First Light
Chapter 5 – First Light
On the seventh day, Belle stood in the kitchen and realised she had forgotten how to make Milo.
Not because she didn’t know the steps.
Because her mind kept slipping away mid-action–like a radio losing signal.
She held the sachet in her hand, stared at the mug, stared at the kettle, and felt a strange blankness spread across her chest.
Hot water.
Stir.
Drink.
The simplicity mocked her.
Belle’s throat tightened. Her eyes burned for no reason.
She was still wearing home clothes, hair tied in a loose knot, feet bare against the tiles. The sun outside was bright enough to make the kitchen feel too honest.
Behind her, Crystal had planted herself on a stool like a supervisor.
“You okay or not?” Crystal demanded.
Belle blinked. “I… I don’t know.”
Ivan, sitting at the dining table with his laptop open, didn’t look up. “Then don’t make Milo. Just drink warm water.”
Crystal scoffed. “Warm water is depressing.”
Ivan finally glanced at her. “That’s why it’s effective. No expectations.”
Crystal slapped the table lightly. “Everything with you is like some philosophy.”
Ivan deadpanned. “Everything with you is a loud threat.”
Belle’s mouth trembled.
A laugh tried to surface.
It failed.
But something in her chest loosened anyway.
Crystal leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Okay, forget Milo. You brush teeth already?”
Belle nodded.
Crystal’s face softened. “Good. Shower?”
Belle hesitated. “Yesterday.”
Crystal nodded like she was counting progress points. “Okay. Today we go downstairs.”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
Downstairs meant other humans. It meant the estate aunties who looked at you like they knew everything. It meant air that didn’t smell like her own grief.
Belle’s hands began to tremble.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
Crystal opened her mouth, ready to argue.
Ivan spoke first, calm. “Not ‘downstairs’ as in socialising. Just… downstairs. Walk a bit. Buy something small. It helps your brain.”
Belle stared at him. “Why?”
Ivan’s eyes softened slightly. “Because staying inside makes the pain echo.”
Crystal pointed at Ivan. “See? He got heart one. Just hidden under Excel.”
Ivan frowned. “It’s not Excel. It’s Google Sheets.”
Crystal rolled her eyes dramatically. “Whatever. You understand what we mean.”
Belle looked down at the mug.
Then her phone buzzed.
Aleem.
Morning. How’s breathing today?
Belle’s throat tightened.
She stared at the message, then typed slowly:
Better.
Her finger hovered.
Then she added:
Crystal wants me to go downstairs.
A reply came within seconds.
Small is okay. Five minutes is okay. If you want, I can come and walk with you.
Belle’s chest tightened.
The thought of Aleem walking with her felt… safe.
But safety felt like a temptation.
Because part of her wanted to cling.
To him.
To ABIX.
To anything that could hold her up so she didn’t have to learn how to stand.
Belle swallowed.
She typed:
Can you?
Then she stared at the text like it was a weakness.
Aleem replied:
Yeah. Give me 15.
Crystal leaned over to peek at Belle’s screen. “He coming?”
Belle nodded.
Crystal’s face brightened like someone had announced reinforcements. “Good. Aleem is like… your calm button.”
Ivan’s eyes flicked up. “Don’t make him a button.”
Crystal scoffed. “Eh, I’m complimenting.”
Ivan’s voice stayed flat. “Compliments can become dependencies.”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
The word dependency felt like a warning.
Crystal frowned. “Why you so negative?”
Ivan looked at Belle when he answered. “Because I’m trying to protect her long-term.”
Belle stared at him.
She wanted to be angry.
Instead, she felt strangely grateful.
ABIX was messy.
But they were not careless.
Aleem arrived exactly fifteen minutes later.
He knocked once, then waited.
When Belle opened the door, he looked her over quickly–eyes, posture, colour of her face–then nodded.
“You okay?” he asked.
Belle hesitated.
The truth was complicated.
She settled for: “I’m… here.”
Aleem’s lips pressed together, acknowledging the honesty. “Okay.”
