Boundaries
Chapter 7 – Boundaries
Belle’s parents didn’t become calm overnight.
They became close.
It was a different kind of response–less dramatic, more constant. Like they had decided that if their daughter was drifting, they would simply row nearer, even if the water was rough.
On the tenth day, Belle woke up to the smell of ginger.
Not the comforting kind.
The sharp kind that meant her mother was in the kitchen doing something serious.
Belle lay still in bed, eyes open, listening.
Clink of ceramic.
Tap running.
A soft hum–her mother’s nervous habit when she was trying not to cry.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She didn’t want to face it.
But she also didn’t want to disappear.
The boundary.
Don’t isolate her from us.
Belle swallowed.
She forced herself upright.
When she stepped into the living room, she froze.
Her mother was there, of course.
But her father was there too.
And Crystal.
And Ivan.
And Aleem, standing slightly behind the dining chair like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to sit.
The entire room looked like a small intervention wrapped in gentleness.
Crystal noticed Belle first and immediately tried to lighten the air.
“Morning! Surprise! Today is family day. You are loved against your will.”
Ivan muttered, “Don’t phrase it like kidnapping.”
Crystal shrugged. “Love can be kidnapping sometimes.”
Belle’s mouth trembled.
Her mother crossed the room quickly.
“Belle,” she said, voice soft, careful. “I’m sorry we came early. I… I called Crystal first. I didn’t want to come and overwhelm you alone.”
Crystal puffed up proudly. “I am buffer. I am diplomatic.”
Ivan snorted. “You are chaos.”
Crystal glared. “Chaos can be diplomatic.”
Belle’s father watched quietly.
He stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight.
A man who didn’t know what to do with his own fear.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Pa,” she whispered.
Her father turned.
His face softened.
He nodded once.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s eyes burned.
She nodded back, as if that one word was a handshake.
Her mother touched Belle’s arm gently. “You eat congee, okay? Ginger one. You always like.”
Belle didn’t remember liking ginger congee.
But she didn’t correct her mother.
She nodded.
Aleem’s gaze flicked to Belle briefly, then away.
Proper.
He wasn’t family.
Not yet.
But he was in the room.
A quiet witness.
A steady presence.
Belle sat.
Her mother placed a bowl of congee in front of her like an offering.
The steam rose.
Belle took one spoon.
The taste hit her tongue–ginger, salt, warmth.
Her throat tightened.
It reminded her of being sick as a child, her mother hovering, her father reading the newspaper quietly but staying within reach.
Showing up.
Even while helpless.
Belle’s eyes stung.
Her mother watched her like she was memorising her face.
Her father sat down opposite Belle slowly, as if he didn’t want to spook her.
Ivan sat near the coffee table.
Crystal perched on the arm of the sofa.
Aleem finally sat on the dining chair, slightly angled, leaving space.
They didn’t talk about Jason.
Not immediately.
They talked about small things.
Belle’s mother asked Ivan about his work.
Ivan answered politely, minimal details.
Crystal told Belle’s parents a story about ABIX’s university badminton class, exaggerating every part.
“And then Belle, right, she smash until the shuttlecock die.”
Belle blinked. “I didn’t.”
Crystal waved. “Metaphor.”
Her father’s lips twitched faintly.
A smile.
Small.
Then, eventually, her mother’s voice softened and the room became quieter.
“Belle,” her mother said gently. “We want to talk about something.”
Belle’s spoon paused.
Her chest tightened.
Her father said, low, “Not scold.”
Okay.
Belle swallowed. “Okay.”
Her mother took a breath. “We’re… very worried. Not about you being sad. Being sad is normal. But… the way you disappear.”
Belle’s throat closed.
Her mother continued, carefully, “When you don’t answer our calls, I imagine the worst. I imagine you alone, crying until you cannot breathe. I imagine–”
Her voice broke.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her father spoke then, voice steady. “Your mum’s mind runs.”
Belle’s mother sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Yes. My mind runs. So… we want to set one thing. Not control you. Just… one boundary.”
Boundary.
The word landed like something sharp.
Belle flinched.
Crystal’s hand squeezed Belle’s shoulder gently.
Ivan watched, alert.
Aleem remained still.
Proper.
Belle’s mother swallowed. “Don’t isolate yourself from us.”
There it was.
Not as accusation.
As a plea.
