The Quiet Watch
Chapter 3 – The Quiet Watch
The third day was the one that scared Aleem.
Not because Belle cried.
Crying was movement. Crying was breath finding a way out.
The third day was the day she didn’t.
She sat by the window, knees drawn up, staring at the estate below–children in school uniforms, aunties watering plants along the corridor, delivery riders weaving between parked cars. Life moved with its usual Singapore efficiency.
Belle didn’t.
Her phone sat face-down on the coffee table like a dead thing.
Crystal had tried to coax her with food, jokes, even an impromptu “we can revenge glow-up” speech that would’ve made any normal girl roll her eyes.
Belle had listened.
She even nodded.
But the nod wasn’t agreement.
It was compliance.
Ivan had arranged the day like a quiet operation: - Morning: breakfast, shower, one phone call. - Afternoon: walk downstairs, buy something small. - Night: sleep.
Belle had followed the list like it was a schedule for a stranger.
Aleem watched her from the dining table, hands around a mug of warm water he wasn’t drinking.
He hated how familiar the stillness felt.
He hated how his mind automatically began mapping risk.
Less speech.
Less appetite.
Eyes unfocused.
Body present, person absent.
He hated that his first instinct wasn’t romance, wasn’t tenderness, wasn’t the soft fantasies other men had when they saw a woman vulnerable.
His first instinct was triage.
Because he had seen what could happen when a person slipped under.
And because years ago, he had watched someone he loved–someone bright, someone funny–become quiet.
Quiet first.
Then gone.
Aleem swallowed, the memory pressing against his throat like a hand.
He didn’t let himself go there.
Not now.
Not in front of her.
Proper.
He had promised himself long ago that he would be proper.
Not cold.
Not distant.
Proper meant: you didn’t take.
Proper meant: you didn’t use someone’s brokenness as an opening.
Proper meant: you stayed where you were needed, and you made sure your presence didn’t become another demand.
At the sofa, Crystal leaned toward Belle, whispering like a stage conspirator.
“Okay, babe. One bite. Just one. You eat one bite, then I will shut up for ten minutes. Deal?”
Belle stared at the spoon.
Her eyes didn’t react.
Crystal’s face wavered.
It was hard to be the loud one when the world stayed quiet.
Ivan caught Aleem’s eye across the room.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
The look said: This is bad, right?
Aleem nodded once.
At noon, Belle’s mother called.
Belle stared at the ringing screen like it was a test.
Crystal reached for it. “I answer.”
Belle’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“No,” she whispered.
Her voice was so small Crystal froze.
Ivan leaned forward. “You want to answer?”
Belle’s eyes flicked to him.
She swallowed.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
Crystal’s mouth trembled with frustration–at the situation, not at Belle.
Ivan nodded. “Okay. We can text.”
Belle didn’t move.
Aleem spoke quietly from his chair. “I can answer again, if you want.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
It felt wrong, having Aleem speak to her parents for her.
But it also felt like the only way to keep everyone from panicking.
Her lips parted. “Just… just say I’m sleeping.”
Aleem stood.
He took the phone only when Belle placed it in his hand.
He answered.
“Auntie.”
Her mother’s voice burst through the speaker. “Aleem, she’s not picking up. Is she okay? Is she eating? Is she–”
“She’s okay,” Aleem said calmly. “She’s resting. She ate some fruit just now.”
A pause.
Belle’s mother exhaled, shaky. “Can I see her? Video call?”
Aleem glanced at Belle.
Belle’s body stiffened.
She shook her head rapidly, panic rising.
Aleem’s tone remained gentle. “Not today, Auntie. She’s… very tired. But she’s with us. Crystal and Ivan are here.”
Belle’s mother’s voice softened. “Aiyo. My poor girl.”
Belle looked away.
Aleem continued, “Uncle?”
There was shuffling, then her father’s voice–steady, low.
“Aleem.”
Aleem’s throat tightened slightly, the respect in the single syllable.
“Uncle.”
Her father paused. “How she?”
Aleem chose the truth that wouldn’t harm. “Quiet. But safe.”
Another pause.
Belle’s father said, “Okay.”
The word landed.
Even Aleem felt it.
Okay–not as approval of the breakup, not as dismissal of pain.
Okay as: I am still here. I am still your father. I am not going anywhere.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
Belle heard it and made a small sound, like her breath had been pulled.
Her father continued, “Tell her I say… okay. Tell her no need to talk. Just… stay alive.”
Crystal pressed her lips together hard, eyes shining.
Ivan’s gaze dropped.
Aleem’s voice stayed steady even as something in him ached. “Okay, Uncle. I’ll tell her.”
Her father exhaled. “Thank you.”
Aleem ended the call and returned the phone to Belle.
He didn’t give it to her with pity.
He placed it gently on the table near her.
Then he sat down again.
Belle stared at her father’s number on the screen.
She didn’t call back.
But her fingers hovered over it like it was a rope.
In the afternoon, Ivan went out to buy groceries with Crystal.
They made a big show of it–Crystal shouting at Ivan about which fruits were “comforting” and which were “depressing,” Ivan threatening to leave her at the lift lobby.
It was theatre.
A distraction.
But when the door closed behind them, the apartment became too still.
Belle remained by the window.
Aleem stayed at the dining table.
The silence stretched.
After ten minutes, Belle’s breathing changed.
Aleem heard it before he saw it.
Shorter.
Shallower.
She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, eyes fixed on the view.
Not crying.
Trying not to.
