Signals
Chapter 9 – Signals
It didn’t happen like a lightning strike.
It happened like Singapore weather.
Slow heat.
Invisible build.
Then suddenly you realised you were already sweating.
Belle noticed it in pieces.
In moments so small she couldn’t have explained them without feeling ridiculous.
Like the way Aleem always waited for her to finish speaking before he answered.
Like the way he asked permission before he touched anything that belonged to her–even her phone.
Like the way he never, ever made her grief about himself.
She noticed it when her parents called, and Aleem’s name came up naturally now.
Not suspicious.
Not scandalous.
Just… present.
“How’s Aleem?” her mother would ask, as if he was part of the support structure, like medicine.
“Tell him thank you again,” her father would say, and his “okay” would follow after like a stamp.
Okay.
Belle noticed it most when she began to stabilise.
Because when the waves stopped trying to drown her every hour, she could finally look around and see who had been holding her head above water.
Aleem.
Proper.
Steady.
And somehow… warm, without ever being inappropriate.
That was the part that began to haunt her.
Not the warmth.
The restraint.
Two weeks after the badminton night, Belle and Aleem met for lunch near her office.
It wasn’t a date.
Not officially.
It was a check-in that had become routine.
A small step.
Belle had texted:
Lunch?
Aleem had replied:
Okay. Same place?
Okay.
Belle stepped out of her building and found him waiting under the shade, hands in his pockets.
He wore a plain navy shirt, dark jeans, hair neat.
No beard.
Clean-cut.
The kind of man who looked like he kept his own life in order.
Belle’s chest tightened with a strange sensation.
Not panic.
Something else.
“Aleem,” she said.
He looked up immediately. “Hey. You okay today?”
The question was familiar.
It should have felt like routine.
Instead, Belle realised she had started anticipating it.
Not the question.
The voice.
The steadiness.
“Yeah,” she said, then corrected herself because honesty had become part of her survival. “Better.”
Aleem nodded. “Good.”
They walked side by side.
Belle noticed he matched his pace to hers.
Not because she was slow.
Because he was attentive.
It was such a small thing.
And yet it made Belle’s throat tighten.
At the stall, Aleem asked, “You want to choose?”
Belle blinked. “Huh?”
Aleem pointed to the menu board. “Food. You choose first.”
Belle stared.
In her old life, Jason had always chosen quickly, confidently.
He had been the kind of man who ordered for both of them like it was efficient.
She used to find it comforting.
Now she remembered the way it made her feel like she was being carried.
Not held.
Carried.
Aleem wasn’t carrying her.
He was handing her choices back.
Belle swallowed.
“Fish soup,” she said.
Aleem nodded. “Okay.”
He ordered his own, then paid.
Belle reached for her wallet out of habit.
Aleem shook his head immediately. “It’s okay.”
Belle frowned. “Why?”
Aleem’s gaze stayed calm. “Because I asked you to come.”
The logic was simple.
The implication wasn’t.
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
She sat down, mind buzzing.
Proper.
Even paying had a rule.
No taking.
No subtle leverage.
Just fairness.
They ate quietly.
Not awkward.
Comfortable.
The kind of silence that didn’t demand performance.
Halfway through, Belle’s phone buzzed.
A wedding vendor email.
Her chest tightened.
Even now, even after weeks, anything wedding-related hit her like a sudden drop.
Belle’s spoon paused.
Aleem noticed.
“What is it?” he asked gently.
Belle swallowed. “Vendor. Refund stuff.”
Aleem nodded slowly. “You want to handle now or later?”
Later.
Always later.
But later became a pile.
Belle’s throat tightened. “I should… do it.”
Aleem’s gaze softened. “Okay. You want me to sit with you while you reply?”
Belle blinked.
The offer wasn’t: I’ll fix it.
It was: I’ll be beside you while you do it.
Belle’s chest tightened again.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded. “Okay.”
Belle opened her email.
Her fingers trembled.
The vendor’s message was polite, transactional, cruelly normal.
Dear Isabelle, we understand the circumstances. Please advise on your preferred date for returning the deposit forms…
The words blurred.
Belle felt tears threaten.
She inhaled.
Aleem sat quietly.
Not watching her screen.
Not reading.
Just… present.
Belle typed slowly:
Hi, thank you. Please proceed with the refund process. I will submit the forms by Friday. Regards, Isabelle.
Her finger hovered over send.
Her chest tightened.
She pressed send.
The email flew away.
Belle exhaled shakily.
Aleem’s voice was soft. “Good.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“It shouldn’t be so hard,” she whispered.
Aleem shook his head slightly. “It’s hard because it mattered.”
The simplicity of that truth hit her.
Belle swallowed.
She stared at her hands.
Then, without thinking, she said, “Jason never… sat with me like this.”
The sentence slipped out before she could stop it.
Silence.
Belle’s cheeks warmed with regret.
She hadn’t meant to compare.
It sounded petty.
It sounded like she was dragging Aleem into her old relationship.
She hurried, “Sorry. I didn’t mean–”
Aleem lifted a hand slightly, stopping her without touching.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.
Belle swallowed.
Aleem’s gaze lowered briefly, thoughtful.
Then he said, “Not everyone knows how to show up.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
Aleem looked at her. “But you deserved someone who did.”
The sentence landed.
