Private Rules
Chapter 6 – Private Rules
Saturday arrived like an ambush.
By 9:03am, the episode was already everywhere.
Not on television.
On phones.
On laptops.
On office pantry screens where someone had AirPlayed it like it was a sports match.
Suyin woke to her phone vibrating itself into exhaustion.
The screen lit her dark room in stuttering flashes.
Mentions.
Tags.
A dozen messages from friends.
One from her cousin:
EH YOU REALLY GOT WITH ADAM LIM AH??
Suyin stared at the ceiling for a moment.
She let herself breathe.
She remembered the prata shop.
The clink of cups.
Two phones turned face down.
Rules.
She reached for her phone, not to scroll.
To check.
Adam.
Their agreement, unspoken but real: if it’s too much, you say.
She opened their chat.
A new message, sent at 8:47am.
Episode out. You alive?
Suyin’s chest loosened a fraction.
Alive.
Not trending.
Not shipped.
Alive.
She typed back.
Alive. Barely. You?
She hit send and forced herself to place the phone down.
Face down.
Like last night.
A small act of discipline.
She got up, washed her face, tied her hair. She made coffee even though her stomach felt like a knot.
She tried to eat toast.
The toast tasted like nothing.
Outside her window, the sky was bright.
No rain.
As if the weather was mocking her.
At 10:12am, her phone buzzed again.
She flipped it over.
Adam.
I’m alive. My group chats want me dead.
Suyin snorted.
She typed.
Same. My dad is watching in silence. That’s worse.
A pause.
Then his reply.
Oh no. Silent dad is final boss.
Suyin laughed, and the knot in her stomach loosened slightly.
Then another message arrived.
You want to do a call later? Just to… debrief.
Debrief.
Like a mission.
Like survival.
Yet her chest warmed.
Because calling meant hearing a real voice.
Not edited.
Not captioned.
Not turned into proof.
She typed.
Okay. After lunch. 2pm?
His reply came quickly.
Deal. And don’t scroll.
Suyin stared at that line.
The same line he had told her under the walkway.
The same line he had texted.
It shouldn’t have made her feel protected.
But it did.
She typed back.
Yes sir.
He replied with a single emoji.
A tissue.
Suyin rolled her eyes, smiling.
At exactly 2:00pm, her phone rang.
Adam.
She answered.
“Hello?”
His voice came through, warm and slightly breathless, like he had been moving around.
“Hi,” he said.
Suyin leaned back on her sofa.
“Hi,” she echoed.
There was a pause.
Not awkward.
Just… real.
They were two people on a call, not a storyline.
Adam exhaled.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
Suyin stared at the sunlight spilling across her floor.
“It’s… loud,” she admitted.
Adam hummed.
“Yeah,” he said. “Same.”
Suyin could hear faint sounds on his side–maybe traffic, maybe a fan.
“You at home?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Adam replied. “I tried to hide, but my neighbour auntie saw me downstairs. She said, ‘Eh Adam, your girlfriend very pretty ah.’”
Suyin laughed.
“What did you say?”
Adam sighed.
“I said ‘Auntie, she’s my teammate.’ Auntie said, ‘Teammate also can become wife.’”
Suyin covered her mouth, laughing harder.
Singapore aunties were undefeated.
Adam’s laughter joined hers.
For a moment, the noise of the internet disappeared.
Just two voices.
Then Adam’s tone shifted.
“Okay,” he said. “Serious.”
Suyin’s laughter faded.
“Okay,” she replied.
Adam hesitated.
“I watched the episode,” he said.
Suyin’s heart stuttered.
“I did too,” she admitted.
Adam’s voice turned dry.
“They cut me like I’m in love,” he said.
Suyin’s breath caught.
Adam continued quickly.
“And they cut you like you’re… like you’re chasing me.”
Suyin closed her eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Adam’s voice softened.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Suyin swallowed.
“It’s not your fault,” she murmured.
Adam hummed again.
“But it affects you,” he said.
Suyin’s fingers curled around the edge of her cushion.
“It does,” she admitted.
A pause.
Then Adam said,
“Okay. Then we make our own rules.”
Suyin blinked.
“Our own rules?”
Adam’s voice turned practical, like he was planning a shoot.
“Private rules,” he said. “Not agency rules. Not production rules. Our rules.”
Suyin’s chest tightened.
“Okay,” she said.
Adam took a breath.
“Rule one,” he said. “We keep our communication direct. No guessing. If you’re uncomfortable, you tell me.”
