Aleem's Spiral of Logic
Chapter 11 – Aleem’s Spiral of Logic
That night, Aleem did not sleep.
He lay in the dark of the hotel room, listening to Ivan complain about the heater and Crystal complain about Ivan complaining, and he stared at the ceiling like it could offer him an answer.
It didn’t.
The ceiling was just a ceiling.
The problem was inside his head.
Because Isabelle had confessed.
And now Aleem was facing a truth he had always treated like background noise:
She had been his ideal type.
Not in the shallow way people used the phrase.
Not “pretty” or “cute” or “good on paper.”
Ideal in the way her mind worked.
In the way she listened.
In the way she carried people quietly.
In the way she tried to be strong even when she was breaking.
Aleem had known it for years.
He had simply never allowed it to become a path.
Because she was taken.
Because ABIX was sacred.
Because he wasn’t the kind of person who hovered near someone else’s relationship like an opportunist.
So he stayed in the only place that was ethical.
Friend.
He cheered her on.
He meant it.
And then her world collapsed.
And Aleem stayed.
And now, in a warm café with snow falling outside, Isabelle had looked at him with trembling honesty and said she couldn’t see him as just a friend anymore.
Aleem felt the sentence again, sharp as a blade.
He closed his eyes.
In the bed beside him, Crystal turned over and mumbled something about “healing vibes.”
Ivan sighed like a man suffering.
Aleem didn’t move.
If he moved, he might act.
If he acted, he might choose wrongly.
So he lay still.
And he thought.
Because thinking was his oldest defense.
The simplest answer was obvious.
Yes.
If Isabelle–Isabelle, the person he had subconsciously measured every other girl against–was confessing, why would he say no?
It should have been a no-brainer.
It should have felt like the universe finally aligning.
But Aleem’s chest was heavy.
Not with confusion.
With responsibility.
Because Isabelle’s confession wasn’t happening in a vacuum.
It was happening after a breakup.
After trauma.
After months of grief.
And Aleem could not forget the shape of despair.
He had seen it before.
He had watched it take someone.
A friend.
A boy who used to joke and laugh and act normal until he wasn’t.
And Aleem still carried the guilt like a stone.
What if Isabelle’s confession wasn’t love?
What if it was loneliness wearing love’s clothes?
What if it was her heart grabbing for the nearest steady thing because she was tired of drowning?
And what if Aleem–finally offered the thing he’d never dared to want–said yes too quickly?
Would that be love?
Or would that be theft?
Aleem swallowed.
No.
He couldn’t do that to her.
He couldn’t do that to himself.
And he couldn’t do that to ABIX.
So he asked for time.
But time didn’t make the thoughts stop.
Time made them multiply.
The next day, Aleem woke up with the same tightness in his chest.
They went out as a group.
Crystal dragged them through cute shops.
Ivan complained.
Isabelle laughed–soft, controlled.
Aleem watched her carefully.
He didn’t stare.
He didn’t hover.
He simply monitored the way he always had.
But now every small thing Isabelle did felt different.
Every smile.
Every glance.
Every time their shoulders almost brushed in a narrow aisle.
Aleem kept his hands to himself.
He kept his face neutral.
He kept his voice normal.
But his mind refused to shut up.
She confessed.
She wants you.
You’ve wanted someone like her your entire life.
So why are you hesitating?
Because.
Aleem’s mind answered itself.
Because religion.
Because family.
Because the future.
Because this isn’t dating for fun.
Aleem wasn’t the kind of person who dated casually.
And Isabelle–Isabelle who had almost married–wasn’t either.
If they started, it would be serious.
And if it was serious, then the question wasn’t “do I like her?”
The question was:
Can we build a life that doesn’t break us?
Aleem felt the weight of it.
Islam was not a hobby.
It wasn’t something you bent for convenience.
It was his spine.
His rhythm.
His discipline.
His compass.
He couldn’t imagine marrying someone who would resent it.
He couldn’t imagine building a home where faith was a constant argument.
He couldn’t imagine raising children without clarity.
And Isabelle was Christian.
Not lukewarm.
Not cultural.
Isabelle carried her faith quietly, but it was there.
Aleem respected that.
Which meant he couldn’t treat the difference as a small obstacle.
He had to treat it as what it was:
A real divide.
