The Invitation
Chapter 25 – The Invitation
After ABIX found out, Isabelle expected everything to become easier.
Less hiding.
Less juggling.
Less lying.
In some ways, it did.
Crystal stopped interrogating.
Ivan stopped watching like a hawk.
They could sit at the same table without their bodies tensing like they were committing a crime.
But the bigger weight didn’t disappear.
It simply moved.
Now the secret wasn’t inside ABIX.
Now the secret was outside.
Home.
Family.
Faith.
The world that didn’t care that ABIX still held.
The world that cared about religion.
A month passed.
Isabelle kept meeting the asatizah.
Not daily.
Not obsessively.
Slow.
Intentional.
Sometimes she asked questions.
Sometimes she just listened.
Sometimes she sat with a booklet and stared at sentences until they felt less foreign.
She didn’t convert.
Not yet.
But something in her had shifted.
She started noticing the way she breathed differently when she entered quiet spaces.
She started noticing how prayer wasn’t a performance.
It was a return.
She started noticing the way the concept of surrender didn’t feel like weakness.
It felt like relief.
And without realizing, Isabelle began doing something she never used to do.
She began pausing.
Before reacting.
Before spiraling.
Before drowning.
Aleem noticed.
Of course.
He didn’t praise her dramatically.
He only said one evening in a quiet café:
“You look calmer lately.”
Isabelle stared at him.
Then she smiled softly.
“Maybe I am,” she whispered.
But calm didn’t mean solved.
Because her father remained tense.
He didn’t forbid the relationship.
He didn’t approve.
He lived in the uncomfortable middle.
A man watching his daughter walk toward a bridge he didn’t trust.
He didn’t talk about it often.
But he asked small questions.
Sharp questions.
“Did you go church this week?”
“Are you still seeing your friends?”
“What did the teacher say?”
And Isabelle answered.
Sometimes honestly.
Sometimes carefully.
Sometimes with tears held back.
Her mother watched silently.
Sometimes she held Isabelle’s hand.
Sometimes she went quiet like she was grieving a future that wasn’t decided yet.
Isabelle felt guilty.
But guilt wasn’t a reason to stop.
It was a reason to go slow.
The invitation arrived in an ordinary envelope.
A printed card.
Cream-colored.
Gold lettering.
A wedding invitation.
Not Isabelle’s.
Aleem’s cousin.
Aleem mentioned it casually.
“My cousin’s wedding is next month,” he said.
Isabelle nodded.
“Nice,” she said.
Then Aleem paused.
His gaze stayed steady.
“I want to invite you,” he said quietly.
Isabelle froze.
Invite.
To a Muslim wedding.
To his family.
To a space where she would not be anonymous.
A space where people would ask:
Who is she?
Why is she here?
Is she the girlfriend?
Is she converting?
Is she marriage material?
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
She whispered,
“Me?”
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “But only if you’re comfortable. And only if your parents are okay.”
Parents.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped.
Her father.
Her father would hate this.
Or maybe… he would appreciate being asked.
Being respected.
Isabelle swallowed.
“I… want to go,” she admitted.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
“Okay,” he said.
Then he added quietly,
“But Belle… we do it properly.”
Properly.
Always.
Isabelle nodded.
“How?” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice was calm.
“We ask your parents,” he said. “We don’t sneak.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Ask.
Permission.
Respect.
Everything Aleem did was shaped like principle.
Isabelle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
They asked on a Sunday afternoon.
Isabelle’s mother served tea.
Her father sat with his arms crossed.
The wall.
Aleem sat on the sofa opposite him.
Respectful distance.
No touching.
No casual intimacy.
Just two adults sitting in a room where love felt like negotiation.
Aleem began.
“Uncle, aunty,” he said, voice calm, “thank you for letting me come again.”
Her father grunted.
Her mother nodded politely.
Aleem continued.
“I wanted to invite Isabelle to my cousin’s wedding,” he said. “Next month.”
Isabelle’s heart hammered.
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
A wedding.
A Muslim wedding.
Her father’s voice was sharp.
“Why?”
Aleem didn’t flinch.
“Because I want to include her,” he said. “And because… if we are serious, she will eventually meet my family. I think it’s better to do it slowly, respectfully, instead of suddenly.”
Her father’s jaw tightened.
“Your family knows about her?”
Aleem inhaled.
“Not all,” he admitted. “My parents know I’m serious about someone. But they haven’t met her yet. This wedding would be… a first step.”
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
First step.
Her father’s gaze snapped to Isabelle.
“You want to go?” he asked.
Isabelle swallowed.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But… only if you’re okay.”
Her father’s mouth tightened.
His eyes flicked to Aleem.
“What happens there?” her father asked. “Will people pressure her?”
Aleem shook his head.
“No,” he said. “And if anyone says anything inappropriate, I will stop it.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“You will stop your relatives?”
Aleem’s voice stayed steady.
“Yes,” he said.
The firmness surprised Isabelle.
Aleem didn’t raise his voice.
But his certainty was clear.
Her father stared.
Silence.
Then her father said,
“Your cousin’s wedding is in a mosque?”
Aleem shook his head.
“No,” he said. “It’s at a function hall. Nikah earlier, then reception.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“Belle is Christian,” her father said bluntly.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he said. “And I will not let anyone disrespect her for it.”
Her father stared.
Then he asked the cruelest practical question.
“Will she need to cover her hair?”
Isabelle swallowed.
Aleem answered calmly.
“No, uncle,” he said. “She can dress modestly. If she chooses to cover, it’s her choice. Not a requirement.”
Her father’s jaw tightened.
He looked at Isabelle.
Isabelle held his gaze.
Then her father exhaled sharply.
“You want to go,” he said.
Isabelle nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her father leaned back.
Silence.
Isabelle’s heart pounded.
Her mother’s fingers tightened around her cup.
Finally, her father spoke.
“Okay,” he said.
Isabelle froze.
Her mother blinked.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
Her father raised a finger.
“BUT,” he said.
There it was.
Her father continued.
“Belle goes with you,” he said, pointing at Aleem, “but she comes back with Belle.”
The sentence hit Isabelle.
Come back with Belle.
Don’t change her.
Don’t take her.
Don’t make her disappear.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, uncle,” he said.
Her father’s eyes stayed hard.
“And if anyone says nonsense,” her father added, “you protect her.”
Aleem nodded again.
“I will,” he said.
Her father stared.
Then he looked away, like the conversation exhausted him.
He waved his hand.
“Okay,” he repeated, grudging. “She can go.”
Isabelle’s breath left her body.
Relief flooded.
Not joy.
Relief.
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears.
Not happy tears.
Conflicted tears.
But she nodded.
“Just be careful,” her mother whispered.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
“I will,” she whispered.
After they left, Isabelle and Aleem walked downstairs in silence.
The void deck smelled like rain.
Isabelle’s hands trembled.
Aleem looked at her.
“You okay?”
Isabelle laughed weakly.
“I think I’m going to faint,” she whispered.
Aleem’s lips twitched.
“Don’t,” he said.
Isabelle exhaled.
Then she looked at him.
“Aleem,” she whispered, “thank you.”
Aleem shook his head.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Thank your dad. He’s trying.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Trying.
Yes.
Her father was trying.
Not blessing.
Not approving.
But trying.
And Aleem–
Aleem was also trying.
To include.
To protect.
To respect.
To build.
Isabelle’s chest ached.
Because this invitation wasn’t just a wedding card.
It was a doorway.
A first step into each other’s worlds.
And Isabelle knew the moment she accepted it:
This wasn’t just dating anymore.
This was a life beginning to knit.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Properly.
One invitation at a time.