Final Checks
Chapter 39 – Final Checks
The week before the nikah didn’t feel romantic.
It felt like a corridor.
Narrow.
Bright.
Every step echoing.
You could see the door at the end.
And you couldn’t stop walking toward it.
Belle thought she would be overwhelmed by ceremony.
Instead, she was overwhelmed by details.
A text message here.
A phone call there.
A missing document.
A question about seating.
A reminder about timing.
A mother asking what colour she should wear.
A father pretending he wasn’t nervous by offering to drive everyone.
And through it all, Aleem stayed what he had always been.
Steady.
Not because he didn’t feel.
Because he refused to let feelings become chaos.
Final checks.
Not only of logistics.
Of hearts.
On Monday, Ivan sent a spreadsheet.
Of course he did.
The file name was:
NIKAH_RUNSHEET_FINAL_v7
Belle stared at it.
She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.
Crystal replied in the group chat immediately.
Why v7? Did we have v1??
Ivan replied:
Yes.
Crystal:
I did not consent to this project timeline.
Ivan:
You consented by existing.
Crystal:
Rude.
Belle smiled weakly.
Her fingers hovered over the spreadsheet.
She opened it.
Everything was there.
Time.
Location.
Who was picking up who.
Where the parents would sit.
When the tea ceremony moment would happen.
When Belle’s father would walk her in.
Where the wali hakim would stand.
Who would hold the rings.
Even a section labelled:
RISK MITIGATION
Belle’s stomach tightened.
RISK.
As if marriage was a system to be protected from failure.
But then she read the bullet points.
- Belle’s parents feel excluded → ensure role in entrance + words
- Intrusive relatives → Aleem intercept + Mak scold plan
- Belle overwhelmed → schedule buffer, private room
- Time overrun → Crystal removed from microphone
Belle burst into laughter.
Real laughter.
She sent a voice note.
“Ivan,” Belle laughed, “what do you mean remove Crystal from microphone?”
Crystal replied instantly.
EXCUSE ME I AM THE EMCEE
Ivan:
No.
Crystal:
I will speak at my best friend’s nikah.
Ivan:
You will speak in a controlled environment.
Crystal:
I hate you.
Aleem’s message came after.
I agree with Ivan.
Crystal:
TRAITOR
Belle’s laughter softened into something else.
Gratitude.
Because this was ABIX love.
Not poetry.
Systems.
Safety.
Humour.
A refusal to let her drown.
On Tuesday, Mak came over with a bag.
Not groceries.
Clothes.
Mak marched into Aleem’s room like she owned it.
Aleem stood by the door, resigned.
“Mak,” Aleem sighed.
Mak ignored him.
She pulled out a baju melayu set.
Pressed.
Neat.
A shade of deep blue.
Mak held it up.
“This,” Mak declared.
Aleem blinked.
“I already have,” Aleem began.
Mak glared.
“Your one old,” Mak snapped. “You want nikah with old baju?”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“It’s not old,” he argued.
Mak’s eyes narrowed.
“Older than Belle’s heartbreak,” Mak said.
Aleem shut up.
Belle, standing in the living room, covered her mouth.
She did not know whether to laugh.
Mak turned to Belle.
“You,” Mak said.
Belle blinked.
“Yes, Auntie?”
Mak shoved another bag into Belle’s hands.
“Your kebaya for tea ceremony,” Mak said. “Not too much. Simple. But nice.”
Belle froze.
“Auntie…”
Mak huffed.
“You think your mother only can choose?” Mak snapped. “I also mother. I also can help. But not replace.”
Not replace.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Mak’s tone softened awkwardly.
“You show your mother,” Mak added quickly. “If she like, okay. If she don’t like, also okay. We just… prepare.”
Prepare.
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Thank you,” Belle whispered.
Mak waved dismissively.
“Aiyo,” Mak muttered. “Don’t cry. Later your eyes swollen.”
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
Ayah, sitting quietly on the sofa, spoke.
“Mak is excited,” Ayah said calmly.
Mak snapped,
“I’m not excited.”
Ayah nodded.
“Okay,” Ayah said.
Mak glared.
“Okay,” Mak muttered.
Belle’s chest tightened.
This was the softening.
Not dramatic.
Practical.
Clothes.
A mother preparing without claiming.
On Wednesday, Belle’s mother called.
Her voice was quiet.
“I bought shoes,” her mother said.
Belle blinked.
“Shoes?”
Her mother exhaled.
“Yes,” her mother said. “Because… if I’m walking with you, I must not limp.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Mummy…”
Her mother’s voice cracked.
“I’m okay,” her mother insisted quickly. “Don’t make me cry. I just… I want to look proper.”
Proper.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“You’re already proper,” Belle whispered.
Her mother laughed softly.
“You always say that because you’re my daughter,” her mother murmured.
Belle swallowed.
Then her mother asked,
“Your father… he needs to say something?”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
“Say something?”
Her mother hesitated.
“Like… speech,” her mother said softly. “He keeps pretending he doesn’t care, but he’s practising ‘okay’ in different tones.”
Belle burst into laughter, then covered her mouth.