Belle’s eyes burned.
Her mother continued, “You can be sad. You can cry. You can tell us to go away. But you cannot disappear. You cannot cut us out. Okay?”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She wanted to say she wasn’t cutting them out.
She was just drowning.
But drowning looked like disappearance to the people watching from the shore.
Her father spoke quietly. “Even if you don’t want to talk, you just send one message. One word. ‘Okay.’ Then we know you’re alive.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
The motif.
Okay.
A lifeline.
Her hands trembled.
“Pa,” she whispered.
Her father’s eyes softened. “Hmm?”
Belle swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
Her father shook his head immediately. “No need sorry. This one… not your fault. This one… just pain.”
Belle’s eyes spilled.
Her mother leaned forward, reaching for Belle’s hand.
Belle let her.
Her mother’s grip was warm and trembling.
“Promise me,” her mother whispered. “You don’t disappear.”
Belle nodded, tears falling. “I promise.”
Her father exhaled. “Okay.”
Okay.
The word landed like a blessing.
Not approval.
Not pressure.
A bridge.
After the boundary was set, the room loosened.
As if everyone could breathe again.
Crystal immediately tried to fill the space with noise.
“Okay! Since we talked about serious things, now we talk about food. Auntie, your congee is legit. Can I take home?”
Belle’s mother laughed wetly. “Take lah. You always hungry.”
Ivan muttered, “She eats like a growing teenager.”
Crystal glared. “I am growing emotionally.”
Belle’s father looked at Ivan with faint amusement. “Ivan always like this? Quiet?”
Ivan nodded. “Yes, uncle.”
Belle’s father hummed. “Good. Quiet people… reliable.”
Ivan blinked like he hadn’t expected praise.
Crystal pointed dramatically. “Uncle! Then what about me?”
Belle’s father looked at Crystal for a beat.
Then, deadpan, “You… noisy. But good heart.”
Crystal gasped. “I will frame this.”
Belle let out a small laugh.
Real.
Aleem watched it from the corner of his eye.
Something in his chest loosened.
Not because laughter meant healed.
Because laughter meant Belle was still reachable.
When it was time for Belle’s parents to leave, her father lingered near the door.
He looked at Belle’s face.
Then his gaze flicked, briefly, to Aleem.
A beat.
Observation.
Not judgement.
Her father said to Belle, “We come again tomorrow?”
Belle’s chest tightened.
Part of her wanted to say no.
Part of her felt relief.
She chose honesty. “Maybe… not tomorrow. But soon.”
Her father nodded. “Okay. You tell us when.”
Belle’s mother kissed Belle’s forehead gently.
“Text me tonight,” she whispered. “Even one word.”
Belle nodded.
Okay.
They left.
The door closed.
The apartment felt strangely quiet again.
But not empty.
ABIX was still there.
Crystal began packing containers of congee like she was preparing for war.
Ivan collected cups.
Aleem stood, helping quietly without making it obvious.
Belle watched them.
Then she realised something that made her throat tighten.
Her father had looked at Aleem.
Not as a stranger.
As someone worth noting.
Belle didn’t know why that mattered.
But it did.
That evening, Belle sat on her bed and stared at her phone.
Her mother had messaged:
How are you now?
Belle’s fingers hovered.
She didn’t have a long answer.
She didn’t have words.
But she had a boundary now.
One word.
One bridge.
Belle typed:
Okay.
She hit send.
Her chest tightened as if she had thrown something important into the air.
Her mother replied almost instantly:
Okay. Love you.
Belle stared at the reply.
Love you.
She pressed her phone to her chest.
She didn’t cry.
Not this time.
Her breathing stayed steady.
Small steps.
Boundaries.
Bridges.
In the living room, Crystal was arguing with Ivan about whether congee should have pepper.
Aleem’s quiet voice intervened once, calmly, and both of them shut up like he had pressed a mute button.
Belle listened to the familiar chaos.
For the first time since the breakup, she felt something unfamiliar beneath the pain.
Not happiness.
Not relief.
Something softer.
Safety.
Not because the future was secure.
Because the people around her were.
And in the quiet of her room, Belle realised that love-first acceptance didn’t look like grand speeches.
It looked like a mother’s trembling hand.
A father’s steady “Okay.”
Friends who stayed.
And a boundary that wasn’t a wall.
Just a rope to keep her from drifting too far.