The Café Confession
Chapter 10 – The Café Confession
The third day in Hokkaido was the day the universe got careless.
It stopped arranging the four of them together.
It let the group split.
Just for a while.
Just long enough for two people who had been walking parallel for months to finally face what was in the space between them.
They were in Sapporo again, wandering through a shopping street layered with snow.
Crystal had been vibrating with excitement since breakfast.
“Okay,” she declared, pointing at a shop that looked like it sold nothing but cute stationery and plushies. “Ivan. You are coming with me. I need to buy souvenirs.”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
Crystal smiled sweetly. “Yes.”
“I don’t even like souvenirs.”
“You’re going to like them today,” Crystal said firmly.
Ivan looked at Isabelle like she was a judge.
“Belle,” he pleaded, “tell her no.”
Isabelle blinked, caught off guard.
Crystal leaned in dramatically. “If you say no, you’re anti-healing.”
Ivan muttered, “Stop weaponizing healing.”
Isabelle’s mouth twitched.
Then Crystal grabbed Ivan’s sleeve and dragged him toward the shop like he was luggage.
Ivan protested the entire way.
“This is kidnapping.”
Crystal shouted over her shoulder, “See you later! Don’t miss us too much!”
And then–
they disappeared into the crowd.
Isabelle stopped walking.
The street suddenly felt bigger.
Quieter.
Aleem stood beside her.
He didn’t look surprised.
He looked… aware.
Like he’d known this moment would come sooner or later.
Isabelle swallowed.
She should have called them back.
She should have followed.
She should have done something.
But her feet stayed still.
Aleem’s voice was calm.
“Want to sit somewhere?” he asked.
Isabelle blinked.
Sitting sounded safer than standing in the open.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Okay.”
Aleem nodded.
He led them down a side street.
Not secluded.
Not suspicious.
Just quieter.
They found a small café tucked between two shops.
Warm light spilled from its windows.
A signboard outside promised hot drinks and desserts.
Crystal would have screamed.
Isabelle stared at the windows.
Something in her chest tightened.
Warm places made her feel exposed.
Warm places were where couples sat too close.
Warm places were where love looked easy.
Aleem noticed her hesitation.
“It’s okay if you don’t want,” he said gently.
Isabelle swallowed.
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s fine.”
Aleem nodded.
He held the door open.
Isabelle stepped inside.
The café smelled like butter and coffee.
Soft music played–something instrumental, gentle.
The tables were wooden.
The lighting was warm.
Outside, snow fell slowly, visible through the window like drifting ash.
Isabelle sat by the window automatically.
She liked being able to see outside.
She liked having an exit.
Aleem sat across from her.
Not beside.
Across.
Distance.
A boundary built into furniture.
Isabelle appreciated it more than she wanted to admit.
Aleem ordered two drinks.
Hot chocolate for her.
Black coffee for himself.
He didn’t ask.
He remembered.
Isabelle watched him.
His movements were calm, unhurried.
He looked like a person who didn’t panic easily.
Isabelle wondered what that felt like.
The drinks arrived.
Steam rose.
Isabelle wrapped her hands around the mug.
Warmth seeped into her fingers.
For a moment, she simply breathed.
In.
Out.
The quiet was gentle.
And that was the problem.
Gentle quiet made it easier for thoughts to surface.
Thoughts Isabelle had been pushing down for months.
Aleem spoke first.
“You okay?”
The question was familiar.
The question had become a ritual.
Isabelle nodded.
“Yes,” she said.
Then she hesitated.
Then she corrected herself.
“I’m… okay.”
Aleem’s eyes softened.
He nodded.
“Good,” he said.
Silence returned.
Isabelle stared out the window.
Snow drifted down.
People passed, bundled in coats.
A couple held hands.
Isabelle’s chest tightened slightly.
Not the old pain.
Just a faint ache.
Manageable.
Isabelle took a sip of hot chocolate.
Sweetness filled her mouth.
She set the mug down.
Her hands trembled slightly.
Aleem noticed.
Of course he did.
He didn’t ask.
He waited.
Isabelle stared at the table.
The wood grain was dark, swirling like water.
Her heart pounded.
She could hear it.
It felt ridiculous.
This wasn’t a confession scene.
Not like in dramas.
There was no rain.
No dramatic lighting.
Just a normal café.
Just two friends.
Except–
Except Isabelle had been noticing.
Noticing the way Aleem stayed.
The way he asked permission.
The way he watched for her trembles.
The way his faith made him steady.
The way he held her wrist and released.
The way he never made her feel like she owed him.
And the most dangerous part:
The way her chest felt calmer when he was near.
Isabelle swallowed.
Her voice came out soft.
“Aleem.”
He looked up.
“Yeah?”
Isabelle’s fingers tightened around the mug.
“I… have something to say.”
Aleem’s posture shifted slightly.
Not tense.
Attentive.
“Okay,” he said.
Isabelle’s mouth went dry.
The words stuck.
Her heart hammered.
