First Friction
Chapter 17 – First Friction
The first real argument didn’t start with anger.
It started with a calendar.
Isabelle should’ve known–
nothing that mattered ever arrived like thunder.
It arrived like a tiny crack.
And then, if you ignored it, it spread.
It was Thursday.
ABIX had planned dinner on Saturday.
Crystal picked a new place–something “aesthetic” and “worth dressing up for.”
Ivan complained about the price.
Crystal told him to stop being poor.
Ivan told her to stop being dramatic.
Aleem said, “Okay.”
Isabelle said, “Okay.”
Everything looked normal in the group chat.
But Isabelle was staring at her own phone, heart tightening.
Because Aleem had messaged her privately a few minutes earlier.
Aleem: Saturday evening I can’t. I have family thing.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped.
Family thing.
Which family.
What thing.
Why now.
And the bigger question behind it:
Does this mean we’re not seeing each other for a whole week?
Isabelle stared at the message.
Her thumbs hovered.
She typed:
Isabelle: Oh. Is it important?
His reply came:
Aleem: Ya. Aunt’s birthday dinner.
Isabelle swallowed.
Aunt’s birthday.
Normal.
Reasonable.
Family mattered.
She knew that.
So why did her chest feel tight?
Because ABIX dinner was also Saturday evening.
Because Aleem couldn’t be in two places at once.
Because they were hiding.
Because hiding meant there were limits.
Isabelle stared at the ABIX group chat.
Crystal was excited.
Ivan was annoyed.
And Isabelle–Isabelle was suddenly aware of a new problem.
If Aleem skipped ABIX dinner, Crystal would ask why.
If Aleem showed up late, Ivan would notice.
If Isabelle covered for him too eagerly, Crystal would smell it.
Everything was a risk.
A relationship that couldn’t be acknowledged meant you were always juggling.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
She typed to Aleem:
Isabelle: ABIX dinner is Sat too.
He replied quickly.
Aleem: I know. I’ll tell them I can’t make it.
Isabelle stared.
He was choosing family.
Not her.
Not ABIX.
Family.
Which was normal.
So why did it hurt?
Isabelle felt the old, ugly fear rise:
What if I’m not important?
It wasn’t Aleem’s fault.
It was her wound talking.
But wounds had sharp tongues.
Isabelle swallowed.
She replied:
Isabelle: Ok.
One word.
Cold.
She regretted it immediately.
But the message was already sent.
Friday after work, Isabelle met Aleem for their usual “one hour.”
They chose a quiet café.
They sat across from each other.
Boundaries.
Distance.
Safe.
Except Isabelle didn’t feel safe.
She felt… irritated.
And irritation was unfamiliar.
Isabelle didn’t like being irritated.
It made her feel like she was becoming someone else.
Aleem looked at her, calm.
“You okay?” he asked.
Isabelle forced a smile.
“Yeah,” she lied.
Aleem didn’t accept it.
Not aggressively.
Just… patiently.
He waited.
Isabelle stared at her hot chocolate.
Steam rose.
Her hands were warm.
Her chest was not.
Aleem spoke softly.
“Is it about tomorrow?”
Isabelle’s heart jumped.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Isabelle’s jaw tightened.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
“Belle,” he said quietly, “I’d rather you tell me. Even if it’s messy.”
Messy.
Isabelle swallowed.
She hated messy.
But she hated the tightness in her chest more.
So she let it out.
“It just feels… weird,” she admitted.
Aleem nodded. “What feels weird?”
Isabelle exhaled.
“This secret thing,” she said. “It’s like… everything is an excuse. Everything is calculated.”
Aleem listened.
Isabelle continued, voice small.
“And tomorrow… you’re not coming,” she said.
Aleem’s brows drew together.
“I told you,” he said gently. “Family dinner.”
Isabelle nodded.
“I know,” she said quickly. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’m not saying you’re wrong.”
Then the ugly truth slipped out.
“It just… makes me feel like… I’m not part of your real life.”
The sentence landed.
Isabelle froze.
Immediately regretting.
Aleem’s eyes shifted.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Just… heavy.
He inhaled slowly.
“Belle,” he said quietly, “we agreed we wouldn’t rush.”
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
“I know,” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice remained calm.
“My family doesn’t know,” he said. “Your family doesn’t know. ABIX doesn’t know. Of course you don’t feel like you’re part of my real life yet–because we haven’t built that bridge.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Bridge.
Aleem continued.
