The Collapse

Chapter 1 – The Collapse

The message arrived like a dropped plate.

It wasn’t loud in the way people imagine heartbreak to be–no dramatic phone call in the rain, no cinematic confession. It was a rectangle of light on Isabelle’s screen, a few lines that refused to arrange themselves into something sensible.

I’m sorry.

I don’t think I can do this anymore.

It’s not you. I’m just… I’m not sure I ever became the person you needed.

Isabelle read it once.

Then again.

Then again, as if repetition could loosen the words from their meaning.

Her thumb hovered above the keyboard. The impulse to type What? was physical–hot and immediate–followed by a colder wave that made her fingers stiff. She felt her chest tighten, not like a panic attack, not yet, but like something inside her had been vacuum-sealed.

The photo on her lockscreen was still there.

A candid shot from two months ago–her, him, and the ABIX group squeezed into the frame like they were trying to fit an entire life into a single rectangle. Isabelle had laughed so hard in that photo her eyes had turned into crescents.

Now the same phone glowed with the opposite of laughter.

She scrolled.

There were more messages above it. Her own.

BTO appointment confirmed.

I found a wedding planner that does–

Can we look at venues next week?

All of it sat there like evidence from another timeline.

Isabelle’s throat worked once. Twice. She swallowed and it didn’t help.

She stared at the last message again.

I’m sorry.

The first thing she did was call him.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then it went to voicemail.

The second thing she did was call again.

This time it didn’t ring at all.

The line cut, the way it does when someone has already decided not to hear you.

Isabelle’s breath came in thin, quiet slices.

Her room looked normal. That was the surreal part. Her laptop was still open to a spreadsheet titled “Wedding Planning”–tabs color-coded, dates lined up like obedient soldiers. A printed brochure for BTO units lay beside her water bottle. A ribbon sample–cream with a faint gold edge–was peeking out from a drawer she hadn’t bothered to close.

Normal room. Normal lights.

An abnormal void.

She sat very still on the edge of her bed.

For a moment, her mind tried to argue.

Maybe it’s a prank.

Maybe his phone died.

Maybe something happened.

Then another voice, sharper and more honest, cut through the denial like a blade:

He chose to leave.

The realization didn’t explode.

It sank.

And that was worse.

Her eyes blurred. She blinked and the tears didn’t fall immediately–just gathered, heavy, as if they needed permission.

When they finally spilled, it wasn’t sobbing.

It was the quiet kind of crying that feels like drowning.

Her hands went numb first.

Then her knees.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, back curved, breath stuttering, tears soaking into her sleeves.

The first sound that wasn’t her own came from her phone.

A notification.

Crystal: Belle? You free tonight? Ivan found this new café–

Isabelle stared at the screen.

Her thumb hovered.

She couldn’t type.

She couldn’t form letters.

Instead, she tapped the microphone and tried to speak.

Her voice came out broken.

“Crystal… I–”

The moment she heard herself, she cracked.

Her throat seized. The sob that came wasn’t a tear–it was a collapse.

The voice message sent anyway.

A few seconds later, her phone rang.

Crystal’s name flashed across the screen.

Isabelle didn’t answer fast enough.

The call dropped, and immediately came again.

Then again.

Then a fourth time.

Isabelle’s hands were trembling as she finally pressed accept.

“Belle,” Crystal said, and the brightness in her voice was gone so quickly it was like watching a curtain fall. “What happened?”

Isabelle tried to speak.

She couldn’t.

She made a sound that wasn’t a word.

Crystal didn’t wait.

“Okay. Okay, don’t talk. Just–stay where you are. I’m coming.”

In the background, Isabelle heard muffled movement. A door. Footsteps.

Then Crystal again, louder, as if calling across a room.

“Ivan! Aleem! Belle’s not okay.”

Isabelle’s mind snagged at the name.

Aleem.

It wasn’t that she forgot him–she never forgot any of them. ABIX had been part of her life for years, woven into it like background music.

But Aleem was… different.

Not louder.

Not more dramatic.

Just always there.

Steady.

A presence you didn’t notice until you needed it.

Her phone stayed on speaker. She heard another voice enter the call, low and calm.

“Apa jadi?” Aleem asked, Malay soft and careful. What happened?

Isabelle tried to answer.

Only air came out.

Aleem didn’t push.

“Belle,” he said gently, like he was speaking to someone perched on a ledge. “Can you breathe with me? Just… in. Out.”

Isabelle obeyed without knowing why.

In.

Out.

Her lungs trembled.

Aleem kept his voice even.

“Good. Okay. I’m going to ask you one thing. If you can’t answer, just make a sound.”

