The Almost Confession
Chapter 2 – The Almost-Confession
There were two kinds of courage in Chen Wei.
The first kind was cheap.
It was the kind that jumped off drains into muddy water because someone dared him. The kind that rode his bicycle down a slope with no hands, the wind tearing at his school shirt, the road blurring into a thrill. The kind that snapped back at teachers when he was already in trouble, because if he was going to fall, he might as well fall with noise.
That courage came easily.
The second kind–the one that mattered–came with a cost.
It came in the quiet moments, when nobody was watching him, when he couldn’t hide behind laughter or annoyance, when the only audience was his own heart.
That courage did not feel like a thrill.
It felt like standing at the edge of something you couldn’t see the bottom of.
And in the year they turned eighteen–already in pre-university, already wearing a different kind of uniform that didn’t fit the way secondary school uniforms did–Chen Wei found himself circling that edge again and again.
Because Mei Xuan had changed.
Or maybe she hadn’t.
Maybe she was the same girl who scolded him for walking too fast, who stole his eraser and never apologized, who sat on porches during power outages and pretended she wasn’t scared.
But now, the world looked at her differently.
And worse–Chen Wei looked at her differently too.
It began with small betrayals.
A laugh that sounded too sweet.
A strand of hair that fell across her cheek and made his fingers itch.
The way she said his name when she was tired, softer than usual, without the usual sharpness.
Chen Wei.
Sometimes, in the middle of tuition classes, he would glance sideways and catch her scribbling notes with her brows drawn together, lips pursed in concentration, and something would squeeze tight inside his chest.
Not pain.
Not exactly.
More like a tenderness so sharp it scared him.
He told himself, It’s normal.
They had been a duo their whole lives.
Of course he felt protective.
Of course he noticed.
But it was hard to keep lying to himself when he started doing things he had never done before.
Like practicing sentences in the mirror.
Like searching online for “how to confess without ruining friendship” at two in the morning, the blue light of his phone painting his face tired and haunted.
Like buying a small gift–not expensive, nothing dramatic–just a simple silver bracelet from a pasar malam stall, the kind with a tiny dangling charm shaped like a crescent moon.
He bought it because it reminded him of her name.
Because Mei Xuan sounded like something that belonged under moonlight.
Because he was an idiot who had started attaching meaning to everything.
He kept the bracelet in his school bag for a week, then in his drawer, then under his pillow, as if keeping it close could make the courage grow.
Every time he touched the cool metal, his stomach flipped.
Every time he imagined handing it to her, his throat tightened.
The thing about the second kind of courage was that it was slow.
It had to be fed.
Their kampung was the same.
The roads still cracked in the same places, the drains still carried rainwater after storms, the kopitiam still smelled like coffee and fried noodles.
But Chen Wei’s world had shrunk.
It shrunk to results slips and tuition timetables, to university application forms and the looming question every adult asked them now.
“Want to study where?”
“What you want to be?”
“Got boyfriend/girlfriend already or not?”
The aunties still joked.
They joked louder now.
They teased Mei Xuan with a knowing smile, teased Chen Wei with a nudge to the ribs.
“Aiyo, you two still together ah.”
“Aiyo, next time wedding invite us okay.”
Mei Xuan would roll her eyes and say, “Auntie, you think wedding so easy ah? You sponsor first.”
Chen Wei would laugh and pretend the jokes didn’t land inside him like stones.
But they did.
Because the jokes weren’t just jokes anymore.
They were a future he wanted to reach for.
And wanting it made him restless.
Their friendship had always been loud, built on bickering and shared routines. It had never required words like “love.”
Now Chen Wei kept tripping over words he couldn’t say.
He started noticing how often Mei Xuan was tired.
Not just exam tired.
Life tired.
The kind of tired that lingered even when she smiled.
One evening, after a long day of classes, Mei Xuan walked home beside him under the fading orange light of a Malaysian sunset. Their shadows stretched long on the road.
Mei Xuan’s bag looked heavier than usual.
Chen Wei, without thinking, reached for it. “Give me.”
Mei Xuan jerked away. “Don’t touch my bag.”
Chen Wei blinked. “Why?”
Mei Xuan’s eyes flashed. “Later you drop. You clumsy.”
He snorted. “I’m not clumsy.”
Mei Xuan huffed and walked faster.
Chen Wei matched her pace easily–his legs longer, his steps more careless.
But there was something off in her energy. Her shoulders were tight. Her jaw set.
He waited until they were near the small surau, where the road curved and the trees grew closer, and then he asked quietly, “You okay or not?”