“But you are real to me,” he said. “You are not hidden because I’m ashamed. You’re hidden because we’re protecting something fragile.”
Isabelle’s eyes burned.
Fragile.
Her.
Them.
ABIX.
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
“And Belle,” he added, softer, “you don’t have to compete with my family.”
Isabelle flinched.
Compete.
Was she competing?
She hadn’t meant to.
But the fear inside her had been trained to fight for relevance.
Isabelle swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Aleem shook his head.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Just… be honest.”
Isabelle’s breath trembled.
She looked down.
“I think I’m scared,” she admitted.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“Of what?”
Isabelle swallowed.
“That I’ll always be the secret,” she whispered.
The sentence cracked something open.
Because it wasn’t about Saturday.
It was about her last relationship.
How she had given years.
Plans.
A future.
Only to be discarded.
Isabelle’s eyes filled.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
He didn’t reach across the table.
He didn’t grab her hand.
Boundaries.
But his voice came low and steady.
“You won’t,” he said.
Isabelle shook her head slightly.
“How do you know?” she whispered.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“Because I’m not him,” he said.
The sentence was quiet.
But firm.
Isabelle’s breath caught.
Aleem continued, slower.
“And because I’m not building this to leave,” he said. “I’m building this to stay. But I need time. And I need you to trust the process.”
Trust the process.
Isabelle stared.
It sounded like a corporate slogan.
But from Aleem, it sounded like a vow.
Isabelle swallowed hard.
“I’m trying,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he said.
Silence settled.
Not cold.
Not angry.
Just heavy with honesty.
Isabelle wiped her cheeks.
“I don’t want to be needy,” she murmured.
Aleem’s brows knit.
“Wanting to be included is not needy,” he said. “It’s human.”
Isabelle’s breath trembled.
Aleem continued.
“But we need to be careful,” he said. “If we rush into each other and forget everything else, we’ll break. Either you’ll resent me, or I’ll resent you, or ABIX will get hurt.”
Isabelle nodded slowly.
He was right.
He always was.
And that was the frustrating part.
Because when someone is right, you can’t weaponize your feelings.
You can only face them.
Isabelle exhaled.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Okay,” he repeated.
Saturday night, Isabelle went to ABIX dinner without Aleem.
Crystal was loud as always.
Ivan complained as always.
But Isabelle kept glancing at the empty seat.
Crystal noticed.
“Why you keep looking there?” she asked suspiciously.
Isabelle froze.
Ivan looked up. “Yeah. You okay?”
Isabelle forced a laugh.
“I’m just… used to him being there,” she said.
Crystal squinted. “Hmm.”
Ivan shrugged. “He said family dinner. Normal.”
Isabelle nodded quickly.
“Yes. Normal.”
But the word normal tasted strange.
Because Isabelle wasn’t just used to Aleem being there.
She was used to Aleem being her anchor.
And now her anchor was elsewhere.
She told herself it was healthy.
She told herself it was good.
She told herself she could stand on her own.
And she did.
She laughed with Crystal.
She argued with Ivan.
She ate.
She survived.
Later that night, Aleem messaged her.
Aleem: You okay?
Isabelle stared.
Her chest tightened.
She typed:
Isabelle: Yeah. Dinner was ok.
His reply came:
Aleem: Sorry I wasn’t there.
Isabelle swallowed.
She typed slowly:
Isabelle: It’s ok. I understand.
Then, because she wanted to be honest,
Isabelle: I miss you though.
She stared at the message, panicking.
Too much.
Too vulnerable.
She almost deleted.
But she sent it.
The reply took longer than usual.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Isabelle’s heart pounded.
Then:
Aleem: I miss you too. But I’m glad you went. I want you to keep your life. Not shrink it for me.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Not shrink it for me.
There it was again.
Aleem’s love–
if it was love–
was always shaped like respect.
Isabelle stared at the message.
Her irritation softened.
Not gone.
Just understood.
This was the first friction.
Not a sign of failure.
A sign of reality.
Because people who built something real didn’t avoid cracks.
They learned how to repair them.
Isabelle exhaled.
She typed:
Isabelle: Okay. Goodnight, Aleem.
His reply came:
Aleem: Goodnight, Belle. Sleep.
Isabelle smiled faintly.
Her chest still held a small ache.
But it wasn’t panic.
It was growth.
And for the first time, Isabelle understood that love–real love–
was not just warmth.
It was learning to trust someone’s steadiness even when your own fear tried to shake it.