Tension Release
Chapter 36 – Tension Release
If you asked Belle what the most frightening part of preparing for a nikah was, she would’ve said the wali question.
Or the sentence.
Or the feeling of her mother’s tears turning her kitchen into a confession booth.
But on the week the nikah date finally became a real, written thing–
not a “sometime soon” window,
not a “we’ll see,”
not a cautious hope–
Belle realised the most frightening part was something else.
It was how quiet fear could become.
How it could sit inside everyone without exploding.
How it could turn a room into a place where every word felt like it might crack something.
And that was why, on the night everything felt too tight, Crystal did what Crystal always did.
She broke the tension with violence.
Not emotional violence.
Actual, physical, domestic violence.
Against a cake.
They called it a “simple dinner.”
ABIX, plus Belle’s parents.
Aleem’s parents had already done their own family session.
This was Belle’s side.
The “let’s make it real without making it a big deal” dinner.
They chose a restaurant near Belle’s parents’ place.
Nothing fancy.
Just a clean, quiet Chinese restaurant that had halal-certified options.
Belle’s mother had insisted on that.
“If his parents can adjust food for us,” her mother said quietly, “we also adjust.”
Belle’s chest had tightened.
Her father had just said,
“Okay.”
So here they were.
A round table.
Lazy Susan.
Tea.
Halal chicken.
Vegetables.
Fish.
Crystal was vibrating with energy.
Ivan looked like he wanted to die.
Aleem was calm.
Belle was trying not to chew her own tongue.
Belle’s mother was composed but pale.
Belle’s father was his usual steady.
The date had been agreed.
Not announced.
But agreed.
And suddenly, everything felt like it had a deadline.
It started well.
Crystal greeted Belle’s parents like she was campaigning for Parliament.
“Uncle! Auntie!” Crystal beamed. “Wah, you both look so young today!”
Belle’s mother blinked.
Belle’s father raised an eyebrow.
Crystal leaned in.
“Uncle, your skin–seriously, what is your routine?”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed.
“Crystal,” Ivan muttered, “stop.”
Crystal ignored him.
Belle’s father looked at Crystal.
Then, deadpan, he said,
“Sleep.”
Crystal gasped.
“Sleep is not a routine,” Crystal argued.
Belle’s father sipped his tea.
“It is,” he replied.
Belle almost laughed.
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
Okay.
This was good.
Ordinary banter.
Normal.
Then the waiter arrived.
Crystal asked a question too loudly.
“Uncle,” Crystal said, leaning toward Belle’s father, “so now it’s official official already ah? Like… can we call Aleem ‘son-in-law’ or not yet?”
Belle nearly choked.
Ivan closed his eyes.
Belle’s mother froze.
The air tightened.
Aleem’s jaw tightened slightly.
Belle’s father stared at Crystal.
Crystal smiled brightly.
Too bright.
Ivan’s voice was flat.
“Crystal,” Ivan said, “shut up.”
Crystal gasped.
Belle’s father didn’t look angry.
He looked… thoughtful.
Then he said,
“Not yet.”
Crystal blinked.
Then, quickly, Belle’s father added,
“Soon.”
The word landed.
Soon.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Belle’s mother’s eyes glistened.
Crystal clapped her hands softly like she had just won.
“OKAY,” Crystal whispered reverently.
Ivan stared at her.
“Stop worshipping his okay,” Ivan muttered.
Crystal glared.
“It’s not worship,” Crystal hissed. “It’s reverence.”
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
Belle’s laugh almost escaped.
Almost.
But then she looked at her mother.
Her mother was smiling.
But it was fragile.
A smile holding back tears.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Food arrived.
The lazy Susan spun.
Everyone served themselves.
For a while, the table did what tables were supposed to do.
It held people.
It gave them something to focus on besides fear.
Then Ivan, because Ivan could not leave a room without structure, cleared his throat.
“Okay,” Ivan said.
Crystal whipped her head.
Ivan’s eyes narrowed.
“Not your father’s okay,” Ivan warned.
Crystal smiled.
“Still okay,” she replied.
Ivan ignored her.
He looked at Belle’s parents.
“Uncle, Auntie,” Ivan began, calm, “we just want to say… thank you. For showing up.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother lowered her chopsticks.
Her father nodded once.
Ivan continued,
“We know it’s… not simple.”
Belle’s mother’s eyes filled.
Belle reached for her mother’s knee under the table.
Her mother’s leg trembled.
Ivan’s voice stayed steady.
“But Belle is not disappearing,” Ivan said. “And we will make sure of that.”
Crystal nodded vigorously.
“Yes,” she added. “We are like… her second family police.”
Ivan stared.
“That’s not a thing,” Ivan said.
Crystal shrugged.
“It is now,” she replied.
Belle’s father exhaled a short laugh.
The laugh was small.
But it existed.
Belle’s chest loosened.
Her father looked at Ivan.
His voice was calm.
“Thank you,” her father said.
Ivan nodded.
Then, as if the seriousness needed one last anchor, her father added,
“Okay.”
Crystal’s eyes lit up.
Ivan sighed.
Belle smiled through a sting.
