The Long Night Protocol
Chapter 2 – The Long Night Protocol
The first night wasn’t the worst.
The first night was shock–an emergency siren that kept Isabelle’s body moving even when her mind refused to cooperate. Crystal made tea. Ivan ordered food Isabelle didn’t touch. Someone pulled the wedding spreadsheet off the screen and shut the laptop like it was a wound that needed covering.
It was the second night that tried to swallow her.
Because by then, the world had decided it was done with the event.
By then, her phone stopped vibrating with urgent calls and began delivering something crueler: normality.
Notifications from work.
A Lazada promo.
An IG story from a cousin at a wedding.
A reminder from the calendar app:
BTO appointment – 10:30 AM.
Isabelle stared at the reminder until her eyes watered.
She didn’t cancel it.
She couldn’t.
Canceling meant accepting that it had been real.
Accepting meant stepping into a new timeline where she was no longer someone’s future.
The clock on her wall clicked forward.
Her room dimmed.
And grief, now comfortable in her body, took its seat.
Aleem didn’t ask her to talk.
That was the first thing Isabelle noticed.
Crystal asked, because Crystal always asked–her love language was noise and questions, dragging people back into the world by force if she had to.
Ivan tried to solve the problem by interrogating it: timelines, motives, logic. He would have confronted her ex himself if he thought it would fix anything.
Aleem didn’t do either.
He treated grief like a wild animal.
Approach slowly.
Don’t corner it.
Make sure it doesn’t bite the person it’s living inside.
The day after the breakup, he texted her at 7:12 AM.
Aleem: Morning, Belle. You awake?
Isabelle saw it.
She didn’t reply.
Five minutes later:
Aleem: No need reply with words. Just send a dot if you’re okay.
A dot.
The smallest unit of language.
A permission slip for existence.
Isabelle stared at the keyboard for a long time.
Then her thumb moved.
.
The dot looked pathetic.
But it was also proof.
She was still here.
His response came almost immediately.
Aleem: Good. Eat something later. Even crackers. I’ll check in again.
No heart emojis.
No dramatic speeches.
Just the calm administration of survival.
Isabelle placed her phone face-down on her bed, pressed her palms to her eyes, and cried silently.
Not because he’d said something profound.
But because he hadn’t.
He hadn’t asked her to be brave.
He hadn’t asked her to explain.
He just asked her to exist.
Later that evening, Crystal dragged Isabelle out of the house.
“You need air,” she declared, as if oxygen could be commanded.
They ended up at a small park near Isabelle’s block. The sky was bruised purple, the air sticky with Singapore humidity, and Isabelle’s body moved like it was being controlled by an external operator.
Ivan walked behind them with his hands in his pockets, scanning like he was guarding a VIP.
Aleem walked beside Isabelle, a half-step back.
Not crowding.
Not leaving.
The four of them made a strange little formation as they circled the park.
Crystal talked.
Ivan occasionally made dry comments.
Isabelle listened like the words were underwater.
Aleem stayed quiet.
Until they passed a group of teenagers laughing too loudly, and Isabelle’s breath suddenly hitched.
A memory–
Her ex, laughing like that.
Her ex, in this same park.
Her ex, promising a future.
Her knees went weak.
Crystal noticed first. “Belle?”
Isabelle tried to answer.
Her throat closed.
Her vision narrowed.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t cinematic.
It was her body, finally dropping the weight it had been holding.
She stopped walking.
Her hand gripped the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline.
Aleem stepped in front of her, not touching her yet–just blocking the view of the teenagers.
“Look at me,” he said gently.
Isabelle’s eyes lifted.
Aleem’s face was calm.
But his eyes were sharp with attention, like he was tracking the exact moment she might fall.
“Breathe,” he said. “Slow.”
Isabelle tried.
Her lungs refused.
Aleem lowered his voice.
“Okay. We do the easy thing.”
He lifted his hand, not to grab, but to offer.
“Can I hold your wrist?”
The question startled her.
Even now, when she was barely functional, he asked.
Isabelle nodded.
Aleem’s fingers wrapped around her wrist–light, steady, warm. Not possessive.
Anchoring.
His pulse was calm under his skin.
Isabelle focused on that.
Crystal hovered, face tight with worry.
Ivan looked away, jaw clenched.
Aleem spoke again.
“In. Out.”
Isabelle followed his count.
Her breath loosened.
The panic receded like a tide.
When Isabelle finally managed a full inhale, Aleem released her wrist immediately.
As if touch was medicine that should be administered only as needed.
“Good,” he said.
Isabelle stared at him.
Her voice came out small. “Sorry.”
Aleem’s brows drew together.
“Don’t,” he said, firm now. “Don’t apologize for pain.”
