ABIX Normalcy
Chapter 8 – ABIX Normalcy
The first real laugh happened on a Thursday.
Not at a punchline.
Not at a joke someone had prepared.
It slipped out of Belle like a sneeze–unexpected, involuntary–and shocked her so much she almost cried right after.
It happened at the badminton court.
Which was, of course, exactly where ABIX would try to drag her back into the world.
“Normalcy,” Ivan had called it.
“Distraction,” Belle had called it.
“Rehabilitation arc,” Crystal had announced dramatically.
Aleem had just said, “We can go for thirty minutes. If it’s too much, we leave.”
Thirty minutes.
A small thing.
A manageable thing.
Belle had agreed because she couldn’t keep living in her apartment like it was a bunker.
And because, quietly, she missed the sound of shuttlecocks.
The clean snap.
The rhythm.
The familiar sweat and laughter.
The proof that her body could still do something besides ache.
The sports hall smelled like varnished wood and old air-conditioning.
The moment Belle stepped in, her chest tightened.
Not from panic.
From memory.
This was where they had met.
This was where ABIX had been born–four strangers sweating through a university elective, pretending they weren’t competitive while secretly being extremely competitive.
The court lines were the same.
The benches were the same.
The uncle at the counter was probably the same.
Time had moved.
But the place had stayed.
Crystal bounced ahead with a duffel bag like she was arriving at a concert.
“Okay! We warm up. Belle, you do gentle. Ivan, you do old man stretches. Aleem, you do… whatever gym bro stretches.”
Ivan glared. “I am not old man.”
Crystal scoffed. “You literally drink kopi C kosong.”
“That’s a preference.”
“That’s an age.”
Belle stood at the side, holding her racket awkwardly.
Her grip felt wrong.
Like her hand had forgotten.
Aleem noticed.
He didn’t comment.
He just offered, quietly, “Want to start with easy clears?”
Belle blinked at him.
He said it like badminton was a language they both spoke.
A safe one.
Belle nodded.
They walked onto the court.
Crystal and Ivan took the other side, already bickering about who had to pick up shuttlecocks.
Aleem stood opposite Belle.
He didn’t smile too much.
He didn’t make her feel watched.
He lifted his racket and tapped the shuttle gently over.
A soft clear.
Belle stepped forward and tapped it back.
The shuttle flew in a neat arc.
It landed.
It didn’t break.
She didn’t collapse.
Again.
Aleem sent another.
Belle returned it.
Her chest loosened a fraction.
Her body remembered.
Small steps.
Not just in life.
In movement.
After a few minutes, Belle’s arms warmed.
Her breathing steadied.
Her hair began to stick to her neck.
Sweat–real, physical sweat–made her feel oddly normal.
Pain that came from effort, not heartbreak.
Crystal suddenly shouted from the other side, “Okay! Doubles! Belle with Aleem. Me with Ivan. Because if Belle with Ivan, both of them will be too quiet and then they will look like funeral.”
Ivan stared. “You always think everything is funeral.”
Crystal pointed. “Because you act like you’re attending one.”
Belle’s mouth twitched.
Aleem’s lips pressed together, hiding amusement.
They switched into doubles.
Belle stood near the net, heart beating.
She hadn’t played properly in months.
Crystal served first–aggressive, of course.
Ivan returned with a precise lift.
Belle watched the shuttle and, without thinking, stepped forward and tapped it down.
A simple net kill.
The shuttle landed.
Point.
Crystal gasped dramatically. “Wah! Belle! She’s back!”
Ivan looked at Belle, impressed despite himself. “Nice.”
Aleem nodded once. “Good.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her cheeks warmed.
She hadn’t expected praise to feel like this.
Not flattering.
Just… proof.
That she still existed.
They played.
Not intense.
Not tournament-level.
But enough that Belle’s body began to wake up.
Every time she lunged, her muscles burned.
Every time she missed, she felt a flicker of frustration.
And frustration–normal, petty frustration–felt like a miracle.
Half an hour became forty-five minutes.
No one pointed it out.
They let it happen.
At one point, Crystal made a ridiculous dive for a shuttle she had no business chasing.
She slid on the court and ended up sprawled like a defeated action hero.
“Medic!” she yelled, one hand raised dramatically.
Ivan walked over, expression blank. “You’re fine.”
Crystal groaned. “I’m dying.”
Ivan looked down at her. “Then die quietly.”
Crystal gasped. “Ivan! So cruel!”
Ivan turned away. “Please stop embarrassing us.”
Crystal shouted after him, “You embarrassed yourself when you tried to smash and hit the net just now!”
Ivan froze.
Aleem’s shoulders shifted slightly, as if he was trying not to laugh.
Ivan turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “That didn’t happen.”
Crystal sat up, pointing at Belle. “Belle saw.”
Ivan looked at Belle.
Belle stared.
