Identity Shift
Chapter 43 – Identity Shift
The closer the nikah came, the more Belle realised something uncomfortable.
She wasn’t only marrying Aleem.
She was leaving a version of herself behind.
Not the old Belle who was broken by the breakup.
Not the Belle who cried until her body forgot how to eat.
That Belle was already gone.
This was subtler.
This was about identity.
Daughter.
Wife.
Woman.
And the strange, quiet fear that came with being loved in a new category.
Belle used to be her parents’ child.
Now she was becoming someone else’s family.
And even though her parents were love-first, even though they were present,
Belle could feel the grief underneath their support.
Not grief for Aleem.
Grief for time.
For the shift.
For the moment where they would no longer be the centre of her life.
Belle carried that grief like a glass bowl.
Trying not to drop it.
Trying not to pretend it wasn’t there.
Because pretending was how people shattered.
It began with a dress fitting.
Not at a bridal boutique with champagne.
Not with loud “princess” energy.
Just a quiet appointment.
Belle’s mother insisted on coming.
“I want to see,” her mother said.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” Belle whispered.
They went together.
A small shop.
Simple outfits.
Nothing too showy.
A modest gown for the nikah.
A kebaya for tea ceremony.
Belle changed behind the curtain.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
White fabric.
Soft.
Not childish.
Not dramatic.
Just… married.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She didn’t recognise the woman.
Not because she didn’t like her.
Because the woman looked like she belonged to the future.
Belle stepped out.
Her mother turned.
Her mother froze.
Then her mother’s eyes filled instantly.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Mummy…” Belle whispered.
Her mother shook her head.
“I’m okay,” her mother insisted quickly. “Don’t… don’t look at me.”
Belle laughed weakly.
“You always say don’t look,” Belle murmured.
Her mother tried to smile.
But her smile trembled.
“You look…” her mother began.
Belle held her breath.
Her mother swallowed.
“You look like… you’re leaving,” her mother whispered.
The sentence hit.
Belle’s chest cracked.
Leaving.
Not physically.
But in category.
Belle stepped closer.
“I’m not leaving you,” Belle whispered.
Her mother’s eyes were wet.
“I know,” her mother said. “I know. But… it still feels like something is changing.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother’s voice was quiet.
“When you were small,” her mother murmured, “I could hold you and everything stopped. Now I can’t stop anything.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
She reached for her mother’s hand.
Her mother’s hand was warm.
Small.
But fierce.
Belle whispered,
“You don’t need to stop anything. Just… stay.”
Her mother nodded.
“I will stay,” her mother whispered.
Then, softly,
“Okay.”
Belle nodded.
“Okay.”
On the way home, Belle’s mother was unusually quiet.
Belle watched the blur of roads.
She listened to the sound of her mother’s breathing.
Then her mother asked, out of nowhere,
“You still remember your surname?”
Belle blinked.
“What?”
Her mother looked out the window.
“You become Mrs Siddique?” her mother asked, voice careful.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
The question wasn’t about names.
It was about belonging.
Belle swallowed.
“I don’t know,” Belle admitted. “I haven’t decided.”
Her mother nodded slowly.
“Okay,” her mother said.
Then she added quietly,
“If you change, it’s okay. Just… don’t forget our name in your heart.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“I won’t,” Belle whispered.
Her mother nodded.
“Okay,” she replied.
That night, Belle sat with Aleem.
They were eating quietly.
Belle pushed rice around her plate.
Aleem noticed.
“You okay?” he asked.
Belle exhaled.
“My mum asked about my surname,” Belle admitted.
Aleem’s jaw tightened slightly.
He didn’t look defensive.
He looked… thoughtful.
“What did you say?” he asked.
Belle swallowed.
“I said I don’t know,” Belle murmured.
Aleem nodded.
“That’s okay,” he said.
Belle blinked.
“You’re not… expecting me to change?”
Aleem’s gaze was calm.
