Status
Monday arrived the way it always did in Singapore–humid, efficient, and unbothered by whatever had changed inside you.
The sky over one-north was pale with early light. Commuters moved in streams toward MRT gates, coffee cups in hand, faces already switched into work mode. The city did not pause to acknowledge that two people had stepped over a line on Friday night and were now walking into a building where lines mattered.
Faris parked his car in the basement and sat for a moment with the engine off.
Silence.
His hands rested on the steering wheel.
He stared at the concrete wall ahead like it might offer a checklist.
Step 1: go to office.
Step 2: be normal.
Step 3: don’t ruin Jiawen’s life.
He exhaled slowly.
The irony was sharp.
He could lead a war-room.
He could negotiate scope with a hostile COO.
He could map risks like he was born with a spreadsheet in his blood.
But he didn’t know how to hold something tender without flinching.
His phone buzzed.
Jiawen.
A message.
Jiawen: Morning.
Jiawen: I’m nervous.
Faris stared at the words.
His chest tightened.
He typed back.
Faris: Morning.
Faris: Same.
Faris: We go step by step.
A reply came quickly.
Jiawen: Okay.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
Her okay.
Not teasing.
Not playful.
A small agreement.
He put the phone down, stepped out of the car, and walked toward the lift.
The CIS floor was already alive when Faris arrived.
The air-conditioning bit into his skin.
The pantry smelled like lemon cleaner and kopi.
Teams pings stacked in the corner of his screen.
SkyFreight’s go-live countdown sat on the tracker like a threat.
Three days.
Wednesday night cutover.
Thursday morning go-live.
The kind of timeline that made even experienced teams breathe shallow.
Priya was already on a call, voice sharp and clipped.
Ben sat hunched over his laptop, eyes bloodshot.
Reza leaned against the pantry counter, trying to make jokes out of his own exhaustion.
“Wah, Faris, you look like you haven’t slept in two years,” Reza said loudly as Faris walked in.
Faris didn’t respond.
Not because he couldn’t.
Because he didn’t trust his face.
He slid into his chair, opened his laptop, and forced himself into work.
Work was safer.
At 9:47am, Jiawen arrived.
Faris heard her before he saw her–her small footsteps, the soft sound of her bag being placed on the desk.
He didn’t look up immediately.
He could feel her presence beside him like warmth.
Then she said, softly, “Morning.”
Faris looked up.
Jiawen’s hair was tied back neatly, but a loose strand curved along her cheek. Her cardigan hung on the back of her chair like usual.
She looked normal.
But her eyes were bright with nerves.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He kept his voice calm. “Morning.”
Jiawen hesitated.
Then, as if testing the boundaries of their new reality, she asked quietly, “You okay?”
Faris stared at her.
The question was simple.
In another timeline, it would have been nothing.
In this one, it held weight.
Because he could not answer her with distance anymore.
Not without lying.
He leaned slightly closer, keeping his voice low.
“I’m okay,” he said. “You?”
Jiawen swallowed.
Her face betrayed fear.
Then she nodded. “Okay.”
Faris’s mouth twitched faintly.
Then he glanced around.
The office was full of eyes.
Even if no one was looking directly, the sense of being watched sat like a pressure.
Faris straightened, voice shifting back into work tone.
“Daily sync in five,” he said briskly. “Get your notes ready.”
Jiawen nodded quickly.
He hated the way her face fell slightly.
He hated himself for making her feel like a switch.
But he also knew–this was the only way to keep her safe.
Work first.
Always.
The daily sync was brutal.
The client had new requests.
The COO wanted assurance on cutover.
The ops manager wanted training materials updated.
A hidden dependency surfaced–a warehouse report integration that the client suddenly insisted was “critical” despite being optional last week.
Priya almost snapped.
Ben muttered curses under his breath.
Reza’s jokes began to sound strained.
Faris held the line.
He pushed back.
He negotiated.
He promised updates, not miracles.
Jiawen supported, steady.
She tracked action items.
She drafted the client updates.
She spoke when asked, voice clear.
By noon, everyone looked like they had been squeezed.
Priya finally ended a call and exhaled hard.
“Lunch,” she declared. “All of you. Go eat. If we die, we die with food.”
Reza raised both hands. “Finally. I thought I was going to eat my keyboard.”
Ben groaned. “I want sleep.”
Jiawen stood slowly, rubbing her eyes.
Faris stood too, shoulders tight.