The image flashed in her mind: Ivan, serious face, winding up for a smash like he was in the Olympics, then whacking the shuttle straight into the net with a loud thunk.
The sound had been so anticlimactic.
Crystal had cackled.
Aleem had turned his face away.
Belle’s lips parted.
And then it happened.
A laugh.
Not a polite exhale.
Not a small smile.
A real laugh that bubbled out of her chest and surprised her with its brightness.
It was short.
It cracked at the end.
But it was real.
The court went quiet.
Crystal stared at Belle like she had just witnessed a resurrection.
Ivan blinked, startled.
Aleem’s gaze lifted, and something softened in his eyes so quickly Belle almost missed it.
Belle’s laugh died.
Her throat tightened.
She swallowed, suddenly embarrassed.
Crystal’s face crumpled with relief.
“Oh my god,” Crystal whispered. “She laughed.”
Ivan’s voice was quieter. “Good.”
Aleem said nothing.
He just looked down briefly, as if he was steadying himself.
Then he spoke softly, controlled. “You okay?”
Belle nodded, eyes burning. “Yeah. I just–”
She couldn’t finish.
Because the laugh had reminded her she could still feel something other than pain.
And that made the pain seem even more real.
Crystal jumped up suddenly and wrapped Belle in a sweaty hug.
“Okay okay okay! No crying. Today is victory day.”
Belle laughed again, weaker. “Crystal, you’re sweaty.”
Crystal gasped. “Excuse me. This is the scent of effort.”
Ivan muttered, “It’s the scent of chaos.”
Belle’s laugh came out again.
It wasn’t smooth.
But it was there.
After badminton, they went for supper.
Because ABIX couldn’t do an activity without ending with food.
They sat at a prata shop under fluorescent lights.
It wasn’t romantic.
It wasn’t aesthetic.
It was normal.
Plastic chairs.
Noisy fans.
Uncles shouting orders.
Crystal ordered too much, as always.
“Two kosong, one egg, one cheese, one mushroom, one… eh Ivan, you want what?”
Ivan looked tired. “I want peace.”
Crystal waved him off. “Peace not on menu.”
Aleem ordered milo peng for Crystal because she had forgotten.
Crystal pointed at him dramatically. “See? Aleem understands me.”
Ivan muttered, “He understands your sugar addiction.”
Belle watched them.
The conversation flowed around her like a river.
She didn’t have to perform.
She didn’t have to be lively.
She just had to exist in the circle.
At one point, Ivan asked, “Work okay?”
Belle nodded. “Half day. I’m… trying.”
Crystal beamed. “Good. Our girl.”
Aleem’s gaze flicked to Belle’s face. “Any panic?”
Belle hesitated.
Then she answered honestly. “A bit. But… manageable.”
Aleem nodded once. “Okay.”
Belle stared at her prata.
She took a bite.
Crisp.
Oily.
Warm.
It tasted like Singapore.
And for a second, she remembered what it felt like to be hungry for food, not for a future.
On the way home, in the lift lobby, Belle paused.
The corridor was quiet.
The estate lights hummed.
Crystal and Ivan were still bickering about whether cheese prata was “sinful.”
Aleem stood slightly behind Belle, waiting.
Belle turned her head.
“Aleem,” she said softly.
He looked at her immediately. “Yeah?”
Belle hesitated.
She didn’t know how to say it without sounding dramatic.
But she had learned something these past weeks:
Small words mattered.
So she used one.
“Today was… okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
He nodded once. “Yeah. It was.”
Belle swallowed. “I laughed.”
Aleem’s lips pressed together gently. “I heard.”
Belle’s cheeks warmed. “It felt… weird.”
Aleem’s voice stayed calm. “It’s not wrong to laugh. It doesn’t mean you’re forgetting. It just means your body is… letting you breathe.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
Crystal shouted from down the corridor, “BELLE! Hurry up! Your auntie neighbours will think you got secret boyfriend!”
Ivan groaned. “Crystal!”
Belle’s cheeks warmed hotter.
She stepped forward quickly.
Aleem didn’t react.
He didn’t look embarrassed.
He didn’t look pleased.
He simply walked with them to Belle’s door.
Proper.
Always.
Later that night, Belle lay in bed.
Her muscles ached from badminton.
Not heartbreak.
She stared at her ceiling.
Her chest still carried a hollow.
But it wasn’t swallowing her whole.
Her phone buzzed.
Her mother.
You ate?
Belle smiled faintly.
She typed:
Yes. Prata.
Her mother replied:
Okay. Proud. Sleep.
Okay.
Belle turned her phone face-down.
She closed her eyes.
And in the quiet, she replayed the moment she laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was proof.
First real laugh.
A crack of light.
ABIX normalcy.
Not a cure.
A bridge.
And as Belle drifted into sleep, the last thought that passed through her mind wasn’t Jason.
It was the sound of a shuttlecock hitting the net.
The anticlimactic thunk.
And her own laugh, surprising and alive.