Months Later, Lighter
Chapter 7 – Months Later, Lighter
By the third month, Isabelle stopped waking up at 3 AM every night.
It still happened sometimes.
But now it was like a storm that visited, not a storm that lived in her.
She learned to recognize the early signs.
The way her chest felt too tight.
The way certain songs made her throat close.
The way she could walk past a jewelry shop without freezing–most days.
She learned to breathe through it.
In.
Out.
And when it got heavy, she didn’t spiral into silence anymore.
She sent a dot.
Or she called Crystal.
Or she met Ivan for lunch even though he insisted he wasn’t good at “emotional support.”
Or she sat in a quiet corridor outside a surau and let the world soften.
She didn’t tell anyone about the surau corridor.
Not even Crystal.
Not because she was hiding something.
Because it was hers.
A small, private pocket of calm she didn’t know how to explain.
One Saturday, ABIX met for brunch.
It was supposed to be casual.
It turned into an intervention.
Crystal came in with her phone held up like evidence.
“I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT,” she declared loudly, ignoring the people around them.
Ivan groaned. “Not this again.”
Aleem blinked. “What announcement?”
Crystal slammed her phone onto the table.
On the screen was a photo.
A snowy landscape.
A wooden café with steam rising from the roof.
A caption:
Hokkaido – Winter wonderland.
Isabelle’s stomach did something strange.
Not fear.
Not pain.
Just… a quiet ache.
A longing that wasn’t about her ex.
A longing for distance.
For a new sky.
For cold air.
Crystal leaned in, eyes shining.
“We’re going,” she said.
Ivan’s brows furrowed. “Who is ‘we’?”
“WE,” Crystal repeated, pointing dramatically at each of them. “ABIX. Hokkaido. Winter. Healing. Group trip.”
Ivan stared. “This is not a group therapy session.”
Crystal gasped. “Everything is a group therapy session if you’re emotionally intelligent.”
Ivan muttered, “Then I’m doomed.”
Aleem’s eyes flicked to Isabelle.
He didn’t look excited.
He looked careful.
Like he was checking if this would break her.
Isabelle noticed the look.
And for once, it didn’t make her feel fragile.
It made her feel… cared for.
Isabelle swallowed.
“I don’t know,” she said softly.
Crystal’s face fell immediately. “Belle…”
Isabelle rushed to explain.
“I want to,” she said quickly. “I do. But… I’m scared.”
The words surprised her.
Because admitting fear out loud meant she was no longer pretending she didn’t have it.
Crystal reached for her hand.
“Scared of what?” she asked.
Isabelle stared at her fingers.
Scared of seeing couples in the snow.
Scared of being reminded.
Scared of airports.
Airports were where people left.
Airports were where futures broke.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
“I don’t want to ruin the trip,” she whispered.
Ivan’s voice came, unexpectedly gentle.
“You won’t,” he said.
Crystal nodded fiercely. “You won’t. We’ll ruin it ourselves if needed.”
Isabelle huffed out a laugh.
Aleem spoke then.
Quiet.
Calm.
“We can plan it properly,” he said. “Not rushed. We make sure there’s rest days. Not too packed. If you feel overwhelmed, we slow down.”
Isabelle looked at him.
The way he said it–like it was a given that her needs mattered–made her chest tighten.
Aleem added, gently,
“And if you decide not to go, it’s okay.”
Crystal glared at him. “Don’t give her an exit.”
Aleem blinked. “Why?”
“Because she’ll take it.”
Isabelle’s cheeks warmed.
Aleem looked at Isabelle again.
His eyes were steady.
“Belle,” he said softly, “it’s your choice. I don’t want you to go because we pressure you. I want you to go because you want to live again.”
The sentence sat in Isabelle’s chest like a weight.
Live again.
She swallowed.
“I do want to,” she whispered.
Crystal clapped. “DONE. WE’RE GOING.”
Ivan sighed like a man surrendering to fate. “I hate all of you.”
Crystal leaned in. “No you don’t. You love us.”
Ivan muttered, “Unfortunately.”
Isabelle’s laughter came easier this time.
And for a moment–just a moment–she felt light.
Planning became its own kind of therapy.
Crystal made a shared Google Sheet.
Naturally.
She color-coded everything.
Naturally.
Ivan criticized the budget.
Naturally.
Aleem built the itinerary with the calm efficiency of someone who could plan a war.
Isabelle watched them bicker over train timings and ramen shops.
She contributed little at first.
Then, slowly, she began to care.
She suggested a café she saw on TikTok.
Crystal squealed.