As the team walked to the lifts, Faris felt the pressure of rumour season again.
People passed them, glancing.
Noticing patterns.
Nothing had happened.
Yet everything felt like it could.
At the food court, they took their usual table.
Reza talked loudly about how he would quit and become a durian seller.
Priya threatened to strangle him with a lanyard.
Ben stared at his food like it was the first time he’d seen rice.
Jiawen ate quietly, shoulders slightly hunched.
Faris watched her.
She looked tired.
She looked younger in her exhaustion.
Six years suddenly felt like more.
He reminded himself: it wasn’t about age.
It was about choice.
Jiawen’s phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
Her expression shifted.
Not bubbly.
Not comedic.
A shadow passing quickly.
She turned the phone face-down.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He leaned slightly toward her, voice low.
“You okay?”
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed surprise that he noticed.
Then she nodded quickly. “Okay.”
Faris didn’t push.
Boundaries.
But the tightness in his chest remained.
Across the table, Reza was mid-story when his eyes flicked toward Faris and Jiawen.
He grinned.
Jiawen saw the grin and stiffened.
Faris’s jaw tightened.
Reza opened his mouth.
Priya shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
Reza shut up.
Jiawen exhaled slowly.
Faris felt a small gratitude toward Priya.
She was blunt.
But she wasn’t cruel.
Lunch ended quickly.
They returned to the office.
The afternoon became a sprint.
At 3:06pm, Faris received an email from HR.
Subject: Reminder – Declaration of Workplace Relationships (Policy Refresher)
His stomach dropped.
He clicked, heart thudding.
It was another company-wide email.
Not addressed to him.
Not targeted.
But the timing felt like a sign.
Or a threat.
He closed it quickly.
Across the partition, Jiawen was typing.
Her brows were furrowed.
Her lips pressed tight.
Faris watched her.
He didn’t want to bring policy into the fragile beginning of whatever they had.
But he also knew: clarity.
If he did this properly, he needed to treat her with respect.
Respect meant planning.
Not a spreadsheet.
But a real conversation.
At 5:55pm, the office began to thin.
The war-room meetings slowed.
Priya left to meet another stakeholder, eyes blazing with tiredness.
Ben stayed, as always.
Reza disappeared into a call.
Jiawen stretched her arms and exhaled.
Faris closed his laptop halfway.
He turned slightly toward her.
“Can we talk after?” he asked quietly.
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed nerves.
Then she nodded. “Okay.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
He stood. “Pantry.”
They walked there quietly.
The pantry was almost empty.
The lights were warmer than the open office.
The window showed the city turning gold with evening.
Faris sat at the table near the window.
Jiawen sat opposite him, hands clasped tightly.
She looked like someone about to sit for an exam.
Faris exhaled slowly.
“First,” he said gently, “I want you to know… I meant what I said at Botanic Gardens.”
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed relief.
Faris continued, voice steady. “I don’t want no status. I don’t want you to wonder. I don’t want to make you feel like timing.”
Jiawen swallowed.
Her eyes shimmered.
Faris lowered his voice. “So… we need to decide what we are.”
Jiawen froze.
Then she whispered, “We’re… together, right?”
Faris nodded slowly.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “But I want to ask you properly.”
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed surprise.
Faris swallowed.
He didn’t have flowers.
He didn’t have a ring.
He didn’t have romance.
He had a warm pantry and the steady sincerity he was capable of.
“Jiawen,” he said softly, “will you be my girlfriend?”
The words landed like silence.
Jiawen stared.
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Her face betrayed shock, then warmth, then a sudden, ridiculous brightness like she was trying not to cry.
“Faris,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Why you say like interview.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Because I’m serious.”
Jiawen laughed through a sudden tear.
Then she nodded rapidly.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
Faris exhaled.
He felt something in his chest loosen.
Not a dramatic burst.
A steady settling.
Jiawen wiped at her eyes quickly. “Wah, my face.”
Faris’s mouth softened. “Your face is always like that.”
Jiawen glared weakly. “Shut up.”
Faris chuckled softly.
Then his expression sobered.
“Second,” he said quietly, “we need to handle work.”
Jiawen’s smile faded slightly.
She nodded. “Rumours.”
Faris nodded. “Yes. Rumours. And policy.”
Jiawen’s brows knit. “We need tell HR?”
Faris hesitated.
He didn’t want their first official moment to be followed by paperwork.
But he also didn’t want her to be vulnerable.
