Chapter 8 - A Brave Mistake
Chapter 8: A Brave Mistake
(Two years later, Valentine’s Day.)
Aleem’s heart raced uncontrollably as he stood in front of the quiet park bench, gripping a small bouquet of daisies—her favourite flowers—in his trembling hand. It had taken him two years to summon the courage, two years to finally accept that friendship alone wasn’t enough.
He took a deep, steadying breath as he spotted her approaching. Shei Er walked towards him, bundled lightly against the evening chill, eyes sparkling with curiosity and amusement.
“You’re being suspiciously secretive today, Aleem,” she teased gently, stopping in front of him, her gaze falling briefly onto the flowers he held.
He smiled nervously, heart hammering. “I… I have something important to tell you, Xue Er.”
Her eyes softened gently at his tone. “Alright, I’m listening.”
Aleem swallowed hard, steadying his voice. “These past two years, getting to know you, becoming your friend, has meant everything to me. But the truth is—I’ve felt more than friendship for a long time now. I like you, Xue Er. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”
The gentle breeze carried his words away softly, yet they lingered heavily in the air between them. For a painful moment, silence hung there.
Finally, she spoke, voice soft, pained, trembling. “Aleem… I—I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied quickly, sensing her hesitation. “I just needed you to know.”
She looked away, eyes shimmering softly with regret. “Aleem, you’re one of my best friends. But you know the reality. Our differences, our families—I don’t want to hurt you. But we can’t.”
His heart sank painfully, his throat tightening. He had known this rejection was possible—even likely—but hearing it still hurt deeply.
He forced a gentle smile, masking his disappointment. “I understand. Really. Friendship matters more, anyway.”
She stepped closer, gently placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “Aleem, I’m so sorry—”
He shook his head gently, smiling softly, hiding the ache. “No apologies. Let’s forget I said anything, alright? I’d rather have you as my friend than lose you completely.”
Her eyes filled quietly with sadness, but she nodded softly. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” he lied gently, smiling bravely despite the sharp pain piercing his chest.
That night, alone in his room, Aleem finally allowed himself to break. He buried his face into his pillow, tears stinging his eyes, his heart raw from rejection. Memories of his past failures flooded back, whispering bitter reminders of inadequacy, fuelling quiet self-doubt.
Why am I never good enough? he wondered bitterly. Was I foolish to even hope?
Sleep eluded him, and his self-doubt intensified. Yet, as dawn broke softly through the window, he resolved quietly:
I’ll pretend it never happened. I’ll protect this friendship—no matter how much it hurts.
Days passed, and true to his promise, Aleem treated Shei Er exactly as before. He greeted her cheerfully, laughed easily at her jokes, offered gentle reassurance whenever she looked stressed. No one could tell how deeply he hurt inside, how his heart quietly struggled with every interaction.
Yet beneath his smiles lay constant, hidden turmoil. Every friendly glance from her became quietly painful. But he was determined. He couldn’t risk losing her entirely.
Their colleagues remained blissfully unaware, joking casually about how close Aleem and Shei Er seemed, innocently teasing without realising the hidden pain their words caused.
It was during a quiet one-on-one with Darren, months after his confession, that Aleem let slip a small fraction of his internal struggle.
“You alright, Aleem?” Darren asked kindly, sensing quiet tension. “You seem distracted lately.”
Aleem hesitated, quietly choosing his words carefully. “Just… personal stuff. Love can be complicated, boss.”
Darren studied him gently, eyes softening knowingly. “It’s tough, I understand. But pretending pain doesn’t exist won’t heal it.”
Aleem sighed softly, looking away. “I know. But sometimes it’s easier.”
Darren nodded quietly. “Just be careful. Denying feelings too long is exhausting.”
Aleem carried Darren’s advice quietly with him, aware yet unable to change course. Months passed, and though he smiled outwardly, his heart quietly wrestled, trapped between friendship and love. But he held on stubbornly, convinced eventually the ache would lessen, the wounds would heal.
Then came that fateful dinner, one evening nearly a year after his confession. He stood nervously in the lift lobby with Pei Ying and Shei Er, another casual dinner among friends. Aleem had learned to carefully guard his heart, accustomed now to masking pain behind easy smiles.
Yet when their other colleagues appeared—Yuen Wah, Yong Sheng, Xavier—their teasing reignited the ache in Aleem’s chest.
It was then, unexpectedly, that something changed.
Shei Er suddenly reached out, grasping his hand, pulling him gently away from the teasing colleagues, as though sensing his hidden turmoil, protecting him quietly from further discomfort. Her warmth, her sudden tenderness, surprised him. She had held his hand before, casually—but tonight, her fingers felt quietly different, protective, almost possessive.
Then, impulsively, she kissed the back of his hand softly, innocently, yet intimately—leaving both stunned, silent.
She quickly deflected, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s a habit—my mum always does that.”
He gently challenged her, voice quietly earnest, heart racing gently. “Friends don’t usually kiss hands, Xue Er.”
She laughed nervously, eyes downcast. “It’s not like you’re gonna marry me anyway.”
And there, quietly, gently, despite months of cautious denial, Aleem’s heart couldn’t suppress itself any longer.
“I would marry you. If you said yes, I’d marry you without hesitation.”
His quiet declaration hung softly between them, sincere, unguarded, brave. For the first time, Aleem openly admitted his feelings again—not impulsively this time, but courageously honest.
Later, alone in bed, he quietly reflected, heart trembling gently.
He had pretended long enough. Maybe Darren was right—denial had exhausted him. Friendship alone wasn’t enough; it never had been.
Though his heart feared rejection again, he resolved quietly, bravely: this time, he wouldn’t run. He would wait patiently, respectfully, but no longer hide the truth from himself or her.
Because beneath fear, uncertainty, pain—love remained quietly persistent.
“One step at a time,” he whispered softly into the night, finally accepting that pretending never healed wounds; honesty did.
Quietly, bravely, he allowed himself to hope once more.