Protective Hands

Chapter 33 – Protective Hands

Belle didn’t notice when Aleem’s parents stopped being cautious.

Not because the caution disappeared.

It didn’t.

It simply… changed shape.

At first, caution had felt like distance.

Like polite smiles.

Like careful questions.

Like eyes that watched her the way people watched a road before crossing.

Then one day, without a ceremony, their caution became something else.

Protective.

Hands that used to hover now started to hold.

Not to possess.

To shield.

And Belle–who had spent a lifetime trying to be “easy” so she wouldn’t be a burden–had to learn how to receive that kind of care without flinching.

It happened at a wedding.

Not hers.

A cousin’s.

Mak’s side.

Aleem had asked Belle first.

“Do you want to come?” he had said, voice calm.

He had said it like she had a choice.

Because she did.

“Only if you’re okay,” Belle had replied.

Aleem’s mouth had twitched faintly.

“I’m okay,” he said. “But I need you to know–there will be comments.”

Comments.

Belle had felt her stomach tighten.

Aleem continued,

“I’ll shield you. But it might still be uncomfortable.”

Belle had inhaled.

Then exhaled.

“Okay,” she had whispered. “I’ll go.”

Aleem had nodded.

“Okay,” he had echoed.

On the day of the wedding, Belle wore a simple long-sleeved dress.

Not because anyone demanded.

Because she had learned that modesty could be a quiet form of respect.

Aleem wore a crisp shirt.

Clean-cut.

No beard.

Proper.

Mak had fussed over him before they left.

“Tuck in,” Mak had scolded.

Aleem had sighed.

“I am tucked in,” he had replied.

Mak had narrowed her eyes.

“More tucked,” Mak had insisted.

Belle had almost laughed.

Mak had turned to Belle.

“You eat already?” Mak had asked immediately.

Belle had nodded.

“Yes, Auntie,” Belle had said.

Mak had frowned.

“You sure?”

Belle had smiled.

“Yes,” she repeated.

Mak had sniffed.

“Okay,” Mak had muttered. “Later you eat more.”

Belle had nodded.

Mak’s care still came out as scolding.

But scolding was love.

The wedding venue was a function hall in a community club.

Bright lights.

Plastic chairs dressed in white covers.

A stage.

A photo booth.

Relatives in colourful baju kurung and baju melayu.

And eyes.

So many eyes.

Belle stayed close to Aleem.

Not clinging.

Just… anchored.

Aleem’s hand hovered near hers.

He didn’t grab.

He waited.

Belle’s fingers brushed his.

He took her hand gently.

Warm.

Steady.

They walked in.

Mak was ahead.

Ayah was beside Mak.

Mak glanced back once.

Her eyes flicked over Belle.

Then Mak nodded.

A small approval.

Belle’s chest tightened.

At first, things were fine.

People were too busy eating to talk.

Belle sat beside Mak.

Mak insisted.

“Sit here,” Mak had ordered.

Belle had obeyed.

Aleem sat on Belle’s other side.

Ayah sat across.

The table felt like a safe square.

Food arrived.

Mak piled Belle’s plate like Belle was a child.

“Auntie, I can–” Belle began.

“Eat,” Mak said.

Belle shut up.

Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.

Ayah watched silently.

Then, as if satisfied, Ayah nodded once.

The ceremony began.

Speeches.

Laughter.

People clapping.

Belle tried to breathe.

But then the first comment arrived.

A woman–older, perfume strong, smile sharp–leaned over behind Mak.

“Eh,” the woman said, eyes on Belle, “this one… not Malay ah?”

Belle’s stomach dropped.

Mak’s shoulders stiffened.

Belle felt Aleem’s hand tighten slightly under the table.

But before Aleem could speak–

Mak turned.

Mak’s voice was sharp.

“She is Belle,” Mak said. “She is our guest. You eat your food.”

The woman blinked.

Then laughed awkwardly.

“Aiya, I just ask only,” she said.

Mak didn’t laugh.

Mak’s eyes were hard.

“No need ask,” Mak said. “If you hungry, ask for rice.”

The woman’s smile faltered.

She muttered something and walked away.

Belle froze.

Her throat tightened.

Aleem stared at Mak, surprised.

Mak didn’t look at Aleem.

She looked at Belle.

Mak’s voice softened, awkward.

“Eat,” Mak said again. “Don’t care.”

Belle’s eyes burned.

She nodded.

“Okay,” Belle whispered.

Mak huffed.

“Okay,” Mak muttered.

Ayah glanced at Mak.

Then he looked at Belle.

Ayah’s voice was calm.

“People talk,” Ayah said. “You don’t answer.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

“Yes, Uncle,” Belle whispered.

Ayah nodded.

“Good,” he said.

Aleem’s jaw tightened.

He leaned slightly toward Belle.

“You okay?” he murmured.

Belle nodded, eyes wet.

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

But her chest was shaking.

Because something had shifted.

Mak had defended her.

Not out of politeness.

Out of belonging.