Mei Xuan’s step faltered.
For a moment, she didn’t answer.
Then she scoffed. “Why you suddenly act like you care?”
Chen Wei felt the usual urge to snap back.
But the second kind of courage tugged at him.
“I always care,” he said.
The words came out so plain, so honest, that it startled even him.
Mei Xuan looked at him.
Just looked.
Her eyes softened in a way that made Chen Wei’s stomach twist.
Then she looked away, as if the softness embarrassed her.
“Nothing la,” she muttered.
“Lie,” Chen Wei said.
Mei Xuan’s lips pressed together.
Chen Wei watched her swallow.
Then she said, not looking at him, “My mother keep asking me about… future. Like I must decide everything now. Study what, work what, marry who.”
Chen Wei’s chest tightened at the last part.
Mei Xuan continued, voice low. “Like I owe her a plan.”
Chen Wei didn’t know what to say.
He had never been good at comforting. His default mode was teasing, distracting.
But Mei Xuan didn’t need distraction.
She needed someone to stand beside her, steady.
So Chen Wei did the simplest thing.
He walked a little closer.
Not touching.
Just close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.
“You don’t owe anyone a plan,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s breathing hitched.
Chen Wei added, softer, “You only owe yourself… a life you can live.”
Mei Xuan glanced at him then, surprised.
“Wah,” she said. “Since when you talk like this?”
Chen Wei felt his face heat. “Don’t be annoying.”
Mei Xuan’s lips twitched.
She tried to hide it, but the smile escaped anyway.
It was small.
But it loosened something in Chen Wei’s chest.
He walked home with the feeling that maybe–just maybe–the second kind of courage was growing.
He chose his confession day like someone choosing a battlefield.
Not because he wanted drama.
Because he needed a place that belonged to them.
A place that felt like truth.
He chose the night market.
The pasar malam that came once every two weeks, setting up on a stretch of road near the community hall. Stalls lined up in messy rows–clothes, toys, cheap jewelry, grilled chicken, nasi lemak, bubble tea, fried mushrooms dusted with too much seasoning.
The air was always thick with smoke and sweetness.
The crowd was always too close.
And Mei Xuan always loved it.
She loved bargaining. She loved commenting on people’s outfits like she was a judge on a fashion show. She loved walking with a plastic cup of iced lemon tea in her hand like she owned the night.
Chen Wei loved watching her there.
Because in the chaos, she looked alive.
He planned it carefully.
He would walk with her like always.
He would tease her.
He would buy her something small, act casual.
Then, when they reached the end of the stalls–where the lights dimmed a little and the crowd thinned–he would stop.
He would say her name.
He would give her the bracelet.
He would tell her that she was more than his best friend.
He would tell her–finally–that he liked her.
Not in the childish way.
In the way that had grown steady over years.
He rehearsed the words until they felt worn.
Mei Xuan… I think I like you.
Too simple.
Mei Xuan… I’ve liked you for a long time.
Too heavy.
Mei Xuan… you know those aunties always joking? Maybe they not wrong.
Too embarrassing.
He settled on something honest.
Mei Xuan, I want to be more than friends. If you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. I just… I don’t want to keep lying.
When he practiced it in his head, his hands shook.
When he imagined her reaction, he felt sick.
But still.
He chose the day.
Because the longer he waited, the more it felt like the moment would rot inside him.
The pasar malam night arrived with humid heat.
Even after sunset, the air clung to skin like a second layer.
Chen Wei showered twice.
Not because he was sweaty.
Because he was nervous.
He stood in front of the mirror and tried to fix his hair, smoothing it down, then messing it up, then smoothing it again.
His mother walked past his room, paused, and raised an eyebrow.
“Why you keep looking at yourself?” she asked in Hokkien, suspicious.
Chen Wei snapped, “Nothing.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed.
Then she smiled–small, knowing.
Chen Wei felt a cold sweat.
“Aiyo,” his mother said, teasing. “Go pasar malam only, you style like want go wedding.”
Chen Wei groaned. “Ma–”
His mother waved him off. “Go la. Don’t come home too late. Later mosquito eat you.”
Chen Wei grabbed his wallet and his phone and, after hesitating, slipped the bracelet into his pocket.
The metal felt heavy against his thigh.
He crossed the wall like he had done since childhood.
Mei Xuan was waiting on her porch, hair tied half-up, half-down, wearing a simple blouse and jeans.
She looked… good.
Not dramatic.
Not glamorous.
Just good in the way that made Chen Wei’s lungs forget how to work.
