His World, Her Eyes
Chapter 26 – His World, Her Eyes
The first time Isabelle met Aleem’s family, it wasn’t the parents.
It wasn’t the dramatic “meet the mother” scene.
It wasn’t a formal sit-down with tea and interrogation.
It was a wedding.
A crowded hall.
A hundred relatives.
A thousand eyes.
And Isabelle stepping into his world with her heart beating like a warning.
She dressed carefully.
Modest, but still herself.
A long-sleeved blouse in a soft neutral color.
A long skirt.
Closed-toe shoes.
A simple shawl folded neatly in her bag.
Not because she was required.
Because she wanted an option.
Aleem picked her up from her block.
Her father watched from the living room.
Arms crossed.
Silent.
Isabelle’s throat tightened as she stepped out.
Her mother hugged her, tight.
“Be careful,” her mother whispered.
Isabelle nodded.
Her father didn’t hug.
He only looked at Aleem.
A long look.
Then he said, low and firm,
“Bring her back.”
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, uncle,” he said.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
No blessing.
But permission.
A cracked door.
Isabelle stepped into the lift.
Her hands trembled.
Aleem stood beside her, calm.
“You okay?”
Isabelle laughed weakly.
“I feel like I’m going to an exam,” she whispered.
Aleem’s lips twitched.
“It kind of is,” he said.
Isabelle stared.
Aleem added quickly,
“But not for you,” he said. “For me.”
Isabelle’s chest softened.
For me.
Of course.
The wedding hall was bright and loud.
Music.
Laughter.
Children running between tables.
The air smelled like biryani and perfume.
Isabelle followed Aleem in.
He walked slightly ahead, then slowed so she was beside him.
Not pulling.
Not leading.
Just matching her pace.
Isabelle scanned the room.
So many faces.
So many strangers.
Aleem’s world.
It felt like stepping into someone else’s family reunion.
Aleem leaned slightly toward her.
“Remember,” he said quietly, “you don’t owe anyone explanations.”
Isabelle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze stayed steady.
“If anyone asks uncomfortable questions, you look at me,” he said. “I’ll handle.”
Isabelle nodded.
Her throat tightened.
Handle.
Protect.
Come back with Belle.
Her father’s words echoed.
Isabelle exhaled slowly.
They hadn’t even reached their table when the first auntie appeared.
A petite woman with sharp eyes and an affectionate smile.
“Aleem!” she exclaimed.
Aleem’s face softened.
“Aunty,” he greeted.
The auntie pinched his arm lightly.
“Long time never come,” she scolded.
Aleem smiled politely.
“Busy with work,” he said.
Then the auntie’s eyes landed on Isabelle.
Sharp.
Curious.
Instantly scanning.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
The auntie smiled broadly.
“Eh, siapa ni?” she asked.
Who is this?
Isabelle’s mouth went dry.
Aleem’s voice came calm.
“This is Isabelle,” he said. “My friend.”
Friend.
Not girlfriend.
Not yet.
Not in a wedding hall with a hundred eyes.
Isabelle smiled politely.
“Hello, aunty,” she said.
The auntie’s eyes narrowed.
Friend.
She didn’t believe it.
But she didn’t challenge it.
She only smiled.
“Isabelle ah,” she repeated. “Chinese?”
Isabelle’s cheeks warmed.
“Yes,” she said.
Aleem’s jaw tightened slightly.
The auntie asked quickly,
“Christian?”
Isabelle froze.
Her throat tightened.
This was exactly what Aleem warned about.
Aleem spoke smoothly.
“Aunty,” he said gently, “today wedding. Don’t interview.”
The auntie laughed.
“Aiya, I ask only,” she said.
Aleem smiled politely.
“Ask later,” he said.
The auntie huffed.
“Okay okay,” she said, waving her hand.
Then she leaned in to Isabelle and whispered loudly,
“Pretty girl. You must take care of him. He very stubborn.”
Isabelle choked a laugh.
Aleem sighed.
“Aunty,” he muttered.
The auntie laughed and walked away.
Isabelle exhaled.
Her hands trembled.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You okay?”
Isabelle nodded.
But her voice was small.
“That was… fast,” she whispered.
Aleem’s lips twitched.
“Welcome to Malay weddings,” he said.
Isabelle laughed weakly.
At their table, Aleem introduced her to a few cousins.
Most were polite.
Some were curious.
One cousin looked at Isabelle with obvious suspicion.
A young woman in her late twenties.
Pretty.
Sharp.
Confident.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Nadia.”
Isabelle smiled.
“Hi,” she said.
Nadia’s gaze flicked to Aleem.
“So Isabelle is your… friend?” Nadia asked.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Aleem answered calmly.
“Yes,” he said.
Nadia hummed.
“Interesting,” she said.
Isabelle wanted to disappear.
Aleem didn’t react.
He only asked Nadia about her work.
He redirected.
He managed.
Isabelle watched him.