A bridge that would require patience, honesty, and choice.
Not coercion.
Not pressure.
Not romantic fantasy.
Choice.
Aleem exhaled.
Choice was expensive.
That evening, Aleem slipped out of the hotel room alone.
He told Ivan and Crystal he was going for a walk.
Crystal waved him off, busy editing photos.
Ivan barely looked up.
Isabelle was in the bathroom.
Aleem didn’t wait.
Because if he saw her tonight, he might soften.
And softness was dangerous when he was trying to think straight.
He walked through the snowy streets until he found a quiet spot near the hotel.
A small outdoor area with a bench, partially covered, shielded from the wind.
Aleem sat.
His breath came out in white clouds.
His fingers were cold inside his gloves.
He stared at the snow.
And then he did what he always did when logic hit its limits.
He turned to prayer.
Not in the dramatic way people imagined.
Not a desperate bargaining with God.
Just a return.
A grounding.
Aleem found a clean corner and laid down his travel prayer mat.
The snow was quiet.
The city lights were soft.
He faced the direction of the Kaaba the way he had done in airports, in offices, in corridors outside surau.
And he prayed.
His movements were slower than usual.
Not because he was tired.
Because he was asking for something he didn’t want to ask for:
Clarity.
He finished, sat for a moment, and let the cold air settle him.
When he lifted his hands, it wasn’t to demand.
It was to admit.
Ya Allah…
He didn’t say it out loud.
But he felt it.
If this is good for me, make it easy.
If it will harm her, protect her from me.
The thought cut through his chest.
Protect her from me.
Because Aleem knew his own capacity to care.
He knew how deep it went.
He knew how fiercely he could stay.
And he knew how devastating it would be if he stayed in the wrong way.
Aleem exhaled.
He lowered his hands.
Silence.
No booming voice.
No sign.
Just snow.
Just breath.
Just the weight of being human.
When Aleem returned to the hotel, Crystal was asleep.
Ivan was still awake, scrolling through his phone with a frown.
Ivan glanced up. “Where you go?”
Aleem shrugged. “Walk.”
Ivan squinted at him.
“You okay?”
Aleem stared at Ivan.
Ivan’s question was rare.
Ivan didn’t ask emotional questions often.
Aleem’s throat tightened.
He couldn’t tell Ivan.
Not yet.
Not when Isabelle hadn’t told them.
Not when everything was still fragile.
Aleem simply nodded.
“Yeah,” he lied.
Ivan didn’t look convinced.
But he didn’t push.
Instead, he said, “Crystal said you and Belle went café yesterday.”
Aleem froze.
Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Aleem’s heart thumped.
Careful.
Aleem kept his face neutral.
“She wanted to sit,” he said. “Crowd too much.”
Ivan stared.
Then he shrugged.
“Okay,” he said. “Just… don’t do stupid things.”
Aleem’s throat tightened.
It was Ivan’s version of warning.
Of care.
Aleem nodded once.
“I won’t,” he said.
He climbed into bed.
Turned his face to the wall.
And listened to the quiet breathing of his friends.
In the darkness, Aleem replayed Isabelle’s confession again.
He imagined her face.
Her trembling hands around the mug.
Her eyes trying to be brave.
And then he imagined the future.
Not the romantic parts.
The hard parts.
Isabelle’s family.
His family.
The word Islam spoken in rooms where it might be misunderstood.
The weight of expectations.
The possibility of resentment.
The possibility of loss.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He didn’t want to lose ABIX.
He didn’t want to lose Isabelle.
He didn’t want to lose himself.
And yet, when he imagined saying no–
When he imagined watching Isabelle move on, find someone else–
His stomach twisted.
Not jealousy.
Not possessiveness.
Something quieter.
Something like grief.
Aleem swallowed.
So the truth was simple.
He wanted her.
He just didn’t want to want her at the cost of her peace.
And that was the cruelest kind of love.
Because it demanded patience.
Because it demanded wisdom.
Because it demanded a decision he couldn’t outsource to feelings.
Aleem closed his eyes.
He whispered a sentence into the dark, more to himself than to God.
“I will do it right.”
Then he breathed.
In.
Out.
And finally–
very late–
sleep came, thin and uneasy, like snow settling on a restless ground.