Ivan complained.
Aleem added it to the itinerary.
Just like that.
Isabelle’s suggestion became real.
A small thing.
But it felt… powerful.
Because she hadn’t planned anything for herself in months.
She had only planned futures for someone else.
Now she was planning a trip.
For herself.
For her friends.
For a version of her life that still existed.
On one of their planning nights, Isabelle stayed behind after Crystal and Ivan left.
They were at Aleem’s place–nothing fancy, just a clean living room, prayer mat folded neatly in a corner, a Quran on a shelf like it belonged there the way a family photo did.
Crystal had raided his fridge.
Ivan had complained about it.
Then they both left, arguing about whether hotpot in Hokkaido was “worth it.”
Now it was quiet.
Isabelle sat on Aleem’s couch, laptop open, itinerary still on the screen.
Aleem stood by the kitchen, pouring water.
Isabelle watched him.
The three months hadn’t changed his face.
But they had changed how she saw him.
Not romantically.
Not yet.
But… clearly.
Aleem was the kind of person who asked permission before leaving for prayer.
The kind of person who held her wrist only after asking.
The kind of person who offered dates instead of platitudes.
The kind of person who set boundaries to protect her dignity.
The kind of person who stayed.
Not forever.
Not as a promise.
But as a fact.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Aleem returned with a glass of water and placed it on the table.
“You okay?” he asked.
Isabelle nodded, then hesitated.
“Aleem,” she said.
He looked at her.
Isabelle’s voice was careful.
“Do you think… I’m getting better?”
The question came out smaller than she intended.
Like she was asking permission to heal.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
Isabelle blinked.
Aleem continued.
“You still have bad days,” he said. “But you’re not drowning all the time anymore. You’re… floating.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Floating.
It sounded stupid.
But it felt true.
Isabelle swallowed.
“What if I fall again?” she whispered.
Aleem’s answer came quietly.
“Then we catch you again,” he said.
Isabelle stared.
He said we.
Not I.
ABIX.
Family.
A net.
Isabelle’s eyes stung.
She looked down quickly.
“I don’t want to be weak,” she murmured.
Aleem’s brows knit.
“Belle,” he said, voice low, “weak is pretending you’re fine when you’re not. You didn’t pretend. You asked for help. That’s strength.”
Isabelle’s breath shook.
She nodded.
A quiet thought surfaced–dangerous, uninvited.
If I had met someone like you first…
Isabelle swallowed hard.
She pushed it away.
Boundaries.
Friendship.
Still.
Aleem shifted, glancing at his watch.
“Maghrib soon,” he said.
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
She nodded.
Aleem hesitated.
Then, like he had at lunch that day weeks ago, he asked softly,
“You okay if I pray?”
Isabelle stared.
He was asking again.
For something that was his.
Her throat tightened.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course.”
Aleem nodded.
He moved to the corner of the living room, unfolded the prayer mat.
Isabelle stayed on the couch.
Quiet.
Watching.
Aleem stood.
His movements were deliberate.
Calm.
As if each motion returned him to a center point.
Isabelle didn’t understand the words.
But she understood the feeling.
The room softened.
The air felt… gentler.
And in that quiet, Isabelle realized something that scared her a little.
The peace she felt wasn’t just because Aleem was there.
It was because of what he was connected to.
Something bigger.
Something steady.
Something she had never relied on in the way he did.
When Aleem finished, he sat back on his heels for a moment.
Then he folded the mat away.
He turned to Isabelle.
“You okay?” he asked, like it was always the most important question.
Isabelle swallowed.
Her voice came out softer than she expected.
“I feel… calm,” she admitted.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
He nodded.
“Good,” he said.
The word sounded like an answer to a prayer Isabelle didn’t know she was making.
Later that night, Isabelle went home and lay in bed.
She opened her phone.
Scrolled.
Saw photos of Hokkaido–snow, cafés, mountains.
Then she saw her old wedding folder.
Her chest tightened.
She hovered over it.
Then, slowly, she moved it into an archive folder.
Not deleted.
Not erased.
Just… placed away.
A quiet acceptance.
Isabelle stared at the screen.
She whispered into the darkness,
“Okay.”
A word that wasn’t defeat.
A word that was release.
Outside, Singapore was humid and loud.
But inside Isabelle’s chest, something had shifted.
Not happiness.
Not yet.
But lighter.
And in the background of her healing–
like a steady rhythm she couldn’t ignore–
was the image of Aleem in prayer.
Quiet.
Devoted.
A calm she couldn’t explain.
And a curiosity she could no longer fully silence.