Isabelle's Quiet Courage
Chapter 12 – Isabelle’s Quiet Courage
Isabelle had always been good at one thing.
Holding things in.
She was the type who smiled through discomfort.
The type who said, “It’s okay,” even when it wasn’t.
The type who processed pain privately so she wouldn’t burden anyone.
It was a habit that looked like strength.
But Isabelle had learned, painfully, that it could also look like loneliness.
So when she confessed in that café, she told herself she had done the brave thing.
Honesty.
Truth.
Courage.
And yet, the moment Aleem asked for time, another old habit rose up:
Retreat.
Isabelle didn’t chase.
She didn’t bring it up again.
She didn’t spiral into “what did I do wrong?” out loud.
She just… swallowed the uncertainty and carried it quietly, the way she carried everything.
But inside, her heart was doing what hearts did.
It was panicking.
The day after the confession, ABIX spent the afternoon in a busy market.
Crystal was in her element, moving from stall to stall like a woman on a mission.
Ivan followed behind her, complaining about how Japanese coin systems were “inefficient.”
Isabelle walked with them.
She laughed when she was supposed to.
She posed for photos.
She tried snacks.
She acted like nothing had changed.
Aleem acted like nothing had changed too.
That was the hardest part.
Not because he was cold.
Because he was consistent.
He still checked if she was warm.
He still offered her the heat pack.
He still asked if crowds were okay.
He still said “good” when she ate.
He didn’t punish her confession.
He didn’t reward it either.
He treated it like something sacred that needed to be held carefully.
And Isabelle couldn’t decide whether that made her feel safer or more anxious.
Because when nothing looks different, your mind starts inventing meanings.
Maybe he’s thinking of how to reject me nicely.
Maybe he regrets being close to me.
Maybe he’s avoiding me.
Every time the thoughts rose, Isabelle forced them down.
No.
Aleem isn’t cruel.
Aleem isn’t the type to play.
Aleem asked for time.
Time is not rejection.
She repeated the sentence to herself like a prayer.
Time is not rejection.
But her heart didn’t believe it completely.
Not yet.
That evening, Crystal and Ivan went to a convenience store to buy snacks.
Isabelle told them she was tired.
She stayed in the hotel room alone.
It wasn’t a dramatic decision.
It was simply exhaustion.
The kind that lived in the bones.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone.
No messages.
No confession follow-ups.
No “so about yesterday.”
Aleem was quiet.
And Isabelle’s mind was too loud.
So she did something she hadn’t done properly since the breakup.
She opened her notes app.
And she wrote.
Not a to-do list.
Not an itinerary.
A journal.
The page was blank.
Her fingers hovered.
Then she typed:
I confessed.
The words looked ridiculous on the screen.
She typed again.
I told him I don’t see him as just a friend anymore.
Her throat tightened.
She stared at the sentence.
Then she continued.
He didn’t say no.
He didn’t say yes.
He asked for time.
Isabelle’s fingers paused.
Her eyes burned.
She continued anyway.
I’m scared I ruined everything.
The sentence hit her like a wave.
Because it wasn’t about romance.
Not really.
It was about the one thing she couldn’t lose.
The friendship.
ABIX.
Her safety.
Isabelle typed faster.
If he says no, can we still be ABIX?
If he says no, will it feel awkward forever?
If he says yes, will I hate myself for moving on too fast?
Her fingers slowed.
Then she typed a line that made her chest tighten.
If he says yes, is it because he likes me… or because he feels responsible for me?
Isabelle stared at the words.
The question was sharp.
Because Aleem cared.
Aleem stayed.
Aleem helped.
But care could be mistaken.
And Isabelle didn’t want a love that came from guilt.
She wanted to be chosen.
Not rescued.
Not managed.
Chosen.
Isabelle swallowed.
She typed again, slower now.
I don’t want to be his project.
I don’t want to be his burden.
I don’t want to be someone he has to save.
Her eyes blurred.
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
Then she typed the truth that had been growing quietly for months.
But I think I like him.
Not because he’s convenient.
Not because he’s there.
Because of what he’s like.
Because of how he moves through the world.
Because of how he respects boundaries.
Because he asks permission.
Because he prays.
Because he doesn’t panic.
Because he makes her feel safe without making her feel small.
Isabelle stared at the line.
But liking him wasn’t the only problem.
The bigger problem sat behind it like a shadow:
Religion.
Aleem was Muslim.
Isabelle was Christian.
She grew up with hymns and Sunday service and the comfort of familiar scripture.
Her faith was not loud.
But it was hers.
She hadn’t questioned it much.
Not because she was shallow.
Because life had been busy.
Now, suddenly, faith was not just a background.
Faith was a wall.
A question.
A future.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She typed:
If we date… what happens?
Will he expect me to convert?
Will I lose my family?
Will I lose myself?
She stared at the screen.
The questions frightened her.
But then–
another thought surfaced.
Not fear.
Curiosity.
The corridor outside the surau.
The quiet.
Aleem’s calm after prayer.
The way her chest had felt organized just by witnessing it.
Isabelle’s fingers hovered.
Then she typed:
But why does his faith feel… peaceful?
The sentence made her eyes sting.
Because she didn’t know the answer.
But she knew the feeling.
It felt like a warm blanket.
It felt like a steady floor.
It felt like something she had been craving without knowing.
Isabelle leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Her mind replayed the café confession.
Aleem’s frozen expression.
The shock.
The restraint.
The careful integrity.
Then she remembered his words:
I don’t want you to wake up one day and think I took advantage of your pain.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
He was protecting her.
Even from himself.
Isabelle swallowed.
If Aleem was taking this seriously, she had to as well.
No chasing.
No begging.
No trying to secure a yes by making herself smaller.
If he said no, she would accept it.
Not because it wouldn’t hurt.
Because she respected him.
Because she respected herself.
Isabelle stared at her notes.
Then she typed one last line.
If he says no, I will still be grateful.
Because he helped me survive.
Because he never crossed a line.
Because he taught me what respect feels like.
The words blurred.
Tears fell.
Quiet.
Not dramatic.
Not desperate.
Just release.
When Crystal and Ivan returned, they were loud as always.
“We bought chips,” Crystal announced.
Ivan held up a bag. “And this weird Japanese thing that tastes like regret.”
Crystal shoved him. “Stop being dramatic. Only I can be dramatic.”
Isabelle laughed weakly.
Crystal paused mid-rant and squinted at Isabelle.
“Why your eyes red?”
Isabelle froze.
Ivan looked up too, suspicious.
Isabelle forced a smile.
“Dry air,” she said quickly.
Ivan muttered, “That’s not how tears work.”
Crystal gasped. “DON’T BULLY HER. HOKKAIDO AIR IS DRY.”
Ivan rolled his eyes.
Aleem entered a minute later, coming back from somewhere.
He glanced at Isabelle.
His gaze held quiet question.
Isabelle nodded slightly.
A silent message.
I’m okay.
Aleem’s shoulders eased.
He didn’t ask more.
He didn’t push.
He respected her boundary the way he always did.
And Isabelle realized something then.
Her confession had been courage.
But this–
this was also courage.
To wait.
To trust.
To let someone choose freely without forcing their hand.
Isabelle lay in bed that night, listening to Crystal talk and Ivan complain and Aleem’s quiet presence across the room.
Her heart was still uncertain.
Her future still unclear.
But beneath the uncertainty was a steadier truth:
Whatever Aleem’s answer would be, Isabelle would not beg for it.
Because she wanted love that was chosen.
Not love that was cornered.
And that choice–
that quiet dignity–
was the bravest thing she had done since her world collapsed.