“What you staring?” Mei Xuan demanded.
Chen Wei blinked, forcing himself to scowl. “Your face got something.”
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes. “Your mouth got something.”
Chen Wei grinned despite himself.
They walked to the pasar malam with their usual rhythm–arguing about whether satay was overpriced, whether bubble tea was worth it, whether a stall selling phone cases was ugly or not.
Mei Xuan kept bumping his shoulder when he teased her.
Chen Wei kept pretending it annoyed him.
Inside, his heart was beating like a drum.
Every time Mei Xuan laughed, he thought, Say it now.
Every time she looked at him, he thought, Say it now.
But courage was not a switch.
It was a climb.
He bought her lemon tea.
Mei Xuan squinted at the cup. “Why you buy for me?”
Chen Wei shrugged. “You always thirsty.”
Mei Xuan scoffed but took it.
He bought himself grilled squid.
Mei Xuan stole a piece.
“Eh,” Chen Wei protested.
Mei Xuan chewed, smug. “Sharing is caring.”
Chen Wei stared at her.
Mei Xuan raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Chen Wei swallowed. “Nothing.”
He thought, This is it. This is the last normal night.
When the night ended, when he told her, everything might change.
The thought made him dizzy.
They reached the end of the stalls.
The lights were fewer here.
The noise softer.
A line of trees bordered the road, their leaves rustling in the warm night air.
Chen Wei’s mouth went dry.
He stopped walking.
Mei Xuan took two steps before realizing he wasn’t beside her.
She turned back, impatient. “Oi, why you stop?”
Chen Wei’s fingers curled around the bracelet in his pocket.
The metal was cool.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
Her face was lit by a distant string of bulbs. Shadows softened her features. Her expression was annoyed, yes, but there was also something else.
Attention.
Like she was waiting.
Chen Wei’s throat tightened.
“Mei Xuan,” he said.
The way her name left his mouth sounded different.
Less teasing.
More… serious.
Mei Xuan blinked. “Why you suddenly call my full name?”
Chen Wei exhaled.
He reached into his pocket.
And then–
A group of classmates spilled into the end of the road, loud and laughing, voices crashing into the quiet like a wave.
“Eh! Mei Xuan!” someone shouted.
Mei Xuan’s head turned instinctively.
Chen Wei’s hand froze around the bracelet.
The group approached, girls and boys from their pre-U batch, some holding food, some holding drinks.
One of the girls–Jia Hui–looped her arm around Mei Xuan’s shoulders like she owned her.
“Wah, you two also here,” Jia Hui laughed, looking at Chen Wei with the casual familiarity of someone who had seen him around but never bothered to know him deeply.
Mei Xuan stiffened under Jia Hui’s arm.
Chen Wei noticed.
He always noticed.
Jia Hui leaned closer to Mei Xuan and whispered something.
Mei Xuan’s eyes flicked toward Chen Wei.
For a second, Chen Wei thought she looked… guilty.
Then she laughed, short and forced. “Aiyo, shut up la.”
Chen Wei’s heart sank.
The moment–his moment–had been interrupted.
He forced a smile. “You all enjoy la. I… I go find my mother.”
Mei Xuan frowned. “Huh? Why so sudden?”
Chen Wei shrugged, acting casual. “She ask me buy something.”
Mei Xuan looked like she wanted to argue, but Jia Hui tugged her away.
“Come, come,” Jia Hui said. “We go there talk.”
Mei Xuan let herself be pulled.
But before she turned fully, her eyes met Chen Wei’s again.
There was a question in them.
Or maybe Chen Wei imagined it.
He turned away before he could find out.
He walked fast.
So fast that his breath started to hurt.
He didn’t stop until the noise of the pasar malam was behind him.
Only then did he pull the bracelet out and stare at it under a streetlight.
The crescent charm swung slightly.
Chen Wei’s fingers trembled.
Not from fear.
From frustration.
From humiliation.
From the sudden realization that maybe he was a fool for thinking he could change what they were.
He stuffed the bracelet back into his pocket and went home.
Two days later, he tried again.
Not with a plan.
Just with desperation.
Mei Xuan and he stayed back after class to finish a group assignment. The school was quieter, the corridors empty, the air-conditioning turned off in half the rooms to save electricity.
They sat in the library, scribbling notes, sharing a single laptop.
Mei Xuan leaned in close sometimes, her shoulder brushing his.
Each time it happened, Chen Wei’s heart jolted.
He watched her lips move as she read something on the screen.
He thought, Say it now.
He couldn’t.
Not with the librarian nearby.