Isabelle swallowed.

“Are you alone?”

She managed a tiny, shaky “Mm.”

Aleem’s exhale was audible, controlled.

“Okay. Crystal and Ivan are coming now. I’m coming too.”

Crystal cut in. “We’re leaving. Like, right now.”

Isabelle tried to protest. She didn’t want to be seen like this. She didn’t want pity.

But Aleem’s voice returned–quiet, firm.

“No need to talk. Just unlock your door if you can. If you can’t, tell us and we’ll figure it out.”

Isabelle’s tears spilled again.

She nodded, even though they couldn’t see it.

“Okay…” she whispered.

“Good,” Aleem said, and the word sounded like an anchor. “We’ll be there soon.”

The call ended.

Silence returned.

But it felt different now.

Because someone was coming.

Isabelle pushed herself off the bed, movements clumsy like her body belonged to someone else. She walked to the door, turned the lock, then leaned her forehead against the wood.

Her breathing was still uneven.

Her chest still hurt.

But somewhere beneath the pain was a faint, stubborn thread:

I’m not alone.

When the doorbell rang, it rang twice–impatient, familiar.

Isabelle opened the door.

Crystal stood there first, hair messy, eyes wide, face drained of its usual teasing glow.

Behind her was Ivan, expression hard to read, jaw set like he was holding back an entire storm.

And behind them–slightly to the side, as if making sure not to crowd her–was Aleem.

He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t trying to lighten the mood.

He just looked at her, and something in his gaze softened.

Not pity.

Not shock.

Just understanding.

“Hi, Belle,” he said.

Isabelle’s throat tightened.

Crystal didn’t wait. She stepped in and wrapped Isabelle in a hug so sudden and fierce it knocked the breath out of her.

Isabelle broke.

The sobs that had been stuck finally came, violent in their release. Crystal held on tighter.

“I’m here,” Crystal murmured. “We’re here. Okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”

Ivan shut the door behind them quietly. He didn’t speak yet. He just moved to Isabelle’s desk, saw the wedding spreadsheet open, and for a split second his eyes flickered–something like anger.

Not at her.

At the world.

Aleem stayed near the entrance, giving Isabelle space to breathe. When her crying softened enough to hear words again, he spoke.

“Water?” he asked.

Isabelle nodded.

Aleem walked to the kitchen like he’d done it before, like her home wasn’t unfamiliar. He filled a cup, brought it back, and placed it on the table within reach.

Then he sat down–not too close, not too far.

The perfect distance of someone who knows grief has boundaries.

Crystal finally pulled back, brushing Isabelle’s hair away from her wet cheeks.

“Tell us,” Crystal said softly.

Isabelle stared at her hands.

The words felt like glass.

But they had to come out.

“He… he ended it.”

Crystal froze.

Ivan’s breath went sharp.

Aleem didn’t react immediately.

He just watched Isabelle carefully, like he was tracking whether her next breath would be enough.

Isabelle continued, voice shaking.

“We were… we were planning. BTO. Wedding. Everything. And he–”

Her voice cracked.

Aleem’s hand moved, just slightly, like he almost reached for her–then stopped.

Respect.

He let Crystal hold her.

Ivan spoke at last, voice controlled but tight.

“Did he say why?”

Isabelle shook her head.

“It’s… it’s just texts.”

Crystal’s face hardened. “Texts? After years? After BTO? He ended it with texts?”

Isabelle flinched at the anger.

Aleem’s voice cut in–low, steady.

“Crystal.”

Crystal paused.

Aleem didn’t scold her. He just redirected the energy.

“Not now.”

Crystal’s eyes softened again, and she nodded.

Ivan sat down slowly, elbows on knees, staring at the floor as if trying to calculate an outcome that didn’t exist.

For a while, none of them spoke.

Isabelle’s breaths came easier in the quiet.

Then Aleem said, very simply,

“We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Isabelle looked up.

His eyes met hers.

Not romantic.

Not tender in the way romance is.

Tender in the way survival is.

“One step,” Aleem repeated, “until you can walk again.”

Isabelle’s lips trembled.

She nodded.

Outside, Singapore moved on–cars passing, neighbors living, time continuing like it had no idea what it had just taken from her.

But inside the room, ABIX settled around her like a shelter.

And in the quiet between Crystal’s sniffles and Ivan’s clenched silence, Isabelle noticed something she couldn’t name yet:

Aleem wasn’t looking at her like someone who wanted to fix her.

He was looking at her like someone who intended to stay.

Not forever.

Not as a promise.

But as a fact–

for tonight.

And tonight was enough.