Secret Season
Chapter 14 – Secret Season
Back in Singapore, the humidity hit Isabelle like a familiar hand.
Warm.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
The airport smelled like coffee and tired people and home.
Crystal complained about how Singapore air felt “wet.”
Ivan complained about how Singapore immigration queues were “inefficient.”
Aleem complained about nothing.
Isabelle watched them, smiling softly.
Her heart felt strange.
Not because of the flight.
Because of the promise sitting quietly inside her chest:
Yes.
Yes, but slow.
Yes, but honest.
Yes, but with boundaries.
It wasn’t a dramatic start.
It didn’t come with hand-holding in public or an announcement in the group chat.
It came with a private garden in an airport and a decision made with open eyes.
And now the problem wasn’t whether.
The problem was how.
They agreed on the first rule on the ride home.
Not out loud.
Not in a serious meeting.
Just quietly, in the space between the MRT announcements.
Aleem walked Isabelle to her interchange.
Crystal had gone ahead, still editing photos.
Ivan had disappeared into a train door like a man escaping affection.
Now it was just the two of them on the platform, surrounded by strangers.
Aleem didn’t touch her.
He didn’t hold her hand.
He stood beside her like he always did.
But Isabelle felt the difference.
Because now, the space between them wasn’t empty.
It was full of a new agreement.
Aleem spoke quietly.
“Belle,” he said.
Isabelle looked up.
His expression was calm.
But his eyes were serious.
“About ABIX,” he said.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
Aleem continued.
“We don’t tell them yet,” he said.
Isabelle blinked.
Not because she disagreed.
Because she was relieved.
She hadn’t wanted to say it first.
She hadn’t wanted to watch Crystal scream.
Or Ivan look betrayed.
Or worse–
for ABIX to feel altered.
Isabelle nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem exhaled.
“Not because we’re ashamed,” he added quickly. “But because we need time. To make sure this is real. And to figure out… the religion part. Family part. Everything.”
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Real.
Time.
Aleem’s pace was always steady.
Never rushed.
Never impulsive.
Isabelle nodded again.
“I agree,” she said.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Okay,” he said.
Then, after a pause:
“And Belle?”
Isabelle blinked. “Yeah?”
Aleem’s voice lowered.
“We keep boundaries,” he said. “Even if we’re together.”
Isabelle’s cheeks warmed.
Together.
The word sounded unreal.
Aleem continued, calm as if discussing logistics.
“No physical stuff in public,” he said. “Not because it’s wrong. Because it complicates the secret.”
Isabelle nodded, biting her lip.
“And…” Aleem hesitated.
The hesitation was rare.
Isabelle’s heart thumped.
Aleem cleared his throat.
“And we don’t do things we’ll regret,” he said.
Isabelle’s cheeks warmed more.
She understood.
Dating wasn’t casual for him.
Faith wasn’t casual.
Boundaries weren’t just about appearances.
They were about morality.
About not building intimacy on something unstable.
Isabelle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
The train arrived.
The doors opened.
Isabelle stepped in.
Before the doors closed, she looked back.
Aleem stood on the platform.
He didn’t wave dramatically.
He didn’t smile widely.
He simply met her eyes.
And Isabelle felt it again.
Steadiness.
A quiet warmth.
A secret season beginning.
The first date wasn’t called a date.
It was called “coffee.”
Aleem messaged her three days later.
Aleem: Free this Friday? Coffee after work. If you’re okay.
Isabelle stared at the message.
Her heart did something ridiculous.
A flutter.
Like a teenager.
She covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed even though no one could see her.
Then she typed:
Isabelle: Ok. Where?
His reply came quickly.
Aleem: Somewhere quiet. I’ll send.
Somewhere quiet.
Of course.
They met at a café near his office.
Not trendy.
Not romantic.
Just calm.
Warm lighting.
Soft music.
Fewer couples.
Aleem had chosen it like he chose everything:
with intention.
Isabelle arrived first.
She sat by the window, hands folded.
Her mind bounced between excitement and panic.
This was a date.
Was it a date?
It was coffee.
But it was coffee.
Aleem arrived five minutes later.
He looked the same.
Office shirt.
Sleeves rolled.
Hair slightly messy.
But Isabelle’s chest tightened anyway.
Because now, she wasn’t looking at him as only a friend.