She hated this.
She hated being vulnerable.
She hated that her feelings felt like a betrayal–to her past, to her ex, to herself.
Aleem waited.
No pressure.
No rush.
Isabelle looked at him.
His eyes were steady.
Not demanding.
Not hopeful.
Just present.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
“I don’t think…” she began, voice trembling, “…I don’t think I see you as just a friend anymore.”
The sentence landed on the table between them.
Heavy.
Quiet.
Final.
For a second, the café felt too warm.
Isabelle’s skin prickled.
She expected Aleem to react.
To flinch.
To laugh awkwardly.
To reject her.
To say, Belle, you’re confused.
To say, Belle, you’re hurting.
To say anything.
But Aleem didn’t speak.
He froze.
Not physically.
But something in his eyes shifted.
A flicker of shock.
Then–
restraint.
His jaw tightened.
He looked down at his coffee.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped.
The shame hit first.
Hot.
Immediate.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted, panic rising. “I–I shouldn’t have said that. Forget it. I didn’t mean–”
Aleem’s voice cut in.
“Belle.”
One word.
Firm.
Isabelle stopped.
Her breath came in shallow bursts.
Aleem looked up.
His gaze was steady again.
But there was something heavier in it now.
Not romance.
Not softness.
Responsibility.
“Don’t apologize,” he said.
Isabelle swallowed.
Aleem continued slowly.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said.
Isabelle blinked.
Thank you?
Aleem’s voice remained calm.
“But I need… time.”
Isabelle’s heart clenched.
Time.
The word felt like rejection wearing a polite shirt.
Aleem saw the flinch.
He spoke immediately, voice gentler.
“Not because I don’t care,” he said quickly. “And not because you did something wrong.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Aleem exhaled slowly.
“Belle,” he said, quieter now, “I’ve been with you through… the worst months. I don’t want to answer you right now and realize later I answered for the wrong reasons.”
Isabelle stared.
The wrong reasons.
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
“I don’t want you to wake up one day and think I took advantage of your pain,” he said.
Isabelle’s breath caught.
She shook her head quickly.
“You didn’t,” she whispered. “You never–”
Aleem lifted his hand slightly.
Not to stop her.
To slow the pace.
“I know,” he said gently. “But I need to be sure.”
Isabelle’s eyes burned.
It wasn’t rejection.
It was worse.
It was integrity.
Because integrity meant he was serious.
Because integrity meant he wouldn’t comfort-date her.
Because integrity meant she couldn’t just throw feelings at him and hope he caught them.
Aleem continued, quieter,
“And there’s… other things.”
Isabelle’s breath trembled.
Other things.
She knew.
Religion.
Faith.
Future.
Family.
Isabelle stared at her hands.
The café suddenly felt too small.
“I ruined it,” she whispered.
Aleem’s brows drew together.
“No,” he said firmly. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
He leaned forward slightly–still across the table, still respecting distance.
“Belle,” he said softly, “you were honest. That’s not ruin. That’s courage.”
Isabelle’s eyes filled.
Courage.
She didn’t feel brave.
She felt exposed.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“I just… can’t answer you like this,” he said. “Not in the middle of a trip. Not when your heart is still healing.”
Isabelle swallowed.
She forced herself to nod.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s shoulders eased slightly, like he’d been holding breath.
“Okay,” he repeated.
They sat in silence.
Isabelle’s heart was still pounding.
But beneath the panic was something else.
Relief.
Because he hadn’t rejected her.
Because he hadn’t laughed.
Because he hadn’t treated her like she was ridiculous.
He treated her like she mattered.
Even in this.
Isabelle stared out the window.
Snow continued falling.
Soft.
Unbothered.
The world kept moving.
Inside, Isabelle’s world had shifted.
Irreversibly.
Aleem spoke again, voice low.
“I promise you one thing,” he said.
Isabelle looked at him.
Aleem’s gaze was steady.
“I’ll give you an answer,” he said. “But I want to think properly. I want to do it right.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered again.
Aleem nodded.
They finished their drinks quietly.
When they left the café, the cold hit them again.
Snow drifted down.
Isabelle’s cheeks burned–not from the cold, but from the memory of her own confession.
As they walked back toward the shopping street, Isabelle’s phone buzzed.
A group chat message.
Crystal: WE BOUGHT SO MANY THINGS. IVAN IS SUFFERING. WHERE ARE YOU TWO???
Ivan replied immediately.
Ivan: I hate all of you.
Isabelle stared at the messages.
She felt a laugh rise.
Then a sob.
Then nothing.
Aleem walked beside her.
Quiet.
Steady.
He didn’t reach for her.
He didn’t touch.
But his presence was loud enough.
And Isabelle realized, with a strange hollow clarity:
The moment she confessed, she crossed a line.
There was no going back to ignorance.
No going back to harmless friendship.
But maybe–
maybe that wasn’t a tragedy.
Maybe it was simply the truth finally showing its face.
And now, the next step would be Aleem’s.