The Meeting
Chapter 21 – The Meeting
Aleem arrived ten minutes early.
Of course he did.
He didn’t arrive early to impress.
He arrived early because he hated uncertainty.
Because he respected people’s time.
Because when something mattered, he did not gamble with it.
Isabelle stood at the void deck near her block, fingers wrapped tightly around her phone.
She had told her parents they were coming up to talk.
Her mother had nodded, tense.
Her father had said nothing.
Now Isabelle was waiting with the kind of anxiety that lived in the throat.
She could taste it.
Dry.
Metallic.
She checked the lift twice.
Then she checked her phone.
Then she checked the lift again.
And then–
Aleem appeared.
He walked toward her with steady steps.
Plain long-sleeved shirt.
Dark pants.
No flashy watch.
No loud cologne.
His hair neat.
His posture calm.
He looked like himself.
Which was the most reassuring thing.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Aleem stopped in front of her.
“You okay?”
Isabelle huffed a weak laugh.
“No,” she admitted. “But… you’re here.”
Aleem nodded.
“I’m here,” he said.
He glanced toward the lift.
“Your dad?”
Isabelle swallowed.
“Upstairs,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
He didn’t ask more.
He didn’t try to comfort her with romance.
He simply said, quietly,
“Let’s go.”
Isabelle’s fingers trembled.
She led the way.
In the lift, Isabelle could hear her own breathing.
Aleem stood beside her.
Not touching.
Not close.
But Isabelle could feel the steadiness of his presence like an anchor line.
When the doors opened, Isabelle stepped out first.
Her corridor smelled like home.
Detergent.
Food.
The familiar scent of her childhood.
Her heart pounded.
Aleem’s voice came low.
“Belle,” he said.
Isabelle turned.
Aleem looked at her.
His gaze was calm.
“You don’t have to perform,” he said quietly. “Just be honest.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
Then she unlocked the door.
Her mother opened it almost immediately.
Like she had been waiting behind it.
Her mother’s face tightened when she saw Aleem.
Not hostility.
Just nerves.
She forced a polite smile.
“Hello,” she said.
Aleem bowed his head slightly.
“Hello, aunty,” he said. “Thank you for having me.”
His tone was respectful.
Controlled.
Not overly charming.
Not defensive.
Just… proper.
Isabelle’s chest loosened a fraction.
Her mother stepped aside.
“Come in,” she said.
Isabelle followed Aleem into the living room.
Her father was already there.
Sitting.
No TV.
No phone.
Arms crossed.
The wall.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped.
Aleem stopped at a respectful distance.
He didn’t extend his hand.
He simply bowed his head again.
“Uncle,” he said calmly. “Good evening.”
Her father didn’t respond immediately.
He stared at Aleem.
A long stare.
A measuring stare.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
She could feel her mother hovering behind her, nervous.
Finally, her father spoke.
“Sit,” he said.
Aleem nodded.
He sat on the sofa opposite her father.
Not too comfortable.
Not too stiff.
Just… respectful.
Isabelle sat beside her mother.
Her hands were cold.
Her father’s eyes moved between them.
Then he said, bluntly,
“So you’re the one.”
Isabelle flinched.
Aleem didn’t.
He nodded once.
“Yes, uncle,” he said.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
“Belle told me you’re dating,” he said.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “We are.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“How long?”
Aleem answered clearly.
“Since Hokkaido,” he said.
Her father’s mouth tightened.
“Hokkaido,” he echoed.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped.
Then her father asked the question Isabelle feared most.
“What do you want from my daughter?”
The sentence hit the room like thunder.
Isabelle’s breath caught.
Her mother’s hand tightened on Isabelle’s knee.
Aleem inhaled slowly.
Then he spoke.
Not defensive.
Not poetic.
Honest.
“Uncle,” Aleem said, “I want to be clear. I’m not here to play with her feelings. I’m serious.”
Her father stared.
Aleem continued.
“I’ve been her friend for years,” he said. “And I never crossed boundaries when she had a boyfriend. Even after the breakup, I stayed as a friend. I didn’t pursue her.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Aleem looked briefly toward Isabelle.
