Grief Has Phases
Chapter 3 – Grief Has Phases
Three days after the breakup, Isabelle learned something she hadn’t expected.
Grief wasn’t consistent.
It didn’t arrive in a straight line, didn’t steadily decrease like a fever under medication. It was a creature with moods–sometimes small enough to fit in her pocket, sometimes large enough to sit on her chest and refuse to move.
On Monday morning, she woke up with a strange clarity.
For a minute, she almost forgot.
Then she saw the empty space on her bedside table where an engagement catalogue used to sit, and her stomach dropped like an elevator cable had snapped.
By noon, she was numb.
By evening, she was furious.
By night, she was bargaining with God in a whisper.
If I become better, will he come back?
It terrified her.
Not the sadness.
The way her mind tried to make deals.
ABIX responded the way ABIX always did.
With a plan.
Crystal showed up at Isabelle’s doorstep with a tote bag full of snacks, a fluffy blanket, and a look of determination that made Isabelle feel like she was about to be kidnapped for her own good.
“Okay,” Crystal announced, stepping inside. “Today is Operation Do Not Rot.”
Isabelle blinked, voice hoarse. “I… don’t want to.”
“That’s why it’s an operation,” Crystal replied, as if this was obvious.
Ivan followed behind her, carrying a brown paper bag from a hawker center.
“Food,” he said. “Eat.”
Isabelle stared at the bag.
The smell of chicken rice made her stomach twist.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
Ivan’s expression tightened. “You can.”
Crystal shot him a glare. “Not like that.”
“I’m not being harsh,” Ivan argued. “I’m being practical.”
“You’re always practical,” Crystal snapped. “That’s your problem.”
Isabelle watched them bicker.
It was absurd.
And somehow it helped.
Aleem arrived last.
Not with a tote bag.
Not with hawker food.
Just with his quiet presence and a small plastic container.
He set it on Isabelle’s table.
“Dates,” he said.
Isabelle frowned. “Huh?”
Aleem opened the lid.
Inside were glossy brown dates, arranged neatly.
“You don’t have appetite,” Aleem explained, voice calm. “Dates are easy. You can eat one or two. Sugar helps.”
Crystal’s eyes softened. “Aww.”
Ivan stared at the container like he was analyzing it. “Is this… a Muslim thing?”
Aleem glanced at him. “Also a human thing.”
Crystal snorted.
Isabelle almost smiled.
Almost.
Crystal insisted they leave the house.
“Sunlight,” she declared. “Vitamin D. Healing.”
Isabelle wanted to protest.
But her body moved anyway.
They ended up at a mall because Crystal claimed malls were “the safest outdoors.”
It was a weekday, but still crowded–Singapore’s usual hum of people with places to go.
Isabelle walked between Crystal and Aleem, with Ivan trailing behind like a suspicious bodyguard.
The mall was full of couple things.
Couple promotions.
Couple sets.
Couple hand-holding.
Isabelle’s chest tightened each time she saw a boy reach for a girl’s hand.
She tried not to show it.
But Crystal saw everything.
“Okay,” Crystal said briskly, looping her arm through Isabelle’s. “We are now a couple. Me and you. The rest of the world can cry.”
Isabelle huffed out a laugh that surprised even herself.
Ivan muttered, “Disgusting.”
Crystal shot back, “Jealous.”
Ivan rolled his eyes. “Of what?”
“Of our romance,” Crystal said with full seriousness.
Aleem didn’t laugh.
But Isabelle noticed his lips twitch.
A small, almost invisible amusement.
It warmed her chest for half a second.
Then grief returned.
Because laughter felt like betrayal.
And the guilt of laughter was its own cruel kind of pain.
They passed a jewelry store.
The kind with rings displayed like promises behind glass.
Isabelle’s feet stopped without her permission.
Her breath caught.
The memory hit her with sharp detail:
Her ex holding her hand.
Her ex pointing at a ring.
Her ex laughing, saying, “Soon.”
Isabelle’s vision blurred.
Crystal tugged her arm. “Belle?”
Isabelle tried to keep walking.
Her legs didn’t cooperate.
A wave of nausea rose.
She shook her head quickly, like she could shake the memory out.
But grief didn’t work like that.
It surged.
And then it turned into anger.
Hot, sudden, terrifying.
