The First Time She Notices
Chapter 5 – The First Time She Notices
The human brain was cruel.
It could survive a storm and still flinch at a raindrop.
By the second week, Isabelle was functioning again in ways that looked normal from the outside.
She showered.
She replied work emails.
She showed up to meetings with her camera on.
Her colleagues told her, “You look okay.”
And she smiled and said, “Yeah, just tired.”
Because “tired” was a socially acceptable grief.
Because nobody wanted the real answer.
And because Isabelle had learned that pain was something people tolerated in small amounts–like spicy food. A little was impressive. Too much was inconvenient.
Only ABIX knew the truth.
Only ABIX knew that Isabelle still kept waking up at 3 AM with her chest aching like someone had placed a brick on her ribs.
Only ABIX knew that her hands still reached for her phone sometimes–habitual, desperate–before she stopped herself.
No texting him.
No calling.
No bargaining.
One step.
Until she could walk.
The first time Isabelle noticed Aleem, properly, it wasn’t during a dramatic moment.
It was during something stupid.
ABIX was at a café on a Saturday afternoon.
Crystal had insisted.
“Group therapy,” she announced. “But aesthetic.”
Ivan had complained.
Aleem had simply said, “Okay.”
The café was crowded with couples and laptop people, the kind of place where the air smelled like espresso and expensive candles.
Crystal was talking about a reel she saw–something about “healing your feminine energy” and “cutting cords.”
Ivan was tearing the concept apart with the focus of a man who had discovered a personal enemy.
“Your ‘cords’ aren’t real,” he said flatly.
Crystal gasped. “You’re so toxic.”
Ivan blinked. “How am I toxic?”
“Because you don’t let people have delusions.”
“That’s not toxic, that’s kindness.”
Crystal pointed at Isabelle. “Belle, tell him he’s toxic.”
Isabelle blinked, dragged out of her thoughts.
“Uh…”
Aleem’s voice cut in gently.
“He’s not toxic,” he said.
Crystal stared at him, betrayed. “You too?!”
Aleem shrugged slightly, calm. “He just… processes differently.”
Ivan looked at Aleem like he’d been defended in court.
Crystal squinted. “Why you defend him?”
Aleem’s lips twitched. “Because you’re bullying him.”
Ivan’s mouth opened, closed.
“Thank you,” he muttered.
Crystal scoffed. “Please. He deserves it.”
Isabelle watched them bicker.
The noise was familiar.
Safe.
But then a couple at the next table laughed.
The sound was bright.
The kind of laugh Isabelle’s ex used to have when he was teasing her.
The memory hit before Isabelle could brace.
Her chest tightened.
Her fingers went cold.
Her gaze dropped to her cup.
Breath, Isabelle.
In.
Out.
She tried.
The air didn’t reach.
She swallowed hard, forcing her expression neutral.
She didn’t want to ruin the afternoon.
She didn’t want to be that person.
But grief didn’t ask permission.
Isabelle’s hands trembled slightly around her cup.
Aleem noticed.
Of course he did.
He didn’t say her name.
He didn’t stop Crystal mid-rant.
He didn’t create a scene.
He simply shifted his body–subtle–blocking Isabelle’s direct line of sight to the laughing couple.
Then, without looking at her, he slid a small plate toward her.
Two dates.
Isabelle stared.
Aleem’s voice stayed casual, directed at the group.
“Crystal,” he said, “your cord thing… you saw from TikTok right?”
Crystal’s eyes lit up immediately. “YES. And it’s legit.”
Ivan groaned.
The conversation moved on.
But Isabelle’s attention stayed on the plate.
Dates.
A quiet offering.
No pressure.
No “are you okay?” in front of everyone.
Just… support disguised as normal.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She picked up one date.
A small thing.
She ate it.
Sweetness filled her mouth.
And something inside her loosened.
Isabelle stared down at her hands.
She didn’t know why her eyes stung.
Maybe because care like this didn’t demand repayment.
Maybe because Aleem was always thinking ahead.