Then, just as the room was settling–
Crystal decided to deliver her finishing move.
She reached into her bag.
Pulled out a small box.
And placed it on the table like she was presenting evidence.
Belle blinked.
“What is that?” Belle whispered.
Crystal beamed.
“Cake,” she announced.
Ivan stared.
“We didn’t order cake,” Ivan said.
Crystal shrugged.
“I brought,” she said.
Belle’s mother blinked.
“You brought cake?”
Crystal nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s halal. Don’t worry. I checked.”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed.
“Why do you have cake in your bag,” Ivan asked.
Crystal smiled.
“For emergencies,” she replied.
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
Belle’s father stared.
“Emergency?” her father repeated.
Crystal nodded.
“Yes,” Crystal said solemnly. “Like… when everyone is too sad. Cake is intervention.”
Belle’s mother let out a watery laugh.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Crystal opened the box.
Inside was a small cake.
Simple.
White frosting.
No fancy decorations.
Just one line piped in neat letters:
PROPERLY.
Belle froze.
Then her laugh burst out–sharp and disbelieving.
“What is this,” Belle cried, laughing.
Crystal grinned.
“It’s our theme,” Crystal declared. “Properly.”
Ivan stared.
“You put a theme on a cake,” Ivan said.
Crystal nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “Because if we cannot control emotions, we control frosting.”
Belle laughed harder.
Even Aleem’s shoulders shook slightly.
Belle’s mother covered her mouth.
Her eyes were wet.
But she was laughing.
Belle’s father stared at the cake.
Then he said, deadpan,
“Okay.”
Crystal slapped the table gently.
“SEE,” Crystal crowed. “Uncle approves.”
Ivan exhaled slowly.
“We are ridiculous,” Ivan muttered.
Crystal cut him off.
“Okay, everybody,” Crystal said, pulling out plastic forks, “we do ceremonial cake cutting.”
Ivan’s eyes widened.
“No,” Ivan said. “No ceremonial.”
Crystal ignored him.
She shoved a plastic knife into Belle’s hand.
Belle stared.
“Crystal,” Belle gasped, laughing, “what are you doing.”
Crystal’s eyes were bright.
“Tension release,” Crystal said simply.
The words were casual.
But her gaze held something serious.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Crystal continued, voice softer,
“Cut the cake, Belle. We all breathe.”
Belle swallowed.
She looked around the table.
Her mother’s wet eyes.
Her father’s calm face.
Ivan’s tired worry.
Aleem’s steady gaze.
Crystal’s brave ridiculousness.
Belle exhaled.
Then she cut the cake.
Not neatly.
Not elegantly.
Because her hands were still shaking.
But she cut.
And something in the room released.
It was like everyone had been holding their breath.
Now they could laugh.
Now they could swallow.
Now they could exist.
Crystal served everyone a slice like she was distributing medicine.
“Eat,” Crystal ordered.
Ivan stared.
“Who are you, Mak?” Ivan muttered.
Crystal gasped.
“That is the highest compliment,” Crystal said.
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
Belle’s father took a bite.
He chewed.
Then he nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s mother laughed through tears.
“Okay,” she echoed.
Aleem looked at Belle.
His gaze softened.
“Okay,” he murmured.
Belle’s eyes burned.
She whispered,
“Okay.”
After dinner, when they stepped out into the carpark, Belle’s mother walked beside Belle.
Her hand slipped into Belle’s.
Not gripping.
Just holding.
Belle’s mother’s voice was quiet.
“Your friends,” her mother said softly, “they… they are good.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” Belle whispered.
Her mother exhaled.
“They make it less scary,” her mother admitted.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Yes,” Belle whispered.
Her mother looked ahead.
Then she said, voice thick,
“I am still scared.”
Belle squeezed her mother’s hand.
“I know,” Belle whispered.
Her mother’s eyes shimmered.
“But I can laugh,” her mother said quietly. “That means… I can still live.”
Belle’s chest cracked open.
Yes.
That was it.
Not acceptance as fireworks.
Acceptance as breathing again.
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Her mother nodded.
“Okay,” she replied.
In Aleem’s car, on the way home, Belle stared at the small box on her lap.
Cake crumbs.
Plastic forks.
The word PROPERLY smeared slightly.
Belle laughed softly.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You okay?” he asked.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I didn’t know I needed… cake therapy.”
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
“Crystal is a menace,” he said.
Belle smiled.
“She saved the room,” Belle whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he admitted.
They drove through familiar streets.
Singapore at night.
Streetlights.
HDB blocks.
Quiet.
Belle’s laughter faded into something softer.
Gratitude.
Because that night, no one fixed the pain.
No one erased it.
They just made space for air.
Space for humour.
Space for the human ability to keep going.
Tension release.
Not denial.
Relief.
Belle leaned her head against the window.
She whispered, mostly to herself,
“Properly.”
Aleem’s voice was low.
“Properly,” he echoed.
And in the quiet, Belle realised something.
If they could laugh like this–
in the middle of fear,
in the middle of grief,
in the middle of building–
then maybe they could survive.
Not because the road was smooth.
Because they knew how to breathe.
Together.