Then back to her father.
“She confessed first,” he said. “And I didn’t answer immediately because I didn’t want to take advantage of her pain. I asked for time. I thought. I prayed. I decided.”
Prayed.
The word landed.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
“Prayed,” her father repeated.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, uncle,” he said.
Her father leaned forward slightly.
“And your religion?” her father asked.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Aleem’s expression stayed calm.
“I’m Muslim,” he said. “And I take my religion seriously.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“What about her?”
Aleem’s answer came steady.
“She is Christian,” he said. “And I respect that.”
Respect.
Her father’s lips pressed together.
“Respect,” her father repeated, skeptical.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
Her father’s voice sharpened.
“So what is your plan?”
Plan.
The word sounded like a trap.
Because any plan Aleem stated could be used against him.
If he said marriage, it would sound too fast.
If he said dating, it would sound unserious.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Aleem inhaled slowly.
Then he spoke carefully.
“My plan is to go slow,” he said. “To build trust. To have proper conversations about religion and family. And to make sure your daughter is not pressured into anything.”
Her father stared.
“Not pressured,” he echoed.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“Then why is she meeting Muslim teacher?”
Isabelle flinched.
Aleem’s gaze remained calm.
“Because she wanted to learn properly,” he said. “She asked questions. She was curious. And I told her if she wants to learn, she should learn from someone qualified–not from social media.”
Her father’s mouth tightened.
“You told her,” her father repeated.
The implication was clear.
You are influencing her.
Aleem didn’t deny influence.
He simply clarified intention.
“I told her to learn if she wants,” he said. “And I told her not to convert for me.”
Silence.
That sentence landed.
Isabelle’s mother blinked.
Her father’s eyes shifted.
A fraction of surprise.
Her father asked, quieter,
“You told her not to convert?”
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “Because that would be wrong. Faith is not a gift you give a boyfriend. It’s a choice between you and God.”
The room went still.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Her father stared at Aleem.
His gaze was still hard.
But something in it had changed.
Because Aleem’s words didn’t sound like manipulation.
They sounded like principle.
Her father’s voice was low.
“If you marry her, what happens?” he asked.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Aleem’s expression remained calm.
“Uncle,” he said, “I won’t lie. Marriage involves religion. There are things we need to align on. That is why we are going slow. That is why we are talking now. Before promises.”
Her father’s jaw tightened.
“So you want her to become Muslim,” her father said.
The accusation landed.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Aleem didn’t flinch.
He answered honestly.
“Uncle,” he said, “if I marry, I want a wife who shares my faith. But I am not forcing your daughter. I am not dragging her. If she chooses Islam, it must be because she believes. If she does not, then we will have to accept that and decide what is right.”
The room went quiet.
Isabelle’s breath shook.
This was the truth.
Heavy.
Clear.
Her father stared.
“You’re saying you might break up,” her father said.
Aleem nodded slowly.
“Yes,” he said. “If we cannot align, it would be cruel to continue and build resentment.”
The honesty hurt.
But it was clean.
No false promises.
No romantic fantasies.
Just reality.
Isabelle’s mother’s eyes filled.
Isabelle’s own eyes burned.
Her father leaned back.
He exhaled sharply.
“You speak like this because you’re educated,” he said. “Because you know the right words. But my daughter is the one who will suffer.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“Uncle,” he said, “I don’t want her to suffer.”
Her father’s gaze sharpened.
“Then leave her,” he snapped.
Isabelle flinched.
Her mother gasped quietly.
Aleem didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t argue.
He simply said, firmly,
“I can’t,” he said.
The words were quiet.
But heavy.
Her father stared.
Aleem continued.
“Because I care about her,” he said. “And because she is not a fragile thing that needs to be hidden from every difficulty. She is an adult. She is thinking. She is learning. And I will not disrespect her by pretending she cannot choose.”
Isabelle’s breath caught.
The sentence hit her like warmth.
Not fragile.
Adult.