Not with the world still too close.
When they finally packed up, the sky outside was already turning dark.
The rain clouds were gathering, heavy and low.
Mei Xuan sighed. “Aiyo, sure rain.”
Chen Wei shrugged. “Then we run.”
Mei Xuan snorted. “You run. I walk.”
They walked out of the school gates together.
The first drops hit as they reached the covered walkway.
Malaysian rain didn’t start gently.
It arrived like a decision.
Within minutes, the world was soaked.
Mei Xuan stood under the shelter, watching the rain with annoyance.
Chen Wei stood beside her, feeling the old memory of candlelight and darkness rise like a ghost.
The air smelled like wet asphalt.
Mei Xuan hugged her bag closer.
Chen Wei swallowed.
He turned toward her.
“Mei Xuan,” he said.
She glanced at him, distracted. “What?”
Chen Wei’s fingers curled.
The second kind of courage pushed up from somewhere deep.
“I got something to tell you,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s eyes sharpened.
“Tell la,” she said, suddenly serious.
Chen Wei’s heart slammed.
He opened his mouth.
And then he heard voices.
Laughter.
Girls’ voices.
Mei Xuan’s friends were approaching from behind, also trapped by the rain.
Chen Wei’s stomach dropped.
Mei Xuan turned toward them automatically.
The moment cracked again.
Chen Wei felt something like fate mocking him.
He stepped back, jaw tight.
Mei Xuan noticed.
Her eyes flicked to him.
Then to her friends.
Then back.
It was like she was making a choice.
“Eh,” Mei Xuan said to her friends quickly. “You all go first la. I–”
Jia Hui interrupted, cheerful. “Eh Mei Xuan, we want talk about that thing!”
Mei Xuan’s face tightened.
Chen Wei caught it.
He always caught it.
Jia Hui leaned in, whispering loudly enough that Chen Wei could hear pieces.
“…last time you say you–”
Mei Xuan hissed. “Shut up la.”
Jia Hui laughed. “Aiyo, shy already?”
Mei Xuan’s eyes flashed with warning.
But Jia Hui didn’t stop.
And then, in a careless, laughing voice–
Jia Hui said, “Okay okay, we all know you like girls what.”
The world went quiet.
Not literally.
The rain still hammered the roof.
Students still moved around them.
But inside Chen Wei’s head, everything dropped into a sudden, hollow silence.
Mei Xuan froze.
Her face went pale.
Her eyes flicked toward Chen Wei–fast, sharp.
Like she had forgotten he was there.
Like she had been slapped by reality.
Chen Wei stood very still.
His body felt numb.
He heard the words again, echoing.
You like girls.
Mei Xuan’s friends giggled, covering their mouths.
One of them–Ying Ying–said, “Eh it’s okay la. 2020s already. People like what they like.”
Jia Hui elbowed Mei Xuan. “So got girlfriend already or not?”
Mei Xuan’s throat moved.
For a second, she looked like she wanted to disappear.
Then her spine straightened.
Her eyes hardened.
She pushed Jia Hui’s arm off her shoulder.
“Don’t talk like that,” she said, voice low.
Jia Hui blinked, surprised. “Aiyo, we just joking.”
Mei Xuan’s jaw clenched. “Not funny.”
The rain roared.
Mei Xuan’s friends exchanged awkward looks.
Ying Ying muttered, “Okay la, sorry.”
They backed away, suddenly unsure.
And then–like they were trying to repair it–Jia Hui laughed too loudly. “Eh Chen Wei, you don’t take it personally okay. Mei Xuan don’t like guys, not your fault.”
The words landed like a blade.
Chen Wei’s stomach turned.
Mei Xuan’s head snapped toward Jia Hui.
“Shut up,” Mei Xuan said.
Jia Hui raised her hands. “Okay okay. Chill.”
The girls slipped away, leaving Chen Wei and Mei Xuan under the shelter, alone with the rain.
Chen Wei couldn’t breathe properly.
He stared at the wet road.
Mei Xuan’s voice came quietly.
“Chen Wei…”
The way she said it–soft, careful–was like she was holding something fragile.
Chen Wei forced himself to look at her.
Her eyes were wide.
Not guilty.
Not mocking.
Just… afraid.
Afraid of what he would do with what he’d heard.
Chen Wei’s chest tightened.
He wanted to say something kind.
Something supportive.
He wanted to tell her it was okay.
He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to explain.
But his tongue felt heavy.
Because the truth inside him–the truth he had been feeding for years–was collapsing.
All his rehearsed sentences disintegrated.
