Chapter 36 - When He Let Me In

Chapter 36: When He Let Me In

It didn’t happen with tears.

It didn’t happen with a meltdown.

It happened with a message.

You free to talk tonight? Just want to clear my head a bit.

She read it twice.

Aleem didn’t do “clear my head”. Not with people.

He analyzed things alone. He solved quietly. He thought through emotions like they were circuits to be rewired.

But this time, he messaged her.

They met at a park near her place — the one with too few lights and just enough breeze. No coffee shop. No food to distract. Just a bench, and the night, and whatever was on his mind.

He didn’t say much at first.

Just sat down beside her. Close enough to feel safe, not enough to be dramatic.

Then, softly:

“I don’t know if I’m tired or just… stretched too thin.”

She didn’t jump in.

Didn’t say “What happened?” or “Let’s fix it.”

She waited.

He continued.

“I’ve been showing up for everyone. Work. Friends. Family. Even the group chat needs a version of me that’s… together. And I don’t mind. I love them. I really do. But lately…”

He trailed off.

She let the silence sit for a moment.

Then said, gently, “And lately you wonder who’s showing up for you.”

He turned to her.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t deflect.

He just said, “Yeah.”

She didn’t hold his hand.

She just leaned slightly — shoulder to shoulder.

“I can’t solve it for you,” she said. “But I can hold the pieces with you. For a while. If you want.”

He exhaled. Not sharply. Just… released something.

“You make it feel like I don’t have to be anything else.”

“You don’t.”

They sat for over an hour.

He didn’t unload everything. Just fragments. Half-finished thoughts. Frustrations with things he didn’t know how to name.

She didn’t organize his words.
She didn’t try to give them a shape.
She just made space.

And that was enough.

Later, when they walked to the bus stop, he turned to her.

“Thanks for not asking me to explain everything.”

She smiled.

“I don’t need your clarity to give you care.”

That night, Hana lay in bed, phone in hand, screen dim.

She didn’t text anyone. Didn’t post.

But she opened her journal and wrote:

Today, he leaned.
Not because he was breaking, but because he let himself be held.
And that’s when I knew — I wasn’t just a chapter in his story. I was a page he trusted to write on.
Softly. With him. Not for him.