he asked the next question.
“Your religion,” her father said.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes.”
Her father’s voice was calm.
“You expect her to change,” her father said.
Aleem exhaled.
“If we marry, she will have to be Muslim,” Aleem said. “But I don’t expect her to change for me. If she changes, it must be for Allah.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“Allah,” her father repeated.
Not mocking.
Testing the meaning.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
Her father tapped his fingers once on the table.
“And if she doesn’t believe?” her father asked.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“Then we don’t marry,” Aleem said.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Her father stared.
No bargaining.
No “maybe.”
Her father nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her father continued.
“But you know this will hurt her parents,” her father said.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“I know,” Aleem said. “That’s why I want to do it gently. I don’t want them to feel rejected. I want them to stay close.”
Her father’s eyes sharpened.
“How?”
Aleem answered clearly.
“Regular visits,” he said. “Sundays if possible. Calls. Being present. Including them in milestones. Not acting like she’s leaving you behind.”
Her father watched him.
Then he asked the question Belle dreaded.
“Children?” her father asked.
Belle’s stomach dropped.
Aleem’s gaze steadied.
“If we marry, our children will be Muslim,” Aleem said.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
Belle’s mother’s footsteps paused in the kitchen.
Silence.
Aleem continued immediately, because he knew that sentence alone could sound like a wall.
“But that doesn’t mean you lose them,” Aleem said. “You will still be their grandparents. We will still bring them to you. We will still let them know your love. And we will teach them to respect you.”
Her father’s gaze sharpened.
“Respect is not enough,” her father said.
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he said.
Her father’s voice was low.
“They must love us,” her father said.
Belle’s chest broke open.
Her father wasn’t fighting religion.
He was fighting loneliness.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
“They will,” Aleem said quietly. “Because you will show up. And we will bring them. And we will not cut you off.”
Her father stared.
Then, in the smallest way, his shoulders loosened.
A fraction.
He asked another question.
“Your parents,” her father said.
Aleem nodded.
“They are cautious,” Aleem admitted. “But they are softening. They like Belle’s kindness. They told her not to answer intrusive questions. They even made food for her. They are… trying.”
Her father’s gaze sharpened.
“They treat her well?”
Aleem’s voice was steady.
“Yes,” he said. “Not perfect. But respectful. And they’re starting to protect her too.”
Her father nodded slowly.
“Good,” he said.
A beat.
Then her father said something unexpected.
“You know,” her father said, voice calm, “I don’t care if you are Malay, Chinese, whatever. I care if you can hold responsibility.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem’s chest rose.
“Yes,” Aleem said.
Her father continued,
“And I care if you can protect her without isolating her.”
Protect without isolate.
That was the whole tension.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
Her father stared at him.
Then he asked,
“If she cries, what you do?”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem didn’t hesitate.
“I stay,” he said.
Her father’s eyes sharpened.
“Stay how?”
Aleem’s voice was low.
“I don’t solve her emotions like a problem,” Aleem said. “I sit with her. I make sure she eats. I make sure she sleeps. And if she needs help, I ask for help.”
Ask for help.
Not ego.
Belle’s eyes burned.
Her father nodded slowly.
“That’s good,” her father said.
Then her father leaned forward slightly.
He looked at Aleem.
His voice was quiet.
“Belle has been through a lot,” her father said.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“I know,” Aleem said.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
“If you break her, I won’t forgive you,” her father said.
Belle’s heart slammed.
Aleem didn’t flinch.
He nodded once.
“I understand,” Aleem said.
No defensiveness.
No pride.
Just acceptance of the father’s right.
Her father stared at him.
Then, finally, her father leaned back.
He reached for his tea.
He took a sip.
The air shifted.
Not warm.
But less sharp.
Her father’s gaze stayed on Aleem.
“You have responsibility,” her father said quietly.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, Uncle,” he replied.
Her father’s voice was calm.
“Okay,” her father said.
Belle’s breath caught.
This time, “okay” sounded different.
Not just permission to proceed.
Respect.
A recognition of adulthood.
Her father glanced toward the kitchen.
“Wife,” her father called. “Bring food.”
Belle’s mother appeared quickly, as if she had been waiting.
Her eyes were wet.
But she was composed.
She placed dishes on the table.
Halal food.
No pork.
She had done it again.
Making space.
Showing up.
While hurting.
They ate.
Not like strangers.
Not like family yet.
Like people building something.
Slowly.
Properly.
At one point, Belle’s father looked at Aleem and asked,
“You work what?”
Aleem answered.
Belle’s mother asked Belle if she wanted more rice.
Belle answered.
Ordinary things entered.
And ordinary things were the miracle.
Because ordinary meant:
We can exist in the same room.
We can breathe.
We can build.
After dinner, Aleem stood.
He bowed his head.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said. “Auntie. Uncle.”
Belle’s mother nodded quickly.
“Drive safe,” she murmured.
Belle’s father stared at Aleem for a long moment.
Then her father spoke.
“Okay,” her father said.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay, Uncle,” he replied.
Belle’s throat tightened.
As Aleem stepped out into the corridor, Belle followed to the door.
Her mother hovered behind her.
Her father stayed in the living room, quiet.
Belle walked Aleem to the lift.
The lift doors closed.
Belle stood beside him.
Her chest felt tight.
“Are you okay?” Belle whispered.
Aleem exhaled.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle blinked.
Aleem continued, softer,
“Your father… is a good man.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“He is,” Belle whispered.
Aleem looked at her.
His gaze was steady.
“He loves you,” Aleem said.
Belle swallowed.
“I know,” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice was low.
“And he respected me tonight,” Aleem said. “Not because I’m Muslim. Not because I’m Malay. Because I showed I’m serious.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Respect earned.
Not demanded.
Not bought.
Earned.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Thank you,” Belle whispered.
Aleem blinked.
“For what?”
Belle’s voice trembled.
“For showing up,” she said. “For not taking. For being proper.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He looked away for a moment, like he didn’t want his face to show too much.
Then he looked back.
“Always,” he said quietly.
The lift dinged.
The doors opened.
Belle stepped out.
Aleem remained inside.
He didn’t reach for her.
He didn’t make the moment dramatic.
He just held her gaze.
“Go,” he said gently. “Eat fruit with your parents. Don’t let them sit with emotions alone.”
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he echoed.
The doors closed.
Belle stood there for a moment, listening to the lift descend.
Then she turned back toward her home.
When she entered, her mother was wiping the table.
Her father was back on the sofa, TV volume low.
Belle sat down.
Her father glanced at her.
“Okay?” her father asked.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Okay.”
Her father nodded once.
Then, almost as if speaking to himself, he murmured,
“He can hold.”
Belle’s breath caught.
Her mother froze.
Her eyes flicked up.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“He can hold,” her father repeated.
Not romance.
Not fireworks.
Just a father acknowledging:
This man can hold responsibility.
Belle swallowed.
Her chest ached.
But it wasn’t the ache of fear.
It was the ache of something earned.
Something built.
Something that might actually last.
Belle whispered, to no one and everyone,
“Okay.”