Chapter 7 - c

Chapter 7: The Constant

Ivan didn’t talk much about his relationship.
Not because he was hiding anything.
He just didn’t see the point of narrating what was already known.

They met when they were sixteen. A quiet school library. Same study group. She borrowed his mechanical pencil and forgot to return it. He didn’t mind. She returned it a week later — with a replacement pack, and a note:

You seemed like the kind of person who notices small things.

She wasn’t wrong.

That was how they began.
Not with fireworks.
Just a series of quiet gestures that never needed to be explained.

They stayed together through O-levels, polytechnic, and now university. Different schools. Different faculties. Different rhythms. But always choosing to stay.

She didn’t need him to text good morning. He did anyway.
He didn’t need her to update him on every detail of her day. But when she did, he read it twice. Just to make sure he caught everything she wasn’t saying out loud.

They fought, sometimes. But not to win.
Their arguments were rarely loud — more like negotiations.
And Ivan, ever the INTJ, approached them like puzzles to solve, not problems to bury.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was honest.

The ABIX crew noticed her through photos at first. Ivan rarely mentioned her unless prompted.

Isabelle once asked, gently, “How did you know she was the one?”

Ivan thought for a moment, chopsticks pausing mid-air.
“I don’t think it’s about knowing from the start. I think it’s about seeing each other clearly, and choosing again — every day.”

Crystal smiled at that. “That’s oddly romantic coming from you.”

He shrugged. “I’m not a romantic. I’m just… consistent.”

They met up once a week. Friday evenings, without fail. No excuses, no forgotten appointments. If something came up, they communicated early. Planned alternatives. Respected each other’s time and space.

And when they were together, they didn’t rush to fill the silence.

Sometimes, they read side by side in cafés.
Other times, they walked in comfortable quiet, only speaking when something was worth saying.

She never asked him to be someone he wasn’t.
He never tried to change her pace.

There was peace in the predictability.

But even Ivan noticed how things around him were shifting.

Crystal was glowing again, her walls lowered.
Isabelle smiled more these days, eyes lingering on her phone just a little longer.
Even Aleem — the ever-pragmatic, once-jaded Aleem — was beginning to watch.

Not out of envy. Not bitterness.

But with a kind of quiet curiosity. Like someone standing in a corridor, finally ready to reach for a doorknob he once swore he’d never touch again.

And Ivan saw it.

Noticed the way Aleem’s laughter returned — slower, more cautious, but real.
The way he asked more questions now — not about work, but about people.

One night, as they were packing up after badminton, Ivan walked beside Aleem toward the exit. He said nothing for a while.

Then, quietly:
“You’re not behind. Just healing.”

Aleem blinked. “Was I that obvious?”

“Not really,” Ivan said. “But I’ve known you long enough to read between your silences.”

Aleem smiled, tired but thankful. “You INTJs are something else.”

Ivan shrugged. “We just listen differently.”