Crystal bounced into view behind Belle like an excited mascot. “Okay, team! Today’s mission: downstairs!”
Ivan, still at the table, said, “We’re not a team. We’re a crisis response unit.”
Crystal glared at him. “Same thing.”
Aleem removed his shoes neatly, then looked at Belle.
“You want to wear shoes?” he asked gently.
Belle glanced down at her bare feet.
It was a small question.
But it mattered.
Because it gave her control.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded. He stepped back slightly, giving her space.
Belle went to her room, pulled on slippers, then returned.
Her heart was beating too fast.
Aleem noticed.
He didn’t point it out.
He just said, quietly, “We can turn back anytime.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Okay.
Not a command.
A permission.
She nodded.
Crystal clapped her hands once. “Let’s go!”
Ivan stood, grabbed his wallet. “I’m coming too.”
Crystal stared. “You are? Wah. Rare.”
Ivan shrugged. “Someone needs to stop you from buying ten snacks and calling it ‘healing.’”
Crystal scoffed. “Snacks are healing.”
Aleem didn’t join the banter.
He walked beside Belle, a half-step behind, not crowding her.
Proper.
Always proper.
The corridor outside Belle’s unit smelled like someone’s breakfast–garlic, frying oil, the sharp sweetness of kopi.
Belle’s chest tightened immediately.
She hadn’t realised how much the world had continued.
The lift lobby was brighter than her living room.
The tiles were cold.
Every sound felt too loud.
Crystal chatted on purpose, filling the space.
“So okay, after we buy something, we go playground and sit. Then we judge people. Fun.”
Ivan muttered, “You’re the reason aunties gossip.”
Crystal gasped. “Excuse me. I am auntie in training.”
Belle’s hands trembled.
Aleem noticed.
He didn’t touch her.
He just angled his body slightly so he was between her and the open corridor, like a shield without making it obvious.
Belle inhaled.
The lift arrived.
The doors opened.
Inside was an elderly couple.
The auntie glanced at Belle, then at Crystal, then at Aleem.
Recognition flickered.
This estate had eyes.
Crystal smiled brightly. “Morning, auntie!”
The auntie smiled back, easily. “Morning.”
She looked at Belle’s face properly, then softened.
“Girl, you okay or not?” she asked in that blunt, Singaporean way.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She couldn’t answer.
Crystal jumped in instantly. “She okay. Just tired. Working too hard.”
The auntie nodded like she understood the code. “Aiyo. Must rest. Don’t push yourself.”
The uncle beside her grunted, “Young people always push.”
The lift went down.
Belle stared at the numbers.
Proper.
Just breathe.
When the doors opened at the ground floor, warm air rushed in–wet, alive, full of noise.
Children shouting.
A dog barking.
A delivery rider revving.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her feet wanted to stop.
Aleem’s voice came softly near her ear. “We can stand here first.”
Belle blinked.
He was right.
They didn’t have to move.
They stood at the edge of the lift lobby for a full minute.
No one forced her.
Crystal pretended to check her phone to avoid making Belle feel watched.
Ivan looked at the floor, hands in his pockets.
Aleem watched the estate calmly, like he was borrowing his steadiness out to her.
Belle inhaled.
Then she stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
Her chest still hurt.
But she was moving.
They went to the coffee shop.
Not a fancy café.
Not a place that required effort.
Just the familiar chaos of plastic chairs, aunties queuing, hawkers shouting orders.
Belle sat at a table near the edge, facing outward.
She needed an escape route.
Crystal came back with drinks like she was running a food delivery service.
“Kopi C kosong for Ivan, because he’s old man. Teh for me because I’m dramatic. And for you–” she placed a cup in front of Belle, “warm honey lemon. Because you need gentle.”
Belle stared at it.
Gentle.
She wrapped her fingers around the plastic cup.
It was warm.
It didn’t fix anything.
But it reminded her that her hands still worked.
Ivan sat down across from her, posture relaxed but alert.
Aleem sat beside Ivan, slightly angled, not directly facing Belle.
