Small Steps
Chapter 6 – Small Steps
The first day Belle went back to work, she spent twenty minutes standing in front of her wardrobe like she had forgotten what people wore to be functional.
Not because she didn’t have clothes.
Because every blouse looked like it belonged to a version of her that had a future.
She held up a pale blue top, then put it back. Held up a black dress, then put it back.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the safest thing she owned: a plain white shirt and dark jeans.
Neutral.
Forgettable.
A costume for survival.
From the living room, Crystal’s voice floated in. “Belle! Hurry up! If you late, your boss will think you dead!”
Ivan replied, flat, “If she’s late, it’s because she’s healing. Don’t weaponise punctuality.”
Crystal scoffed. “Wah. Now punctuality also can be weapon.”
Belle tried to smile.
It came out thin.
She pulled on the white shirt anyway.
When she stepped out, Crystal was already dressed like she was going to a brunch date–makeup on, hair curled, perfume loud.
Ivan sat on the sofa with his laptop bag beside him, ready to escort her like a bodyguard.
Aleem stood near the doorway, hands in his pockets, calm.
He was in a crisp black polo and dark pants, hair neat, clean-cut as always.
Proper.
His gaze flicked over Belle once–not lingering, not assessing her as a woman, but noting: she was dressed, upright, breathing.
“Morning,” he said softly.
Belle swallowed. “Morning.”
Crystal clapped her hands. “Okay. We go. Today is soft launch of Belle 2.0.”
Ivan frowned. “There is no 2.0. She’s not a product.”
Crystal waved him off. “Aiyo. It’s metaphor.”
Aleem’s lips twitched. “Maybe just… Belle.”
Crystal stared at him, then pointed dramatically. “Yes! Belle 1.0. Original version. Cannot improve because already perfect.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
The word perfect made something hurt.
She didn’t want to be perfect.
She just wanted to be okay.
Aleem’s voice was quiet, as if he sensed it. “We’re just doing small steps today.”
Small.
Belle nodded.
The MRT station smelled like metal and morning sweat.
The platform was crowded, the air thick with people who had places to be.
Belle stood between Crystal and Ivan, her fingers clutched around her EZ-Link card like it was a talisman.
Her chest tightened as the train arrived with its familiar screech.
The doors opened.
People surged.
Belle’s stomach rolled.
In her head, the carpark flashed–the rain, the shelter, the sentence.
She felt the panic coil again.
Crystal noticed immediately.
“Okay, okay, look at me,” Crystal whispered, lowering her voice for once. “We don’t have to squeeze. We wait for next one.”
Ivan nodded. “Next train is two minutes.”
Belle swallowed.
Two minutes felt like mercy.
Aleem stood a half-step behind them.
He didn’t intervene.
He didn’t push.
He just stayed close enough that Belle could feel the steadiness of his presence.
When the next train arrived, it was less crowded.
They boarded.
Belle sat down quickly, gripping the seat edge with her fingers.
Her heartbeat was fast.
But she was on the train.
Moving.
Life continuing.
Crystal sat beside her, knees bouncing with nervous energy she pretended wasn’t hers.
Ivan stood in front, holding the pole, scanning the carriage like an ops guy.
Aleem stood slightly to the side, giving Belle room.
He didn’t look at her too directly.
Proper.
Belle stared at the floor.
The train rocked.
The world didn’t end.
At the office building, Crystal refused to let Belle enter alone.
“I escort you to your desk,” she announced.
Belle blinked. “You don’t work here.”
“Exactly. I’m guest star,” Crystal said.
Ivan sighed. “Crystal, you can’t just walk into people’s offices.”
Crystal glared. “Can. I have charisma.”
In the lobby, Belle’s phone buzzed.
A message from her boss:
Take your time. Let me know if you need to go home. We’ll cover.
Belle’s chest tightened.
A small relief.
A small fear.
People knowing meant people asking.
Belle stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
Aleem spoke quietly. “You want to go in alone?”
Belle blinked at him.
He wasn’t asking because he wanted to leave.
He was asking because he wanted her to have choice.
She swallowed. “Can you… stay downstairs?”
Aleem nodded. “Okay.”
Crystal’s eyes widened. “Wah. You want him to wait like boyfriend?”
Ivan’s head snapped. “Crystal.”
Belle’s cheeks warmed faintly. “No. I just… I don’t want to be alone if I panic.”
Crystal sobered instantly. “Okay. Sorry.”
Aleem’s voice stayed calm. “I’ll be at the coffee place downstairs. Text me if you need.”
Belle nodded.
Aleem stepped back. “You can do this. Small.”
Small.
Belle inhaled.
Then she walked into the lift with Crystal and Ivan.
The office smelled like cold air-conditioning and printed paper.
Belle’s colleagues looked up as she stepped in.
A few faces softened.
A few looked awkward.
Someone said quietly, “Hey Belle, welcome back.”
Belle forced a smile. “Hi.”
Her voice sounded normal.
It felt like a lie.
She walked to her desk.
Her chair was the same.
Her monitor had the same sticky notes.
Her water bottle sat where she left it.
The normalcy hit her like a wave.
This was the life she had planned to carry into marriage.
She imagined Jason picking her up after work, them complaining about office politics, then going home to a flat they didn’t have yet.
Her throat tightened.
Her hands began to tremble.
Crystal leaned in, whispering urgently, “Okay okay. Don’t think. Breathe. Look at me. We focus on immediate task: log in.”
Ivan nodded. “Just log in. Nothing else.”