Something cracked again in Isabelle’s chest.
Not heartbreak this time.
Something softer.
Something like relief.
That night, Isabelle’s room became a command center.
Crystal sat cross-legged on the floor with snacks arranged like offerings.
Ivan leaned against the desk, scrolling through his phone with a frown.
“Stop reading,” Crystal snapped at him. “You’re going to start a fight.”
“I’m not reading,” Ivan muttered. “I’m… verifying.”
“Verifying what?”
“That he’s trash.”
Crystal made a sound that was half-laugh, half-cry.
Isabelle stayed on her bed, knees hugged to her chest.
She listened as they bickered.
It should have annoyed her.
Instead it felt like warmth.
A reminder that the world still had normal sounds.
Aleem sat on the edge of the chair near her door.
Quiet.
Present.
His phone buzzed once.
He glanced at it.
His expression didn’t change.
But Isabelle saw something flicker behind his eyes, so fast she almost missed it.
A flash of… heaviness.
Like a memory he didn’t want.
He locked his phone and turned it face-down.
Isabelle watched him.
A strange thought surfaced through the fog:
Aleem knows something about this kind of pain.
She didn’t ask.
Not yet.
Because Aleem didn’t seem like someone who gave his wounds away easily.
At midnight, Crystal yawned.
“I’m staying,” she declared.
Ivan shook his head. “You have work tomorrow.”
“So do you.”
“I can function.”
“You can function because you’re powered by spite.”
Ivan opened his mouth to retaliate.
Aleem cut in quietly.
“I’ll stay.”
Crystal paused.
Ivan paused.
The room went still for a beat.
Isabelle lifted her head.
Aleem’s tone remained calm.
“You two go home. Sleep. I’ll be here.”
Crystal looked between Aleem and Isabelle.
Her eyes softened.
“You sure?”
Aleem nodded.
Crystal stood slowly, moved to Isabelle’s bed, and kissed her forehead like an older sister.
“Call me if anything. Anything, okay?”
Isabelle nodded.
Ivan lingered at the door, looking like he wanted to argue.
Instead he said, “Don’t do stupid things, Belle.”
It was the closest he could get to I love you.
Isabelle gave a shaky smile.
When the door closed behind them, the room felt bigger.
Quieter.
Isabelle’s breath quickened again.
Aleem noticed.
He didn’t move closer.
He simply spoke.
“Belle.”
Isabelle looked at him.
Aleem’s voice lowered, careful.
“I’m going to sit here. You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to sleep. Just… you don’t have to be alone.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Isabelle lay back on her pillow, staring at the ceiling.
The dark felt heavy.
But Aleem’s presence in the chair near the door was like a small lamp–quiet, steady, not demanding attention.
At some point, Isabelle’s voice broke the silence.
“Aleem?”
He responded immediately, but softly.
“Yeah.”
Isabelle stared at the ceiling.
“Do you ever… get scared?”
The question sounded childish.
But it was honest.
Aleem didn’t answer quickly.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before.
“Yes.”
Isabelle swallowed.
“Of what?”
Aleem’s pause was longer.
Then:
“Of someone thinking they’re alone when they’re not.”
Isabelle’s eyes stung.
She turned her head slightly.
Aleem was still in the chair.
His posture was relaxed, but his hands were clasped together like he was holding something inside.
Isabelle whispered, “Did you… lose someone?”
The air changed.
Aleem’s eyes stayed on the floor.
When he spoke, it was almost too quiet to hear.
“A friend.”
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
Aleem shook his head once.
“It happened a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t–” Isabelle’s voice caught. “That doesn’t make it small.”
Aleem’s lips pressed together.
For a moment, Isabelle thought he might not say anything else.
Then he spoke again, carefully, like each word had weight.
“I didn’t know how bad it was,” he admitted. “He joked. He worked. He smiled. And then…”
Aleem stopped.
His jaw tightened.
Isabelle waited.
Aleem exhaled.
“And then one day, he was gone. And I kept thinking–if I had checked in one more time, if I had stayed one more hour, maybe…”
His voice trailed off.
Isabelle’s tears slipped down into her hair.
Not because it was her story.
Because she understood, suddenly, why Aleem’s care felt so deliberate.
It wasn’t romance.
It was repentance.
It was a vow made to the universe:
Not again.
Isabelle whispered, “Thank you for staying.”
Aleem didn’t look up.
But his voice was steady.
“I’m here.”
A simple sentence.
A heavy promise.
Isabelle closed her eyes.
Her body still ached.
Her future still felt like rubble.
But for the first time since the text message, sleep didn’t feel like drowning.
Because someone was keeping watch.
And when her mind tried to tell her she was alone, a softer truth answered back:
Not tonight.