Chapter 11 - The Uninvited Echo

Chapter 11: The Uninvited Echo

It had been weeks since Johor Bahru.

Aleem hadn’t said much to the others about Hana. Not yet. But something had softened in him. The bitterness that once coloured his words was fading. He laughed more easily now. Stayed a little longer after badminton. Even picked up journaling again — though he would deny it if anyone asked.

And every now and then, he would message Hana.

Nothing flirtatious. Just… conversations.

Thoughtful check-ins. Links to articles she might enjoy. A shared Spotify playlist that kept growing — one song at a time.

There was no pressure. No expectations.

It was peaceful.
And peace, to Aleem, felt new. Scary, even.

Because part of him didn’t trust it.

He was alone in his room one night, headphones on, rereading old notes for an upcoming project — when her name popped up on his screen.

The Ex.

A notification.

A message he hadn’t expected.
Not now. Not ever.

Hey. It’s been a while…

He stared at it.

The words were harmless. Soft. Even polite.

But they carried weight.
Because this wasn’t just any girl.
This was her — the one who taught him what it meant to break quietly.

They had met during national service.

She was witty. Sharp. The kind of girl who made you feel lucky just to be in the same room. Aleem fell hard. Gave her everything — attention, time, vulnerability. It wasn’t perfect, but he believed in it. Believed that if he loved her enough, she’d stay.

She didn’t.

She chose someone else. Quietly. Without warning.
And when Aleem found out — through whispers, not confession — he broke.

Not with anger. Not even with confrontation.

Just silence.

And that night, for the first time in his life, he cried over a relationship.

Not because she left — but because she never really chose him to begin with.

Now, years later, her message sat there like a loaded question.

What did she want?

He didn’t reply that night.

Instead, he stared at the ceiling and felt that old ache rise again — the one he thought Hana had slowly been soothing.

Was it my fault?
Did I not do enough?
What if I’m still not enough, even now?

The next day, he met Crystal for coffee. Just the two of them. No badminton. No ABIX.

He didn’t speak right away. She waited.

Finally, he said it: “She messaged me.”

Crystal didn’t ask who. She already knew.

“Do you want to reply?” she asked gently.

“I don’t know.”
His voice was tired.
“I thought I moved on. I want to believe I did. But her name still does something to me.”

Crystal looked at him — eyes steady, voice calm.
“That’s okay. It means you felt deeply. That’s not a weakness.”

He looked down. “But I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“That this peace I’m building… is fragile. That I’m not allowed to keep it.”

Crystal reached over, touched his hand. “You are. And maybe this time, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

That night, he typed out a reply.

Then deleted it.

Instead, he opened the shared playlist with Hana. Added a song — mellow, reflective.
He didn’t message her about it.

But he hoped she’d notice.

Because maybe peace wasn’t a place.
Maybe it was a person — someone who reminded you that you were already whole before the hurt ever happened.

And Hana?
She hadn’t saved him.

But she was slowly helping him believe he deserved to be saved.