Aleem stood.
He walked–not to her, but near.
He stopped a few steps away, close enough that his presence could be felt, far enough that she wouldn’t feel cornered.
“Belle,” he said quietly.
She didn’t answer.
Aleem waited.
He had learned the hard way that forcing conversation was like grabbing someone in water; you could drown them faster.
After a long minute, Belle whispered, “I keep thinking… if I did something wrong.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He kept his voice even. “You didn’t.”
Belle swallowed. “How you know?”
Aleem exhaled slowly. “Because a person who loved you properly would have spoken up earlier. They wouldn’t let you build a future and then pull it out from under you.”
Belle’s throat tightened. “But maybe I was too… too excited. Too–”
Aleem’s voice softened, firm. “Belle. Being excited about your life is not a flaw.”
Belle’s lips trembled.
She turned her face away.
“I feel stupid,” she whispered.
Aleem didn’t dismiss it.
He nodded. “It feels like that. But it’s not stupidity. It’s trust.”
The word made Belle’s shoulders shake.
Trust.
Like she had given a part of herself and now it was gone.
Aleem swallowed.
He wanted to say something more.
Something that would wrap around her like a blanket.
But he knew the danger of warmth when someone was starving.
Warmth could become a drug.
And he couldn’t be her drug.
Not like that.
Not now.
Proper.
He looked down at the floor.
“Can I sit here?” he asked, indicating the armchair near the window.
Belle nodded weakly.
Aleem sat.
They stared out at the same view in silence.
Minutes passed.
Belle’s breathing steadied.
Aleem kept his hands in his lap, fingers still, body calm.
He listened.
Not for words.
For life.
The sound of her breathing.
The tiny shifts of her posture.
The way her shoulders rose and fell.
He felt like he was guarding something fragile.
Not her heart.
Her presence.
When Crystal and Ivan returned, the apartment filled with noise again.
Crystal burst in like a storm. “Okay, we got grapes, oranges, yakult–Ivan says yakult is placebo but I say placebo also can help–”
Ivan followed, carrying bags like he was doing a logistical exercise.
He paused when he saw Aleem sitting near the window.
Something passed between the two men.
Ivan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Aleem shook his head almost imperceptibly.
Not now.
Later.
Ivan nodded.
Crystal dumped groceries on the table and immediately began cutting fruit aggressively, like she was slicing up Jason’s reputation.
Belle watched her.
Her eyes were still dull, but her gaze followed Crystal’s movements.
That was something.
Crystal shoved a bowl toward Belle. “Eat. If you don’t eat, I will start listing his flaws for two hours straight.”
Belle blinked. “He doesn’t have that many flaws.”
Crystal’s knife paused mid-air.
Ivan froze.
Even Aleem’s chest tightened.
Crystal stared at Belle like she had been personally insulted by love.
“Isabelle Tan,” Crystal said slowly, “you are in heartbreak delusion. Of course he has flaws.”
Belle’s mouth trembled.
A laugh threatened.
Crystal leaned in, whispering like she was telling a secret. “He chew with mouth open sometimes. I saw. At Hotpot last month.”
Ivan blinked. “You’re lying.”
Crystal’s eyes widened innocently. “Am I? Who knows. But you see? Flaws.”
Belle let out a small laugh.
It was weak.
But it was there.
Aleem’s shoulders loosened slightly.
Ivan watched Belle closely, then said, “Good. Eat.”
Belle took a grape.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
One grape.
One breath.
One moment that didn’t collapse.
That night, Aleem finally forced himself to leave.
He had stayed at Belle’s place for two nights.
Not because he wanted to insert himself into her life.
Because he didn’t trust the quiet.
But Ivan and Crystal had decided to take shifts now.
Crystal, dramatic as always, insisted she could “sleep on the floor like military.”
Ivan had looked at Aleem and said, plainly, “You need rest also. You’re not useful if you collapse.”
Aleem had wanted to argue.
Then he had seen Belle’s face.
Not pleading.
Just… blank.
And he realised that if he stayed too much, his presence might become the only thing holding her up.
He couldn’t let that happen.
He needed her to find more anchors.
Her parents.
Her routines.
Her own breath.
He needed to be one support.
Not the centre.
Proper.
At the door, he put on his shoes neatly.
Crystal lay on the sofa with her hoodie pulled up like a blanket, already half-asleep.
Ivan sat on the rug, phone in hand, probably setting alarms.
Belle sat on the armchair near the window, quiet.
Aleem looked at her.
“Text me if you need,” he said.
Belle’s eyes lifted.
For a moment, she looked like she might say something.
Instead, she nodded.
Aleem hesitated.
He wanted to tell her: You’re not alone.
He wanted to tell her: I will stay as long as you need.
But he knew those words could become chains.
So he offered something smaller.
Something measurable.
“I’ll check in tomorrow morning,” he said.
Belle’s lips parted. “Okay.”
Okay.
Aleem nodded.
He opened the door.
Before he stepped out, Belle’s voice came, soft.
“Aleem.”
He turned.
Her eyes looked tired. Empty.
But present.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He held her gaze for a beat, then nodded.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “That’s what friends do.”
He left.
The corridor lights were harsh.
The air outside smelled like wet concrete.
Aleem walked toward the lift slowly.
Inside his chest, something heavy pressed down.
He wasn’t afraid of heartbreak.
He was afraid of the quiet.
And as the lift doors closed, Aleem whispered a dua under his breath–so softly it was almost just air.
Not for himself.
For her.