The Question She Finally Asked

Chapter 27 – The Question She Finally Asked

The wedding ended.

The noise faded.

The aunties dispersed.

Nadia’s committee energy dissolved back into normal life.

Isabelle went home.

She took a shower.

She folded the shawl.

She lay in bed.

And she couldn’t sleep.

Because even when the hall was gone, the feeling stayed.

That feeling of being looked at.

Measured.

Categorized.

Not as Isabelle.

But as:

potential wife.

potential convert.

potential problem.

Isabelle stared at her ceiling.

The room was dark.

Singapore night was quiet.

But her mind was loud.

She kept replaying Aleem’s words.

If I marry, I want a wife who shares my faith.

And her father’s.

If you decide to convert, you tell me yourself.

And the asatizah’s.

Don’t convert for a person.

God is not in a rush.

Time.

Time.

Time.

Isabelle exhaled.

Then she did something she rarely did.

She reached for discomfort.

She reached for the question she had been avoiding.

She opened her phone.

And she texted Aleem.

Isabelle: Can we talk tomorrow? Proper talk.

The reply came fast.

Aleem: Yes. After work?

Isabelle’s throat tightened.

Isabelle: Yes.

Aleem: Okay. You okay?

Isabelle stared.

She wanted to lie.

She wanted to say okay.

But she couldn’t.

Not tonight.

Isabelle: Not really.

There was a pause.

Then:

Aleem: Okay. Tomorrow. We talk. Sleep if you can.

Isabelle swallowed.

Tomorrow.

Proper talk.

The words felt like both relief and dread.

They met at their usual quiet café.

Not ABIX.

Not crowded.

Not romantic.

Just a place where their voices could be honest.

Isabelle arrived first.

She sat at the same table.

Same chair.

Hot chocolate.

Hands wrapped around the cup.

She watched the door.

Her heart pounded.

Aleem arrived five minutes later.

He sat down across from her.

He looked tired.

Not messy tired.

Just… human tired.

Work tired.

Life tired.

And for a moment, Isabelle felt guilty.

Was she about to add another weight to his already full life?

But Aleem looked at her and asked,

“You okay?”

Isabelle swallowed.

“No,” she said.

Aleem didn’t react.

He only nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell me.”

Isabelle stared at her cup.

Her voice was small.

“The wedding,” she whispered.

Aleem nodded.

“Yeah,” he said.

Isabelle exhaled.

“I felt… out of place,” she admitted.

Aleem’s gaze softened.

“I know,” he said.

Isabelle blinked.

He knew.

Of course.

Isabelle’s throat tightened.

“And I kept thinking,” she continued, voice trembling slightly, “if that’s your world… then where do I stand?”

Aleem’s eyes stayed steady.

He didn’t dismiss.

He didn’t reassure too quickly.

He waited.

Isabelle swallowed.

Then she said it.

The question.

The one she had been circling for months.

“Aleem,” she whispered, “if I never convert… will you still choose me?”

Silence.

The café noise blurred.

Isabelle could hear her own heartbeat.

Aleem didn’t answer immediately.

Isabelle’s chest tightened painfully.

Her fear rose.

Maybe the answer was no.

Maybe she already knew.

Aleem finally spoke.

His voice was quiet.

“Belle,” he said, “thank you for asking directly.”

Isabelle’s throat tightened.

Not an answer yet.

But respect.

Aleem continued.

“I won’t lie to you,” he said.

Isabelle’s chest tightened.

Aleem’s gaze held hers.

“My faith matters,” he said. “Not as a hobby. Not as a label. It’s… it’s my foundation.”

Isabelle swallowed.

Foundation.

Aleem continued.

“I can date across faith for a while,” he admitted. “But marriage… marriage is different. Because marriage is forever. And forever needs alignment.”

Isabelle’s eyes burned.

The answer was coming.

Aleem inhaled.

“If you never convert,” he said carefully, “I don’t know if I can marry you.”

The sentence hit Isabelle like a quiet punch.

Not violent.

Just… final.

Her throat tightened.

Her eyes stung.