“Not today,” he said. “But soon. After go-live. We can inform manager at least. Make sure there’s no conflict. We can request safeguards.”
Jiawen swallowed.
“Will they separate us?” she whispered.
Faris’s chest tightened.
“Maybe,” he admitted softly. “They might move you to another pod. Or change project pairing. But if they do, it’s not punishment. It’s protection.”
Jiawen stared.
Her face betrayed fear.
Faris leaned forward slightly.
“I won’t let them treat you unfairly,” he said quietly. “And if you want to keep it private for now, we can. But I don’t want you to feel like we’re hiding because it’s wrong.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
Silence settled.
Outside the pantry window, the evening sky deepened.
Faris watched Jiawen’s fingers fidget with her sleeve.
Then he asked, gently, “What message did you get at lunch?”
Jiawen froze.
Her eyes widened.
Then she looked down.
“It’s Junhao,” she whispered.
Faris’s jaw tightened.
Jiawen swallowed. “He keeps texting. He wants to talk. He said he’s sorry.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
He forced himself to stay calm.
“What do you want?” he asked quietly.
Jiawen shook her head. “I don’t want to talk. But he keeps pushing.”
Faris exhaled slowly.
He reached into his pocket and placed his phone on the table.
“Block if you need,” he said quietly. “You don’t owe him access.”
Jiawen stared.
Her face betrayed hesitation.
Then she whispered, “I feel guilty.”
Faris’s eyes softened.
“Guilt doesn’t mean you’re wrong,” he said. “It just means you’re kind.”
Jiawen’s eyes shimmered again.
Faris felt his chest tighten.
He wanted to hold her.
Not in the pantry.
Not in the office.
But he wanted to.
He stayed still.
Because caution.
Because optics.
Because they were still inside a building full of glass walls.
Jiawen wiped her eyes quickly.
Then she took a breath.
She opened her phone.
Her fingers hovered over Junhao’s chat.
She hesitated.
Faris watched her without speaking.
Then Jiawen tapped.
Block.
Her breath shuddered.
She looked up at Faris.
Her face betrayed fear and relief intertwined.
“I did it,” she whispered.
Faris nodded slowly.
“Good,” he said.
Jiawen laughed weakly. “You and your good.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Because it is.”
Jiawen stared at him.
Her smile softened.
Then she said, quietly, “You really always take care of people.”
Faris swallowed.
He looked at her.
His voice came out low.
“I’m trying to take care properly this time,” he admitted.
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed warmth.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
They left the pantry together.
As they walked back to the pod, Faris’s phone buzzed.
Amani.
He glanced at the screen.
Amani: I saw you at pantry just now. Can we talk?
Faris’s stomach dropped.
He looked up.
The open office stretched around them.
Glass walls.
People moving.
Eyes.
Jiawen noticed his expression.
Her face betrayed immediate tension.
“What?” she whispered.
Faris swallowed.
He didn’t want to hide.
But he also didn’t want to drag Jiawen into unnecessary mess.
“Amani,” he said quietly.
Jiawen went still.
Faris’s jaw tightened.
“She messaged,” he added. “She wants to talk.”
Jiawen swallowed.
Her face betrayed a flicker of fear.
Not jealousy.
More like the fear of ghosts returning.
Faris looked at her, voice steady.
“I’m not going back,” he said quietly. “But I’ll be professional. I can talk to her once, close it clean.”
Jiawen stared.
Then she nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
They returned to their desks.
Faris opened SkyFreight’s tracker again.
Because work didn’t stop.
But the message from Amani sat in the corner of his mind like a storm cloud.
He knew what would come.
A conversation.
An awkward encounter.
Office optics.
The temptation to explain.
The risk of being seen.
And beyond that–looming, heavier–the high-stakes bank compliance rollout waiting in the next quarter, the kind of project that would turn this office into a magnifying glass.
Faris stared at his screen.
Then he reached into his inner pocket.
There was nothing there now.
No handkerchief.
Jiawen still had it.
Instead, his fingers touched only fabric.
He exhaled slowly.
He had chosen a status.
He had chosen clarity.
Now he had to live like he meant it.
Because on the other side of the pod, Jiawen was typing steadily, shoulders straight, face composed.
She looked like someone holding herself together.
And Faris realised, with a quiet jolt, that the sequel of their lives had already begun.
Not with a kiss.
But with a message.
Amani.
And the office’s glass walls reflecting everything.