This side of Aleem was unfamiliar.
Not because he was different.
Because he was doing something she rarely saw.
He was navigating family.
Respectfully.
Firmly.
Setting boundaries without disrespect.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
He was doing this for her.
When the nikah was announced, the room shifted.
People moved.
Phones came out.
The atmosphere softened into something reverent.
Isabelle watched.
The bride and groom sat.
The wali.
The solemnity.
The prayers.
The way people fell quiet.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She didn’t understand every word.
But she understood the weight.
Marriage wasn’t just romance.
It was covenant.
Witness.
Community.
Isabelle felt her chest ache.
Because the scene made her imagine:
If it were her and Aleem.
What would that look like?
Would her parents be there?
Would her father stand firm or soften?
Would her mother cry?
Would she be Muslim by then?
Isabelle’s heart pounded.
Questions layered on questions.
She felt overwhelmed.
Aleem leaned slightly toward her.
“You okay?” he whispered.
Isabelle swallowed.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
But her eyes burned.
Aleem didn’t ask more.
He simply sat with her in the quiet.
A steady presence.
After the nikah, the hall returned to loudness.
Food served.
People laughed.
Relatives swarmed.
The bride was pulled into endless photos.
Isabelle smiled when needed.
She greeted aunties.
She accepted small plates of food.
She answered basic questions.
Where you work?
How you know Aleem?
Are you from Singapore?
Isabelle kept her answers simple.
Aleem stayed close–not clingy, but present.
He introduced.
He redirected.
He protected.
Then, near the dessert table, Nadia appeared again.
This time with two other cousins.
A mini committee.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped.
Nadia smiled.
“Isabelle,” she said, “can I ask you something?”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Aleem’s voice came calm.
“If it’s about religion, don’t,” he said.
Nadia blinked.
“Why so sensitive?” she asked.
Aleem’s gaze remained steady.
“Because it’s personal,” he said. “And because today is my cousin’s wedding. Not our interrogation.”
Isabelle’s breath caught.
Aleem–firm.
Nadia’s smile tightened.
“I’m just concerned,” she said. “If you’re serious, you should think about family.”
Aleem nodded.
“I am,” he said. “That’s why I’m careful.”
Nadia’s eyes narrowed.
“And what about her family?” she asked, looking at Isabelle. “They okay?”
Isabelle’s mouth went dry.
Aleem answered before Isabelle could.
“We’re talking,” he said.
Nadia stared.
“Talking,” she repeated.
Aleem’s voice remained calm.
“Yes,” he said. “Talking.”
Silence.
Then Nadia huffed.
“Okay,” she said, tone clipped. “Good luck.”
She walked away.
Isabelle exhaled shakily.
Her hands trembled.
Aleem turned to Isabelle.
His voice softened.
“You okay?”
Isabelle swallowed.
“You did that so calmly,” she whispered.
Aleem’s lips twitched.
“I’ve had practice,” he said.
Isabelle blinked.
“With what?”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Relatives,” he said simply.
Isabelle laughed quietly.
Then her laughter faded.
Isabelle’s voice turned small.
“I feel like… an outsider,” she admitted.
Aleem’s expression softened.
He didn’t deny it.
He nodded.
“You are,” he said gently. “Right now. And that’s okay.”
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Aleem continued.
“You don’t have to belong instantly,” he said. “Belonging takes time.”
Time.
Always time.
Isabelle swallowed.
Aleem’s voice went lower.
“And Belle,” he added, “you’re not alone. When you’re with me, you’re with me.”
The sentence hit Isabelle’s chest.
Not dramatic.
But intimate.
Because it was a promise of presence.
Isabelle nodded.
Her eyes burned.
She whispered,
“Okay.”
On the ride home, Isabelle stared out of the car window.
Streetlights blurred.
Singapore felt quieter at night.
Aleem drove steadily.
One hand on the wheel.
The other resting near the gear.
Isabelle’s fingers tingled.
She wanted to reach.
But she didn’t.
Boundaries.
Safety.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You quiet,” he said.
Isabelle swallowed.
“I’m thinking,” she admitted.
Aleem nodded.
“About what?”
Isabelle hesitated.
Then she said the truth.
“About… if I can fit,” she whispered.
Aleem’s gaze stayed on the road.
His voice was steady.
“You don’t need to fit by becoming someone else,” he said. “If we do this, we build a space where you can be you.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Build a space.
Not force a shape.
Not squeeze.
Build.
Isabelle exhaled.
She didn’t know how the future would look.
But tonight, she had seen Aleem’s world.
And she had seen something else too.
Not just the questions.
Not just the suspicion.
But the way he stood firm.
For her.
Without aggression.
Without arrogance.
Just principle.
And for the first time, Isabelle realized:
The hardest part of interfaith love wasn’t the difference.
It was the courage to keep choosing respect–
in front of everyone.
Even when the world tried to turn your love into a debate.