Not interrogating.
Just present.
Crystal began telling a story about her colleague who tried to microwave a metal spoon.
Ivan corrected details.
Aleem listened, occasionally nodding.
Belle watched them.
ABIX.
They had always been a group–badminton jokes, supper, complaining about life.
Now they were a net.
And Belle was the one being caught.
She hated that.
And she loved it.
Both truths sat in her chest like stones.
At the next table, a young couple laughed, leaning into each other.
Belle’s stomach clenched.
Her fingers tightened around the cup.
She looked away.
Aleem noticed.
He didn’t look at the couple.
He looked at Belle.
Not with pity.
With calm.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Sorry,” she whispered suddenly.
Everyone went still.
Crystal blinked. “Huh? Sorry for what?”
Ivan frowned slightly. “Don’t apologise.”
Belle swallowed hard. “For… ruining everything. For making you all… do this.”
Crystal’s face crumpled. “Eh.”
Ivan’s voice was firm. “Belle. You didn’t ruin anything. Your fiancé did.”
Belle flinched.
The word fiancé felt like a bruise.
Aleem’s voice came softly, controlled. “You don’t owe us an apology for being hurt.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“But I’m… I’m not fun,” she whispered. “I’m not… me.”
Crystal reached across the table and flicked Belle’s forehead lightly. “You don’t need to be fun. You just need to be alive. We can be fun for you.”
Ivan nodded once. “Also, you’re still you. Just… injured.”
Aleem’s gaze softened. “You’re allowed to heal slowly.”
Slowly.
Belle inhaled.
The words didn’t fix her.
But they gave her permission to not force a transformation overnight.
She took a sip of honey lemon.
It tasted like warmth and nothing else.
First light.
Not sunrise.
Just a small brightness through cracks.
That evening, Belle’s parents insisted on coming.
Not to interrogate.
Not to “solve.”
To show up.
Belle had tried to argue.
Her mother had said, in that firm, trembling tone, “We are not coming to scold you. We are coming because you are our daughter.”
Her father had added, steady as always, “Okay. We come. We just sit.”
Okay.
The word again.
Belle’s chest had tightened.
Now, as the doorbell rang, Belle stood in her living room with her hands clasped together like she was preparing for a funeral.
Crystal immediately sprang to her feet. “I open! I open!”
Ivan gave her a look. “Don’t overwhelm them.”
Crystal whispered fiercely, “I will be charming.”
Aleem stood slightly behind Belle–not hiding, but not fronting.
Proper.
He wasn’t family.
Not yet.
The door opened.
Belle’s mother stepped in first, carrying a thermal bag.
Her hair was tied back neatly, but her eyes were puffy like she had cried and then forced herself to stop.
When she saw Belle, her face crumpled.
“Oh Belle…”
Belle’s throat closed.
Before Belle could speak, her mother walked forward and hugged her.
Not a tight hug.
A steady one.
Like anchoring a boat.
Belle froze for half a second, then collapsed into it.
She cried into her mother’s shoulder.
Her mother didn’t tell her to stop.
She whispered, “It’s okay. It’s okay. Mummy here.”
Her father entered next.
He didn’t rush.
He set his slippers neatly by the door, eyes scanning the room once, taking in Crystal and Ivan, then Aleem.
His gaze paused on Aleem.
A beat.
Recognition.
Respect.
Not warmth yet.
But acknowledgement.
Aleem nodded politely. “Uncle.”
Belle’s father nodded back. “Aleem.”
His voice was calm.
Then he looked at Belle.
His face didn’t twist with panic.
It softened with something heavier.
He took one step closer.
Belle lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder, eyes swollen.
Her father said, quietly, “Okay.”
Just that.
No speech.
No lecture.
Okay.
Belle’s chest cracked.
She cried again, harder.
Her father didn’t hug her immediately.
He held out his hand instead.
A simple gesture.
Permission.
Belle took it.
Her father’s grip was warm and steady.
He squeezed once.
Then, softly, he said, “You eat already?”