Able to choose.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
He looked at Isabelle.
His voice lowered.
“Is that true?” he asked. “You choose this?”
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
The question was for her.
Not Aleem.
Isabelle swallowed.
Her voice trembled.
“Yes,” she said. “I choose. I’m not being forced.”
Her father stared.
Isabelle continued, voice shaking.
“I’m not converting now,” she said. “I’m not making decisions now. But I’m learning. And Aleem… he’s been good to me.”
Her father’s eyes held hers.
A long stare.
Then his gaze flicked back to Aleem.
Her father’s voice dropped.
“If you hurt her,” he said, “I will not forgive you.”
Isabelle’s breath caught.
Aleem nodded once.
“I understand,” he said.
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“And if you try to turn her against us,” he added.
Aleem’s answer came steady.
“I won’t,” he said. “I want her to stay close to her family. I want her to be honest with you. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Her father stared.
Silence.
Then, unexpectedly, her father stood.
Isabelle’s heart slammed.
Her father’s voice was firm.
“Come,” he said to Isabelle.
Isabelle froze.
Her mother’s hand tightened.
Isabelle stood slowly.
Her father led her into the kitchen.
Away from Aleem.
Away from the living room.
Isabelle’s heart pounded.
Her father’s voice dropped.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
Isabelle froze.
Love.
The forbidden word.
The word that made everything dangerous.
Isabelle swallowed.
“I… I don’t know,” she whispered.
It was a lie.
Not fully.
But partly.
Because she did love him.
But she was afraid to say it.
Her father’s gaze softened a fraction.
“Belle,” he said, “don’t be stupid.”
Isabelle’s eyes burned.
Her father’s voice was quieter.
“You already got hurt once because you believed too much,” he said. “So if you do this again… do it with eyes open.”
Isabelle swallowed.
Her voice shook.
“I am,” she whispered.
Her father sighed.
Then he said something that surprised her.
“That boy… he seems respectful,” he admitted.
Isabelle’s breath caught.
Her father continued, voice strained.
“But respect is not enough. Religion will test you.”
Isabelle nodded.
“I know,” she whispered.
Her father stared.
“If you decide to convert,” he said, “you tell me yourself. Not through your mother.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Her father exhaled.
Then he said,
“I won’t stop you,” he said, voice tight. “But I won’t bless it either. Not now.”
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Not blessing.
But not stopping.
A door cracked open.
Isabelle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
When Isabelle returned to the living room, Aleem stood.
He looked at her.
A quiet question.
Isabelle nodded slightly.
I’m okay.
Her father looked at Aleem.
His voice was firm.
“You can go,” he said.
Aleem bowed his head.
“Thank you for speaking with me, uncle,” he said.
He turned to Isabelle’s mother.
“Thank you, aunty,” he added.
Her mother nodded, eyes wet.
Aleem looked at Isabelle.
His gaze softened.
He didn’t say anything romantic.
He didn’t touch.
He only said quietly,
“Text me when you’re okay.”
Isabelle nodded.
“I will,” she whispered.
Aleem left.
The door closed.
Silence filled the flat.
Isabelle’s legs felt weak.
Her mother finally sat down, exhaling shakily.
Her father remained standing.
He looked at Isabelle.
His voice was low.
“Belle,” he said, “this will not be easy.”
Isabelle swallowed.
“I know,” she whispered.
Her father stared.
Then, quieter,
“But if you do it,” he said, “do it properly.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Properly.
Aleem’s word.
Now her father’s.
She nodded.
“I will,” she whispered.
That night, in her room, Isabelle finally texted Aleem.
Isabelle: I’m okay. Thank you.
His reply came:
Aleem: You did well. Rest.
Isabelle stared at the words.
You did well.
Not romantic.
But intimate.
Because it meant he saw her courage.
And in the quiet after the storm, Isabelle realized something:
This meeting hadn’t solved anything.
But it had changed everything.
Because now, Aleem wasn’t just a secret.
He was real.
In her father’s eyes.
In her mother’s tears.
In the weight of a door that had finally opened.