“I’m expecting you to be honest,” he said. “Not to perform.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem continued,
“If you want to keep your surname, keep it,” he said. “Islam doesn’t require you to take mine. And your parents will feel safer.”
Safer.
Belle’s chest tightened.
“You thought about that?” Belle whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “Because identity matters.”
Identity.
Belle’s eyes stung.
Aleem’s voice was low.
“You are not becoming mine,” Aleem said. “You are becoming my wife. That’s different.”
Not becoming mine.
Belle’s throat closed.
Aleem continued,
“And you are still your parents’ daughter,” he said. “Marriage doesn’t erase that. It just adds.”
Adds.
Not replaces.
Belle’s eyes burned.
She whispered,
“Okay.”
Aleem nodded.
“Okay.”
The identity shift showed up in other places too.
In the way colleagues looked at her ring.
In the way relatives asked questions that sounded like curiosity but felt like ownership.
In the way Belle’s father began checking car routes like he was still responsible for her safety.
In the way Mak started calling Belle with practical requests–
*Can you come early?
Can you help me choose?
Can you remind Aleem?
Can you bring?*
Belle felt tugged from both sides.
Not in cruelty.
In love.
Everyone wanted a piece of her.
Everyone feared losing their place.
And Belle, caught in the middle, had to learn something new:
She could be many things.
She didn’t have to choose one identity and kill the rest.
But she had to protect the relationships that formed those identities.
Otherwise, the categories would fight.
The hardest moment came on Friday night.
Belle was at her parents’ place again.
Her mother was folding laundry.
Her father was watching TV, volume low.
Belle sat quietly.
Then her father spoke without looking away from the screen.
“You moving out soon,” her father said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her father nodded.
Belle waited.
Her father’s voice was quiet.
“You know,” her father said, “when you were small, you sleep between us. You kick. You drool. Your mother complain.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
Her father continued,
“Then you grow, you want your own room. You close door. You become teenager. You act like we nuisance.”
Belle laughed weakly through a sting.
“I didn’t–”
Her father cut her off.
“It’s normal,” he said. “I understand. Life.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
“But this one… different,” her father admitted. “This one you don’t just close door. You go build another house.”
Another house.
Belle’s chest cracked.
Her father’s voice lowered.
“I’m not angry,” her father said. “I’m just… adjusting.”
Adjusting.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She reached for his hand.
Her father flinched slightly, surprised.
Belle squeezed.
“I’m adjusting too,” Belle whispered.
Her father’s eyes glistened.
He blinked quickly.
Then he nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Okay,” Belle replied.
Her father’s hand squeezed back–
small.
rare.
heavy with meaning.
On the way home, Belle sat in Aleem’s car.
She stared out the window.
The city lights blurred.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You went to see your parents?” he asked.
Belle nodded.
“My dad said… he’s adjusting,” Belle whispered.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He nodded.
“Give him time,” Aleem said.
Belle swallowed.
“I feel guilty,” Belle admitted. “Like I’m hurting them by being happy.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“You are not hurting them by being happy,” he said. “They are hurting because they love you. That pain is not your fault. It’s the cost of love.”
Cost of love.
Belle’s eyes stung.
Aleem continued,
“And you are not taking from them,” Aleem said. “Because you are not disappearing. You are building.”
Building.
Not abandoning.
Belle whispered,
“Okay.”
Aleem nodded.
“Okay.”
That night, Belle lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.
She imagined herself after nikah.
A wife.
A daughter.
A woman with two families.
She imagined the title sitting on her shoulders.
Not as chains.
As layers.
And she realised something.
Identity shift wasn’t about losing who she was.
It was about carrying more.
More love.
More responsibility.
More names.
More people.
Belle exhaled slowly.
Scared was okay.
Because she was held.
Properly.
And if she could learn to carry this shift without letting it turn into resentment,
then maybe she could become wife without disappearing as daughter.
Not either-or.
Both.
Okay.