Crystal sniffed loudly. “Yes, uncle! We brought her downstairs today. She drank honey lemon. She ate grapes. She is… alive.”
Belle’s father’s gaze flicked to Crystal with faint amusement. “Good.”
Ivan cleared his throat. “Uncle, auntie. We’ve been staying with her. Taking shifts.”
Belle’s mother looked relieved and guilty at the same time. “Thank you. Thank you all.”
Her eyes flicked to Aleem. “Aleem… thank you.”
Aleem’s shoulders tightened slightly at the direct gratitude.
He nodded. “It’s okay, auntie.”
Belle’s father glanced at Belle’s mother, then back at Belle.
His voice was low. “We’re scared, you know.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
Her father continued, carefully, “Not of you. Scared… that you will disappear from us.”
Belle’s throat closed.
Her mother nodded, eyes wet. “Don’t isolate yourself, okay? Don’t shut us out. We don’t need you to be okay immediately. We just need you… near.”
Near.
Belle’s hands trembled.
She nodded, tears falling. “I won’t.”
Her father squeezed her hand again. “Okay.”
There it was.
The motif.
Not approval.
Not pressure.
A bridge.
Her parents stayed for an hour.
They didn’t ask about Jason.
Not once.
They didn’t demand details.
They didn’t mention wedding deposits.
They brought food–congee, steamed fish, vegetables–and sat in Belle’s living room like they were reclaiming their place in her life.
Showing up while hurting.
Belle’s mother laughed quietly at Crystal’s drama.
Belle’s father asked Ivan about his work like he was trying to keep the room normal.
Aleem stayed mostly quiet, answering politely when spoken to, never inserting himself.
Proper.
When Belle’s parents finally stood to leave, Belle’s mother held Belle’s face gently.
“Call me tomorrow,” she said. “Even if you don’t want to talk. Just… let me hear your voice.”
Belle nodded.
Her father paused at the door.
He looked at Belle.
Then he looked at Aleem.
A beat.
He said, simply, “Thank you.”
Aleem blinked, surprised.
He bowed his head slightly. “Uncle.”
Belle watched the exchange.
It wasn’t a blessing.
Not yet.
But it was something.
A small light.
That night, after the door closed and the apartment quieted again, Belle stood by the window.
The estate below glowed with scattered lights.
Aunties chatting.
A teenager skateboarding.
Life.
Behind her, Crystal and Ivan were cleaning up food containers noisily.
Aleem sat at the dining table, finally drinking his warm water.
Belle’s chest felt… different.
Not healed.
But less sealed.
She turned.
“Aleem,” she said softly.
He looked up immediately. “Yeah?”
Belle hesitated.
The words felt strange in her mouth, like a language she hadn’t spoken in years.
“I went downstairs today,” she said.
Aleem’s gaze softened. “I know.”
Belle’s lips trembled. “I… I didn’t die.”
Crystal snorted from the kitchen. “Obviously not. I would have revived you.”
Ivan muttered, “Don’t talk about reviving like it’s a skill.”
Belle smiled weakly.
Then the smile disappeared.
Her eyes filled.
Aleem stood, not coming too close, but closing the distance enough that she could feel him there.
“You did good,” he said quietly.
Belle swallowed. “It felt… stupid. Like such a small thing.”
Aleem shook his head. “Small things are the ones that matter right now.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
She whispered, “Thank you for not… making me talk. Or fixing me.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I can’t fix you,” he said softly. “But I can stay beside you while you find your own footing.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
The line between gratitude and something deeper flickered faintly–so faint Belle didn’t recognise it.
Aleem did.
He felt it like a warning.
He looked away first.
Proper.
Always.
Belle blinked hard, holding back tears.
“I think,” she whispered, “this is the first time I’ve felt… a little light.”
Aleem’s voice was gentle. “First light is enough.”
Belle nodded.
Outside, the estate continued to hum.
Singapore didn’t do silence.
But tonight, the noise didn’t feel like an enemy.
It felt like proof.
She was still here.