Her mother chuckled.
“It’s true,” her mother whispered. “Yesterday he said okay like angry. Today okay like soft. He thinks I don’t notice.”
Belle’s chest cracked.
Her father.
Practising a word.
Practising blessing.
Belle whispered,
“Tell him he doesn’t need a speech. Just… be there.”
Her mother sighed.
“He will be there,” her mother said. “Even if he’s dying inside.”
Belle’s eyes stung.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Her mother’s voice softened.
“Okay,” her mother replied.
On Thursday, Belle almost lost it.
Not because of a big fight.
Because of a small thing.
A message from a relative.
A distant auntie on her mother’s side.
He Malay ah? You sure? Later you convert then cannot pray to ancestors already. Don’t regret.
Belle stared at the message.
Her chest tightened.
Her fingers went cold.
Regret.
Ancestors.
The old fear.
You are betraying.
Belle’s throat closed.
She put the phone down.
She tried to breathe.
But her breathing turned into shaking.
She didn’t realise she was crying until tears hit her wrist.
Aleem noticed immediately.
He was in the kitchen, pouring water.
He moved quietly.
No panic.
No dramatic hug.
He knelt beside her chair.
“Belle,” he said softly.
Belle couldn’t speak.
Her throat was locked.
Aleem’s voice stayed steady.
“Show me,” he said gently.
Belle handed him the phone with shaking fingers.
Aleem read.
His jaw tightened.
Not in rage.
In protectiveness.
He looked at Belle.
“Do you want me to reply?” he asked.
Belle shook her head.
“No,” she whispered. “If you reply, it becomes… bigger.”
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s tears kept coming.
“I don’t know if I can carry all of this,” Belle whispered. “Everyone has opinions. Everyone thinks they own me.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“You don’t carry alone,” he said.
Belle’s breath hitched.
Aleem continued, voice low,
“You are not betraying anyone by choosing God sincerely. You are not betraying anyone by choosing love with respect.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“But I’m not even… certain,” Belle whispered.
Aleem didn’t flinch.
“Then we keep being honest,” he said. “And we keep protecting you from noise.”
Noise.
Belle nodded shakily.
Aleem’s hand reached out.
He didn’t pull her.
He placed his palm on the back of her hand.
Warm.
Steady.
A weight.
Not ownership.
Grounding.
“You are okay,” Aleem murmured.
Belle inhaled.
Then exhaled.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay.”
On Friday, they did the final physical check.
They visited the venue.
A simple hall.
A private room reserved for Belle if she needed to breathe.
A small corner where her parents could sit without feeling like outsiders.
A space for the tea ceremony moment.
The arrangement was not extravagant.
But it was intentional.
Every chair had meaning.
Every path had thought.
Ivan walked around with his phone, checking angles like he was mapping a battlefield.
Crystal followed, humming.
“What are you doing?” Belle asked.
Ivan looked up.
“Sightlines,” Ivan replied.
Belle blinked.
“Sightlines?”
Ivan nodded.
“So your parents can see you,” Ivan said. “So they don’t feel like they’re watching you from the outside.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem stared at Ivan.
“Thank you,” Aleem said quietly.
Ivan shrugged.
“It’s obvious,” he said.
Crystal sniffed.
“See,” Crystal said loudly, “Ivan has feelings. He just hides them in geometry.”
Ivan glared.
“This is not geometry,” Ivan said.
Crystal smiled.
“It is,” Crystal replied. “You love lines.”
Belle laughed.
Tension loosened.
Again.
That night, Belle sat on her parents’ sofa.
Her father was quiet.
Her mother was folding laundry again.
Belle watched her father.
He looked normal.
But Belle could feel the heaviness behind his normal.
Belle whispered,
“Dad.”
Her father looked up.
“Yes?”
Belle swallowed.
“You okay?”
Her father stared.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“I’m okay,” her father said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father’s voice softened.
“I’m not happy,” he admitted. “But I’m okay.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
Her father continued,
“I don’t need to be happy to show up,” he said. “I just need to be your father.”
Belle’s chest cracked.
Her father looked at Belle.
His voice was quiet.
“Okay?” he asked.
Belle nodded through tears.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Her father nodded.
“Okay,” he replied.
When Belle returned to her own place, Aleem was waiting.
Not in a dramatic way.
Just… present.
He was at the dining table, reading.
Belle walked in quietly.
Aleem looked up.
“You okay?” he asked.
Belle exhaled.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Just… final checks.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“We did what we can,” he said.
Belle nodded.
“And the rest?” Belle whispered.
Aleem’s voice was low.
“The rest is trust,” he said. “And dua.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She sat down beside him.
She leaned her head lightly on his shoulder.
Aleem didn’t move dramatically.
He just adjusted his arm so she could rest.
Proper.
Belle closed her eyes.
The corridor was still there.
The door at the end still waiting.
But for the first time, the corridor didn’t feel lonely.
It felt held.
Final checks.
Not to guarantee perfection.
To remind her:
They had done everything with care.
They had named the fears.
They had built bridges.
They had protected without taking.
And now, all that was left was to walk forward.
Together.