Log in.
The smallest step.
Belle sat.
She typed her password.
It worked.
The screen lit up.
Emails.
Meetings.
Tasks.
Her boss appeared at her cubicle, face gentle.
“Belle,” she said softly. “No pressure. You can just sit. You can go home anytime.”
Belle swallowed hard. “Okay.”
Okay.
Her boss’s gaze flicked to Crystal and Ivan, bewildered. “You brought… friends?”
Crystal smiled brightly. “Hello! I’m support system.”
Ivan nodded politely. “We’ll leave.”
Belle’s boss hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Take care of her.”
Crystal and Ivan left.
The office air felt colder without them.
Belle stared at her inbox.
She didn’t reply.
She just… existed.
For twenty minutes.
Then she replied to one email.
One.
A small step.
Her fingers shook.
But the email sent.
Her chest loosened slightly.
She hadn’t collapsed.
She hadn’t died.
She had replied to an email.
The bar was low.
And yet.
It was something.
At lunchtime, Belle couldn’t eat in the pantry.
The noise felt like sandpaper.
She texted Aleem instead:
Can we eat downstairs?
He replied instantly:
Yeah. I’m here.
Belle took the lift down alone.
Her heart raced.
But she did it.
At the coffee place, Aleem stood up when he saw her.
He didn’t wave.
He didn’t grin.
He simply made space, pulling a chair back at a table near the edge.
“Hi,” he said softly.
Belle sat, exhaling shakily. “Hi.”
Aleem slid a bottle of water toward her. “Drink first.”
Belle obeyed.
After a few sips, her hands steadied.
Aleem asked, quietly, “How was it?”
Belle stared at the table. “It was… too normal. It felt like… my life was pretending nothing happened.”
Aleem nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Belle’s throat tightened. “I almost panicked.”
Aleem’s voice remained calm. “But you didn’t.”
Belle blinked at him.
He wasn’t dismissing the near-miss.
He was pointing out the win.
Belle swallowed. “I replied to one email.”
Aleem’s eyes softened. “That’s a lot.”
Belle’s mouth trembled. “It feels pathetic.”
Aleem shook his head. “It’s a small step. That’s what we’re doing.”
Belle looked down at her hands.
Aleem didn’t fill the silence.
He let her breathe.
Then he asked gently, “You want food?”
Belle hesitated. “I don’t have appetite.”
Aleem nodded. “Okay. Then we buy something small. You don’t have to finish.”
Proper.
No pressure.
They walked to a nearby stall.
Belle pointed to a bowl of fishball noodles without thinking.
Aleem ordered one bowl, then paused.
“You want any changes?” he asked.
Belle stared at him.
Changes.
Choices.
She realised she hadn’t made choices for days.
She swallowed. “No chilli.”
Aleem nodded. “Okay.”
They ate in quiet.
Belle managed half the bowl.
Her body accepted it.
Her mind didn’t.
But she kept eating anyway.
Small.
Aleem didn’t finish his own bowl until she had taken the last bite she could.
Not because he was romantic.
Because he was pacing with her.
After lunch, Belle returned upstairs.
Alone.
Her heart beat fast.
But she did it.
She sent two more emails.
Then she stopped.
At three p.m., her boss told her to go home.
“Good effort,” her boss said gently. “Don’t push.”
Belle nodded.
She walked out of the building.
The sun hit her skin.
It felt real.
She texted Aleem:
I’m done.
He replied:
Okay. I’ll walk you to MRT.
When he met her at the lobby, he didn’t ask how she felt first.
He asked, “You want to go home direct or stop somewhere?”
Belle blinked.
A choice again.
“I… home,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded. “Okay.”
On the train, Belle’s head leaned against the glass.
The city slid by.
Aleem stood near her, one hand on the pole, body angled slightly between her and the crowd.
Not possessive.
Protective.
Proper.
Belle watched the reflection of his face in the glass.
His eyes looked tired.
He had been doing this–holding her up–without looking like he wanted applause.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Aleem,” she whispered.
He looked down. “Yeah?”
Belle hesitated. “Do you… resent me?”
Aleem frowned slightly, surprised. “Why would I?”
“Because I’m… ruining your routine,” Belle whispered. “You’re always checking in. You’re always… here.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said, quietly, “I’m doing this because I want to. Not because you forced me.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
“But why?” she whispered.
Aleem’s jaw flexed.
He chose his words carefully, as if stepping around something sharp.
“Because you matter,” he said simply.
The sentence landed.
Not romantic.
Not a confession.
Just… truth.
Belle’s eyes burned.
She looked away quickly, embarrassed by her own emotion.
Aleem didn’t chase her gaze.
Proper.
He just stayed.
That night, when Belle finally lay in bed, her body felt exhausted in a new way.
Not from crying.
From effort.
From being in the world.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her mother:
How was work?
Belle stared.
She typed slowly:
I went in for half day.
Then: I’m okay.
The second line was a lie.
But it was also a hope.
Her mother replied:
Okay. Proud of you. Eat and sleep. Call tomorrow.
Belle swallowed.
Okay.
She stared at the ceiling.
Her chest still hurt.
But tonight, the pain felt… slightly less like a trap.
She had left the house.
She had taken the train.
She had replied to emails.
She had eaten half a bowl of noodles.
Small steps.
And in the quiet of her room, Belle realised something that frightened her and steadied her at the same time:
Life would keep moving.
So she would have to move with it.
Not fast.
Not perfectly.
Just… one small step at a time.