Hard.
Not because it was romantic.
Because it was a moral statement.
A spine.
Belle’s eyes burned.
She looked away.
And somewhere in her chest, a small, dangerous thought began to form.
I want someone like him.
Then her brain panicked.
No.
No.
She wasn’t allowed.
Not yet.
She was still broken.
He was still her friend.
Proper.
She pressed her fingers to her cup of water, grounding herself.
That evening, ABIX met at Ivan’s place.
It was supposed to be a simple hangout.
Netflix.
Snacks.
Crystal’s unsolicited commentary.
Belle had started showing up again.
Not fully alive.
But present.
Which was the point.
Ivan opened the door and nodded at Belle like she was an expected part of the schedule.
“Shoes there,” he said.
Crystal yelled from inside, “BELLE! I bought your favourite chips!”
Belle’s mouth twitched. “I don’t have a favourite chips.”
Crystal appeared, holding a bag triumphantly. “Now you have.”
Aleem arrived last.
He greeted Ivan first, then Crystal, then Belle.
He didn’t greet Belle differently.
No special tone.
No lingering.
Proper.
Belle hated how relieved she felt.
Because relief meant she had been anticipating something.
Ivan’s living room filled with noise.
Crystal curled on the sofa like she owned it.
Ivan set up the show with quiet efficiency.
Belle sat on the floor with a cushion.
Aleem sat on a chair, posture relaxed but controlled.
Halfway through the episode, Belle’s phone buzzed.
Her mother.
How are you?
Belle typed back:
Okay. At Ivan’s. ABIX night.
Her mother replied:
Okay. Good. Don’t come home too late.
Belle stared.
She had become a teenager again.
She almost smiled.
Crystal leaned over and peeked. “Auntie Tan?”
Belle nodded.
Crystal grinned. “Wah. She loves us now.”
Ivan muttered, “She tolerates you.”
Crystal gasped. “Love is tolerance.”
Belle’s mouth twitched.
Then she glanced up.
Aleem was watching the show, not her.
But his presence was a steady weight in the room.
Belle’s chest tightened with something that made her uncomfortable.
Because it wasn’t grief.
It was attention.
Her attention.
Later, when Crystal went to the kitchen to hunt for more snacks and Ivan went to the toilet, Belle and Aleem were left alone for a moment.
The show continued playing quietly.
Belle stared at the screen but wasn’t watching.
She could feel her thoughts buzzing.
Signals.
Small things.
Why did she notice his restraint?
Why did she feel warm when he asked permission?
Why did she feel safe when he sat near?
Belle swallowed.
She whispered, “Aleem.”
He turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”
Belle hesitated.
Her heart beat fast.
“Do you ever… get tired?” she asked.
Aleem blinked, surprised. “Tired of what?”
“Of… checking on me. Of… carrying me.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
He shook his head. “I’m not carrying you.”
Belle frowned. “Then what are you doing?”
Aleem paused.
He looked down, choosing words.
“I’m walking beside you,” he said quietly. “You’re the one moving.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
The sentence made her feel something she didn’t want to feel.
Respect.
Gratitude.
And something more dangerous.
Aleem continued, softly, “And… you’ve been doing better. That’s good.”
Belle’s voice shook. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m faking.”
Aleem’s gaze stayed steady. “Healing can look like faking. Because the outside catches up before the inside.”
Belle swallowed.
The way he spoke–calm, clear, not preachy–made her feel like her pain was being handled with respect.
He wasn’t romanticising it.
He wasn’t minimising it.
He was treating it as real.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She stared at him.
His profile was clean, tidy.
His eyes were focused.
His hands were relaxed.
The kind of man who had moral spine.
Belle’s heartbeat quickened.
She looked away quickly.
When Ivan returned, he flopped onto the sofa with a sigh.
Crystal returned with snacks and immediately began talking again, filling the room.
The moment passed.
But it didn’t disappear.
It stayed in Belle’s chest like a small pulse.
On the way home, Belle walked beside Aleem along the corridor.
The estate was quiet.
The night air smelled like wet concrete.
Belle’s footsteps echoed softly.
Aleem walked a half-step behind her.
As always.
Proper.
Belle turned her head slightly.
“Aleem,” she said.
He looked at her. “Yeah?”
Belle hesitated.
“I think I’m… starting to notice things,” she whispered.
Aleem frowned slightly. “What things?”
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
She couldn’t say it.
Not yet.
Not in words.
So she chose something safer.
“Like… how you do things,” she said, voice quiet. “How you’re… steady.”
Aleem’s gaze softened, but his expression remained controlled.
He nodded once. “Okay.”
Belle swallowed.
The response felt too calm.
As if he didn’t realise what she meant.
Or as if he did, and he was being careful.
Proper.
Belle’s chest tightened.
She whispered, “Thank you.”
Aleem looked at her for a beat.
Then he said, quietly, “You don’t have to thank me for being your friend.”
Friend.
The word landed.
Not as rejection.
As a boundary.
Belle nodded.
Okay.
She entered her flat.
The door closed.
And Belle leaned her forehead against the wood for a moment, heart beating fast.
She didn’t know what was happening to her.
But she knew this:
For the first time since the breakup, her chest carried a different kind of ache.
Not loss.
A pull.
A signal.
And it frightened her more than grief.