Suyin nodded, even though he couldn’t see.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“Rule two,” Adam continued. “We don’t meet in places that can become proof easily. No obvious spots. No same hoodie, no same tote bag.”
Suyin snorted.
“Are you scolding me?”
Adam sounded amused.
“I’m scolding the internet,” he said. “They can identify you from a shoelace.”
Suyin laughed softly.
“Okay,” she said. “Rule two accepted.”
“Rule three,” Adam said, voice slowing.
Suyin waited.
“This is the important one,” he said.
Suyin’s throat tightened.
“Okay.”
Adam exhaled.
“Rule three: we don’t let them push us faster than we want,” he said quietly.
Suyin went still.
Adam continued.
“They want us to be a story,” he said. “But we are not obligated to… become anything on their timeline.”
Suyin’s chest ached.
He was saying it like a warning.
But also like a possibility.
We are not obligated.
We.
Together.
Suyin swallowed.
“What if,” she asked softly, “I already started feeling something?”
The line went quiet.
Suyin immediately regretted it.
It had slipped out.
Too honest.
Too exposed.
She opened her mouth to backtrack.
“I mean–”
But Adam spoke first.
His voice was low.
Careful.
“Suyin,” he said.
Her name sounded different in his mouth.
Not a celebrity name.
A person.
She held her breath.
Adam continued.
“I can’t,” he said slowly, “promise you anything dramatic.”
Suyin’s chest tightened.
“But,” he added, “I also can’t pretend I feel nothing.”
Suyin’s breath left her in a shaky exhale.
Her eyes stung.
Not because it was romantic.
Because it was honest.
Adam’s voice softened.
“I like talking to you,” he said. “I like when you laugh like you’re not trying to be perfect. I like…”
He stopped.
Suyin waited.
Adam cleared his throat.
“I like being normal with you,” he finished.
Suyin closed her eyes.
Normal.
Yes.
That was the part she wanted too.
Not the viral version.
Not the ship.
Just the human.
She swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Adam let out a breath.
“So,” he said briskly, returning to safety, “rule four: we keep it small.”
Suyin blinked.
“Small?”
Adam’s voice shifted into humour.
“Singapore small enough already,” he said. “We keep our feelings… small. So they don’t explode.”
Suyin laughed through her tight throat.
“You can control feelings meh?” she teased.
Adam sighed dramatically.
“No,” he admitted. “But I can try.”
Suyin smiled.
Her chest still ached.
But it was a warmer ache.
A livable one.
After the call, the day softened.
Not because the internet shut up.
But because she had something real to hold.
A conversation.
A set of private rules.
A man who wasn’t letting the story swallow her alone.
Her phone still buzzed.
Her friends still sent screenshots.
Her cousin still spammed her with emojis.
But she didn’t open the apps.
She made lunch.
She washed dishes.
She called her mother and promised dinner next week.
She pretended to be normal.
At 6:19pm, a new message came from Adam.
Rule two reminder: don’t wear the same tote bag next time. People will make conspiracy thread.
Suyin stared at it, amused.
She replied:
Next time? Wah. Someone already assuming there is a next time.
His reply came:
I am planning for survival. Not romance.
Suyin typed:
Sure.
Then she added:
Thanks for today. I feel better.
This time, his reply took longer.
When it came, it was short.
Me too.
Suyin stared at those two words until her chest tightened again.
Me too.
He had said it under the sheltered walkway.
He had said it again after supper.
Now it lived in her phone like a quiet promise.
She set her phone down.
She went to the window.
Outside, the sky had darkened.
Clouds gathered.
Rain threatened.
She watched the first drops fall, soft against the streetlight.
And she realized something slowly, like a truth settling into place:
Private rules were not just boundaries.
They were a shelter.
A way to keep something delicate from being drowned.
She didn’t know what this was going to become.
She didn’t know if it would survive.
But for the first time since she had spoken his name on that studio set, she felt like she had a say.
Not in the narrative.
In her own heart.
Her phone buzzed again.
One last message from Adam.
If it gets too loud tonight, call me. No need to text. Just call.
Suyin’s throat tightened.
She didn’t reply immediately.
She held the phone, feeling the weight of it.
Then she typed:
Okay.
Just one word.
Like a door left slightly open.
Outside, the rain began properly.
And inside, under the shelter of their private rules, something continued to grow–quietly, stubbornly–without asking permission from the world.