She was looking at him as a possibility.
Aleem sat across from her.
Again.
Distance.
Safe.
He ordered her hot chocolate.
He didn’t ask.
He remembered.
Isabelle’s cheeks warmed.
Aleem looked at her, calm.
“You okay?” he asked.
Isabelle nodded.
Then, because she was trying to be brave, she added softly,
“I’m… happy to be here.”
Aleem froze slightly.
The words landed like something fragile.
Then his lips twitched.
A small smile.
Rare.
“Me too,” he said quietly.
Isabelle’s heart thumped.
It wasn’t a grand romantic moment.
Just two people acknowledging they wanted the same thing.
They talked.
Not about love.
Not about feelings.
Not yet.
They talked about work.
About Hokkaido.
About Crystal’s insane souvenir purchases.
About Ivan’s eternal misery.
Isabelle laughed.
Aleem’s eyes softened each time.
Then the conversation slowed.
A quiet pocket formed.
And in that pocket, Isabelle’s courage rose.
“Aleem,” she said softly.
He looked up.
Isabelle’s fingers tightened around her mug.
“How… are we doing this?”
Aleem blinked.
“We’re… going slow,” he said.
Isabelle nodded.
“But what does slow mean?” she asked. “Like… what do we call this?”
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
His voice was low.
“We don’t need a label right now,” he said. “We just… show up. We see if we can build something stable.”
Isabelle swallowed.
Stable.
Everything Aleem wanted was stability.
She nodded.
“And ABIX?” she asked.
Aleem exhaled.
“We tell them when we’re sure,” he said. “When we’ve had more conversations. When we know we’re not going to break the group for nothing.”
The sentence hit Isabelle.
For nothing.
So that’s what he was protecting.
Not just her.
Not just himself.
ABIX.
The friendship.
Their home.
Isabelle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“And Belle,” he said quietly, “if at any point you feel uncomfortable, we stop. If your family becomes too much, we slow down. If the faith part feels too heavy, we pause.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
“You really would?” she asked.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “Because I’m not here to win. I’m here to be right.”
Isabelle stared.
Not here to win.
Here to be right.
It sounded unromantic.
But it felt like the safest romance she had ever heard.
After coffee, they walked outside.
The night air was warm.
Singapore’s lights glittered.
People passed.
Couples held hands.
Isabelle’s fingers tingled.
She wanted–
just for a second–
to reach for Aleem.
But she didn’t.
Boundaries.
Secret.
Slow.
Aleem walked beside her.
Then he spoke softly.
“Do you want to see an asatizah?”
Isabelle blinked.
The question made her heart tighten.
Not fear.
Nervousness.
“Like… to learn?” she asked.
Aleem nodded.
“If you’re still willing,” he said. “No pressure. But if you’re curious, it’s better to learn properly.”
Isabelle swallowed.
Her mind flashed with images:
Mosques.
Headscarves.
Her mother’s face.
Her pastor.
Family expectations.
But then she remembered the corridor outside the surau.
The calm.
The way her heart felt less chaotic.
Isabelle nodded slowly.
“I’m willing,” she whispered.
Aleem’s shoulders eased slightly.
“Okay,” he said.
They reached her block.
Aleem stopped.
He looked at her.
Isabelle’s heart pounded.
Would he say something romantic?
Would he break a boundary?
Aleem’s voice was quiet.
“Text me when you’re upstairs,” he said.
Isabelle blinked.
That was his romance.
Safety.
Check-ins.
Presence.
Isabelle smiled softly.
“Okay,” she said.
She walked toward the lift.
Halfway there, she turned back.
Aleem was still standing where she left him.
Waiting.
Watching.
Isabelle lifted her hand in a small wave.
Aleem nodded once.
Not dramatic.
But steady.
When Isabelle reached her unit and stepped inside, she locked the door and leaned against it.
Her heart was pounding.
Not from fear.
From something sweeter.
A kind of excitement she hadn’t felt in years.
She pulled out her phone.
Isabelle: I’m upstairs.
His reply came almost instantly.
Aleem: Okay. Goodnight, Belle.
Isabelle stared at the words.
Goodnight.
A simple thing.
And yet it made her smile into her pillow like a fool.
Because this secret season–
quiet,
careful,
slow–
felt like the beginning of something she could finally trust.