Later, another comment.

A younger cousin this time.

Not malicious.

Just curious.

He leaned over to Aleem.

“Bro,” he said, grinning, “so she already convert?”

Belle’s stomach tightened.

Aleem’s jaw tightened.

Before he could answer–

Ayah spoke.

Ayah’s voice was calm.

“Don’t ask,” Ayah said.

The cousin blinked.

Ayah’s gaze was steady.

“It’s between her and Allah,” Ayah said. “Not between you and gossip.”

The cousin flushed.

“Sorry, uncle,” he muttered.

Ayah nodded once.

“Eat,” Ayah said.

The cousin retreated.

Belle stared at Ayah.

Her throat tightened.

Ayah didn’t look proud.

He looked… normal.

As if protecting Belle was simply part of being a father.

Belle swallowed.

Aleem’s hand squeezed Belle’s gently.

Under the table.

A secret anchor.

Belle whispered, “Thank you.”

Aleem’s voice was low.

“They’re trying,” he murmured.

Belle’s eyes burned.

“They’re… protecting,” Belle whispered.

Aleem nodded.

“Yes,” he said.

When the wedding ended, Mak forced Belle to take home a container of leftovers.

“Bring home,” Mak ordered.

Belle blinked.

“Auntie, you sure?”

Mak glared.

“Take,” Mak said.

Belle obeyed.

Aleem carried another bag.

Ayah walked ahead.

In the lift down, Mak finally spoke quietly.

“Belle,” Mak said.

Belle looked up.

Mak’s eyes were shiny.

Mak’s voice was awkward.

“People talk because they don’t know,” Mak said. “You don’t let them hurt you.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

“Yes, Auntie,” Belle whispered.

Mak huffed.

“And if they talk, you tell Aleem,” Mak added quickly. “Or you tell me.”

Belle blinked.

“You?”

Mak glared.

“Yes me,” Mak snapped. “I can scold them.”

Belle’s mouth trembled.

Then she laughed.

Small.

Wet.

Mak’s expression softened.

“Okay,” Mak muttered. “Don’t cry.”

Belle wiped her eyes.

“Okay,” Belle whispered.

Aleem watched them silently.

His jaw tight.

His eyes soft.

When the lift doors opened, Mak stepped out.

Ayah stepped out.

Aleem and Belle followed.

Mak paused at the void deck.

She turned to Aleem.

Her voice was firm.

“You take care,” Mak said.

Aleem nodded.

“Yes, Mak,” he replied.

Mak’s gaze shifted to Belle.

Her tone softened.

“You also,” Mak said. “Take care.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

“Yes, Auntie,” she whispered.

Ayah spoke, calm.

“Drive safe,” Ayah said.

Aleem nodded.

“Yes, Ayah.”

They walked to the car.

Belle held the container in her lap.

It was warm.

Still holding heat.

Mak’s food.

Mak’s love.

Belle stared at it.

Then her tears came.

Not loud.

Just slipping.

Aleem glanced at her.

“You okay?” he asked.

Belle shook her head.

“I’m okay,” Belle whispered. “I’m just… not used to it.”

“Not used to what?”

Belle swallowed.

“Being defended,” Belle admitted. “By someone who doesn’t have to.”

Aleem’s jaw tightened.

He exhaled.

“That means they consider you ours,” he said quietly.

Ours.

Belle’s throat tightened.

She whispered, “That’s… scary.”

Aleem nodded.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Because it becomes real.”

Real.

Belle exhaled.

Then she whispered,

“I don’t want to disappoint them.”

Aleem’s gaze softened.

“Then don’t perform,” he said. “Just keep being you. Kind. Steady. Honest.”

Belle swallowed.

“And if I don’t reach belief?”

Aleem’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t avoid it.

“Then it will hurt,” he said. “But they will respect honesty more than pretending. My parents fear hypocrisy. They don’t fear you.”

Belle’s eyes burned.

She nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Aleem nodded.

“Okay.”

That night, Belle brought the container home.

Her mother opened it and blinked.

“From… his mother?” her mother asked.

Belle nodded.

“Yes,” Belle whispered.

Her mother’s eyes softened.

Her mother’s hand hovered over the food.

Then her mother exhaled.

“She defended you?” her mother asked softly.

Belle’s throat tightened.

“Yes,” Belle said.

Her mother swallowed.

Then she nodded.

“Okay,” her mother whispered.

Belle’s father, from the living room, called out,

“Okay.”

Belle laughed through tears.

Okay.

This word.

Permission.

Blessing.

Courage.

Belle sat at the dining table and watched her mother heat the food.

Mak’s food.

Her mother’s hands.

Two women who didn’t know each other well.

But both trying.

Belle’s chest tightened.

Protective hands.

Not perfect.

Not painless.

But real.

And for the first time, Belle felt something new settle in her.

Not certainty.

Not completion.

But belonging.

A belonging that didn’t demand she erase her old world.

A belonging that was being built with care.

Properly.

One defended moment at a time.