All his hopes shattered quietly.
He realized, in one brutal, clean moment, that the version of the future he had been building in his mind… had never been possible.
Not because she didn’t like him.
Because she didn’t like what he was.
The second kind of courage in him turned sour.
He swallowed hard.
Mei Xuan watched him like she was waiting for a verdict.
Chen Wei forced his mouth into a shape that resembled a smile.
“Okay la,” he said.
His voice sounded wrong.
Mei Xuan frowned. “Okay what?”
Chen Wei’s hands trembled.
He shoved them into his pockets so she wouldn’t see.
“Okay,” he repeated. “I… I didn’t know. But it’s okay.”
Mei Xuan’s shoulders sagged with relief.
She exhaled shakily.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
Chen Wei flinched at the word.
“Why you sorry?” he asked too fast.
Mei Xuan swallowed. “Because… you were going to say something just now.”
Chen Wei’s heart stopped.
She had noticed.
Of course she had noticed.
Mei Xuan’s eyes searched his face.
Chen Wei felt exposed.
He wanted to deny.
He wanted to lie.
He wanted to say, I was just going to ask about assignment.
But the truth pressed against his ribs like it wanted to escape.
Mei Xuan’s voice came softer. “What were you going to tell me?”
Chen Wei stared at her.
The rain kept falling.
The world kept moving.
But for Chen Wei, time held its breath.
This was it.
The edge.
The second kind of courage.
He could jump.
He could confess anyway, even knowing the answer.
He could offer his heart just to have it handed back.
Or he could swallow it.
Hide it.
Protect what was left.
Chen Wei’s throat tightened.
He heard his own heartbeat.
He looked at Mei Xuan–at her anxious eyes, at the tension in her shoulders, at the way she was bracing for something.
And he understood.
She wasn’t asking because she wanted him to confess.
She was asking because she feared losing him.
Chen Wei’s chest ached.
He forced a laugh.
A cheap laugh.
The first kind of courage.
“Nothing la,” he said, too casually. “I wanted to tell you your face… got water.”
Mei Xuan blinked.
Then her expression twisted into irritation.
“Chen Wei!” she snapped, anger covering relief. “You think you very funny is it?”
Chen Wei shrugged, smiling like a fool. “A bit.”
Mei Xuan punched his arm.
Hard.
Chen Wei hissed. “Wah, you want kill me ah.”
Mei Xuan glared. “Next time don’t suddenly act serious. Scare people.”
Chen Wei nodded like it was nothing.
Inside, something was bleeding.
The rain eased slightly.
Mei Xuan sighed. “Okay la. We go now before rain again.”
Chen Wei nodded.
They ran through the rain together, laughing, pretending.
Mei Xuan’s laughter was real.
Chen Wei’s laughter tasted like salt.
That night, Chen Wei lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.
The bracelet was in his palm.
The crescent charm pressed into his skin.
He rolled it between his fingers until it warmed.
He replayed the moment again and again.
You like girls.
He thought about Mei Xuan’s face.
Her fear.
Her relief.
The way she had asked him what he wanted to say.
The way he had lied.
A part of him was ashamed.
A part of him was angry.
Not at her.
Never at her.
At himself–for wanting something that couldn’t exist.
At the world–for making love feel like a trap.
At fate–for dangling her in front of him his whole life.
He shut his eyes.
Tried to breathe.
His chest hurt.
He told himself, It’s fine. You can still be her best friend.
But the thought felt wrong.
Because how could he sit beside her in candlelight now, knowing it meant nothing more?
How could he watch her fall in love with someone else–some girl–knowing he could never be what she wanted?
The question curled inside him like a thorn.
He remembered the aunties’ jokes.
The imagined wedding.
The future he had been building.
He felt it collapse.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Like a house being dismantled from the inside.
Chen Wei turned on his side.
The bracelet lay on the pillow beside him like an accusation.
He stared at it until his eyes burned.
Then, with hands that trembled, he slid it into the bottom drawer of his desk.
He shut the drawer.
The click sounded final.
In the darkness, Chen Wei made a decision.
Not a dramatic one.
Not yet.
Just a small, bitter promise.
If he couldn’t be loved the way he was…
Then he would learn how to stop wanting.
He didn’t know, then, how impossible that promise was.
Or how it would plant the seed of a different kind of desire–one that would one day split his life open.
For now, all he knew was that the second kind of courage had failed him.
And the cost of that failure would not be paid all at once.
It would be paid slowly.
In distance.
In silence.
In the quiet, deliberate act of walking away from the girl who had been his whole world.