Aleem’s gaze didn’t flinch.

He didn’t hide.

He didn’t soften the truth.

But his voice turned gentle.

“And Belle,” he added, “I’m not saying that to pressure you.”

Isabelle’s breath trembled.

Aleem continued.

“I’m saying it because you deserve clarity,” he said. “You deserve to know the real stakes.”

Isabelle stared.

Real stakes.

Her chest ached.

The fear she carried was now confirmed.

Not fully.

But enough.

Isabelle’s voice shook.

“So… you love me,” she whispered, “but you might not choose me.”

Aleem’s jaw tightened.

He looked pained.

Not because he wanted to hurt her.

Because he hated that reality hurt at all.

Aleem’s voice was low.

“I love you,” he said. “And that’s why I’m not promising you a future I can’t guarantee.”

Isabelle’s eyes filled.

It would’ve been easier if he lied.

If he said yes.

If he said “love conquers.”

But Aleem didn’t do fairytales.

Aleem did truth.

And truth hurt.

Isabelle wiped her cheeks quickly.

Her voice trembled.

“Then why are we still together?” she whispered.

Aleem’s answer was calm.

“Because you’re learning,” he said. “Because you’re curious. Because you feel peace. Because you’re not rejecting. You’re exploring.”

Isabelle swallowed.

Exploring.

The word that kept her safe.

And kept her trapped.

Aleem continued.

“And because I’m not asking you to rush,” he said. “I’m asking you to be honest with yourself. If one day you believe Islam is true, then you choose it. If you don’t, then we accept that and decide with respect.”

Isabelle’s chest tightened.

Respect.

Always respect.

Isabelle’s voice broke.

“That sounds like a countdown,” she whispered.

Aleem exhaled.

“It’s not a countdown,” he said. “It’s… reality. We can’t pretend this difference doesn’t matter.”

Isabelle nodded.

Tears slipped.

She hated crying.

But she couldn’t stop.

Aleem didn’t reach across the table.

Boundaries.

But his voice softened.

“Belle,” he said, “you can stop anytime.”

Isabelle blinked.

“What?”

Aleem’s gaze stayed steady.

“You can leave,” he said. “If this hurts too much. If you don’t want to carry uncertainty. I will understand.”

Isabelle’s throat tightened.

Aleem offering her the exit.

Not trapping.

Not holding her hostage with love.

Just… respecting her agency.

Isabelle shook her head slowly.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aleem’s eyes softened.

“Okay,” he said.

Isabelle inhaled shakily.

Then she admitted the truth.

“I didn’t ask because I wanted you to say yes,” she whispered. “I asked because I needed to know. Because my dad… my dad is scared. And sometimes I’m scared too.”

Aleem nodded.

“I know,” he said.

Isabelle swallowed.

“But Aleem,” she whispered, “I’m not converting for you.”

Aleem’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“Good,” he said.

Isabelle’s voice trembled.

“I’m learning because… I feel something,” she admitted. “And I don’t know what it is yet. But it feels real.”

Aleem’s eyes softened.

“That’s enough,” he said quietly. “For now.”

Isabelle exhaled.

Her chest still hurt.

But the pain was cleaner.

Because the question was no longer rotting in silence.

Now it was spoken.

Now it could be faced.

Isabelle wiped her cheeks.

She whispered,

“Thank you for being honest.”

Aleem nodded.

“Thank you for being brave,” he replied.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Not broken.

Not solved.

Just… real.

Then Isabelle whispered one last thing.

“I’m scared of losing you,” she admitted.

Aleem’s voice came soft.

“I’m scared too,” he said.

Isabelle’s chest tightened.

Then Aleem added,

“But I’d rather lose you with respect than keep you with pressure.”

Isabelle closed her eyes.

The sentence hurt.

But it was love.

A hard love.

A clean love.

A love that refused to manipulate.

Isabelle opened her eyes.

And for the first time, she realized:

This wasn’t just a religious journey.

It was a journey of agency.

Of choosing.

Of learning to love without losing herself.

And maybe…

maybe that was exactly the kind of love that could survive something as big as faith.