Chapter 8 - Somewhere Soft Again

Chapter 8: Somewhere Soft Again

The thing about healing is that it’s not linear.

Some days, Aleem was fine. Laughing with the group. Making sarcastic comments. Running drills in badminton like the world hadn’t once collapsed under him in the middle of Universal Studios.

Other days, it crept back in quietly — a photo, a song, a memory he didn’t ask for. He never brought her up anymore. Didn’t need to. The silence around her name was enough.

But lately… something had shifted.

He didn’t know when it started. Maybe it was watching Isabelle settle into her soft joy. Or Crystal’s fire turning warm instead of defensive. Or maybe it was Ivan, speaking less in philosophy and more in quiet conviction.

Whatever it was — it was working its way through the cracks in his wall.

It was a random Thursday evening.

He stayed back alone after badminton to help the instructor pack up. Not out of obligation. Just… to linger.

As he bent to gather shuttlecocks, someone from another court called out to him.

“Hey, thanks for helping with the stray ones!” she said, jogging over. She was in a different class — someone he’d seen once or twice but never spoken to.

He gave a small wave. “No problem. You all played late today.”

She nodded. “Yeah, couldn’t book another time. It’s my stress relief.”

He smiled. “Badminton as therapy. Valid.”

They chatted briefly. Nothing flirty, nothing forced. Just two people who happened to be the last ones on court.

Then she said something that stuck.

“You’ve got a calm energy,” she remarked. “It’s nice. You don’t rush to fill the silence.”

He chuckled. “That’s a fancy way of saying I’m quiet.”

“No, not quiet. Present.”

And with that, she left — waving as she joined her friends at the stairs.

Aleem stood still for a moment.

Present.

It had been a long time since anyone described him as that. For so long, he was either chasing or recovering. Living in the “what ifs,” or the aftermath.

But now… maybe he was finally here.

That night, he didn’t overthink it.

Didn’t frame the encounter as fate. Didn’t romanticize it.

But he did write about it — a habit he picked up recently, journaling not for answers, but for honesty.

Maybe I’m not afraid of love. Maybe I’m afraid of what I become when I’m trying to earn it.

But tonight, I felt like myself again. No masks. No expectations.

If love comes again — I want it to find me like this. Quiet. Present. Whole.

Across campus, the ABIX group chat was buzzing with memes and supper plans.

He smiled as he typed a reply. Nothing deep. Just a dumb joke.

But it felt easy again.

Like he was no longer just catching up to everyone else’s happiness.
He was learning how to find his own.