Isabelle’s hands clenched.
“Why,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Why would he do that?”
Crystal opened her mouth.
Ivan opened his too.
But Aleem spoke first.
Not with an answer.
With a question.
“Do you want to sit?”
Isabelle stared at him.
Her anger wanted to explode into a rant.
But Aleem’s calm redirected it, like a dam guiding floodwater.
They found a bench near a bookstore.
Isabelle sat down hard.
Her chest heaved.
Crystal crouched beside her. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Let it out.”
Isabelle’s voice shook. “I gave him everything. Years. Plans. My whole future. And he just–he just–”
Her voice broke.
Aleem sat down a little distance away, still within reach.
Ivan remained standing, arms crossed, eyes dark.
Isabelle’s anger rose again.
She turned to Ivan, suddenly desperate for something solid.
“Say something,” she demanded.
Ivan’s jaw tightened.
He looked like he was choosing between violence and restraint.
Finally, he said, “He’s an idiot.”
Crystal nodded fiercely. “A complete idiot.”
Isabelle laughed once.
It came out sharp.
Then she started crying.
The anger dissolved into sobs so heavy she bent forward, elbows on knees.
Crystal held her.
Ivan stared at the floor.
And Aleem–
Aleem closed his eyes for a second.
Isabelle didn’t notice.
But in that small movement was the echo of something old.
A friend.
A loss.
A vow.
Not again.
After Isabelle’s crying calmed, Crystal insisted on dessert.
“Sugar heals,” she declared.
Ivan muttered, “That’s not science.”
Crystal pointed at him. “You don’t get to talk. You’re powered by caffeine and resentment.”
They ended up at a café.
Isabelle sat by the window, staring at the street below.
Her dessert sat untouched.
Crystal and Ivan continued bickering, their voices weaving a familiar soundtrack.
Aleem ordered something without asking Isabelle.
A hot drink.
He placed it in front of her.
Isabelle blinked. “What is this?”
“Milo,” Aleem said. “Warm. Not too sweet.”
Isabelle stared at the mug.
It was ordinary.
And yet the steam felt like comfort.
She wrapped her hands around it.
The warmth seeped into her fingers.
Aleem didn’t say drink.
He didn’t say you need to eat.
He just sat there.
Isabelle’s eyes stung.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded once.
Crystal, mid-rant about how Isabelle’s ex deserved to be cursed by every auntie in Singapore, paused.
She squinted at Aleem and Isabelle.
Then she leaned toward Ivan and whispered loudly, “Eh. They look like couple.”
Ivan choked on his drink. “Shut up.”
Isabelle’s face heated.
Aleem’s expression didn’t change.
But the tiniest crease formed between his brows.
Not annoyance.
Something else.
Isabelle didn’t have the energy to interpret it.
She turned back to the window.
Outside, life continued.
Inside, Isabelle’s world was still broken.
But now, the broken pieces weren’t cutting her as much.
Because ABIX had surrounded her.
Because the grief wasn’t being fought alone.
Because even in her anger–
there was a hand offering her a warm drink instead of a lecture.
That night, after Crystal and Ivan left, Isabelle sat on her bed and stared at her phone.
She opened her chat with her ex.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
A thousand messages fought to be typed:
How could you?
Did you ever love me?
Please come back.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She didn’t send any of them.
Instead, she scrolled up.
Through years of photos.
Through jokes.
Through “I miss you.”
Through “I can’t wait to marry you.”
She stared until the words stopped looking like language and became shapes.
Then her phone buzzed.
A new message.
Not from him.
From Aleem.
Aleem: You don’t need to reply. Just letting you know I’m around. If it gets heavy, send a dot.
Isabelle’s eyes filled.
She didn’t know why that line–send a dot–kept undoing her.
Maybe because grief made her feel like she had to perform.
Like she had to explain.
Like she had to justify why she wasn’t okay.
Aleem didn’t ask her to justify.
He just gave her a simple way to be found.
Isabelle’s thumb moved.
.
A dot.
A small flare in the dark.
A second later:
Aleem: Okay. I see you.
Isabelle pressed her phone to her chest.
The tears came quietly.
Not anger.
Not bargaining.
Just exhaustion.
And beneath it, a fragile relief:
Someone saw her.
Even when she couldn’t speak.