Maybe because it was the first time she realized:
Aleem wasn’t only present.
He was intentional.
After the café, ABIX walked along the sidewalk toward the MRT.
Crystal hopped ahead, trying to convince Ivan to film a “healing girl walk” reel.
Ivan refused like his life depended on it.
Isabelle walked behind them with Aleem.
It wasn’t planned.
It just happened.
Isabelle’s steps were slow.
The sun was hot.
Singapore’s late afternoon heat clung to their skin.
Aleem walked beside her, hands in his pockets.
Quiet.
Not awkward.
Just… there.
Isabelle stared at the pavement.
“Thanks,” she said suddenly.
Aleem glanced at her. “For what?”
Isabelle hesitated.
She couldn’t say, for noticing when I’m about to fall apart.
It sounded too vulnerable.
So she said, “For today.”
Aleem nodded once, as if he understood anyway.
Isabelle’s voice went softer. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”
Aleem’s gaze stayed forward.
“I know,” he said.
The simplicity startled her.
Isabelle looked at him. “Then why?”
Aleem’s answer came without drama.
“Because you’re my friend,” he said. “And because you asked for help.”
Isabelle blinked.
“I didn’t ask,” she whispered.
Aleem glanced at her.
His eyes were calm.
“Your voice message that day,” he said gently. “That was asking.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
She stared at her hands.
“I feel… pathetic,” she admitted.
Aleem’s brows drew together.
“Belle,” he said, voice low, “pathetic is someone who runs from responsibility. Not someone who breaks after carrying too much.”
Isabelle’s eyes stung.
Aleem continued.
“You loved someone. You planned a future. You were serious. That’s not pathetic.”
He paused.
Then added, quieter,
“That’s rare.”
Isabelle’s breath caught.
Rare.
The word landed like a hand on her shoulder.
Not pity.
Respect.
She didn’t know what to do with it.
They reached the crossing.
The pedestrian light was red.
They stopped.
Isabelle’s phone buzzed.
A message from her ex.
Her heart stopped.
Her fingers went numb.
She stared at the notification.
Just a few words:
Are you okay?
Isabelle’s throat closed.
All the rage.
All the longing.
All the humiliation.
It surged at once.
Her hands shook.
Aleem noticed.
He didn’t look at her screen.
He didn’t invade.
He simply asked, quietly,
“Do you want to ignore it?”
Isabelle blinked.
Aleem’s voice stayed calm.
“You don’t have to answer right now. You don’t have to answer at all.”
Isabelle stared at the message.
Her pulse hammered.
Are you okay?
Like a stranger.
Like someone who hadn’t shattered her.
Isabelle’s breath trembled.
She whispered, “I want to reply.”
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he said simply.
No judgment.
No control.
Just… permission.
Isabelle swallowed.
Her thumbs hovered.
Then she stopped.
Because Aleem had taught her something without ever saying it:
You don’t respond to pain just because it calls your name.
Isabelle locked her phone.
Her breath shook.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered.
Aleem didn’t look relieved.
He didn’t look proud.
He simply nodded.
“Okay,” he repeated.
The light turned green.
They crossed.
Isabelle’s heart was still pounding.
But as she walked, she realized something that startled her.
Aleem had been beside her the entire time.
He hadn’t tried to fix her.
He hadn’t tried to steer her.
He had just stood there–
steady–
while she chose.
And in that steadiness, Isabelle felt something shift.
A small, unfamiliar curiosity.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Just a thought that arrived softly, like snow landing on a glove:
If this is what he’s like as a friend…
Isabelle swallowed.
She didn’t finish the sentence.
She wasn’t allowed to.
Boundaries.
One step.
But the thought stayed.
Quiet.
Persistent.
And for the first time, Isabelle understood why her heart felt confused.
Because Aleem’s care wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t romantic.
It wasn’t trying to win.
It was respectful.
Intentional.
And somehow, that made it more dangerous than sweetness.
Because sweetness fades.
But respect–
respect makes you notice.