Rumor Season
By Wednesday, Jiawen learned that gossip didn’t need proof.
It only needed pattern.
A shared lunch too often.
A late-night project chat.
A car waiting at the curb.
In a workplace like Meridian Harbor Systems–mid-sized enough that you couldn’t disappear, large enough that you didn’t know everyone–stories travelled the way air-conditioning did: quietly, steadily, seeping into every corner.
The first sign was small.
A glance.
A smile held a second too long.
A casual, “Eh, you and Faris very close ah?” delivered with a tone that pretended it was nothing.
Jiawen told herself not to care.
She told herself she was reading too much into harmless teasing.
But she had lived in Singapore long enough to recognise the particular way people watched things they were too polite to ask directly.
It was never “Are you dating?”
It was always, “Wah, you all always together.”
It was always framed as a joke.
Which made it hard to defend without looking guilty.
That morning, it began with a pantry encounter.
Jiawen entered the pantry clutching her mug, still half-asleep, hair tied back in a practical ponytail. The office cold had already crept into her bones. She headed for the kettle, eyes on the water level.
Two women from another CIS vertical were already there–banking team, always dressed sharp, always moving fast.
They glanced at Jiawen.
Then at each other.
Then one of them smiled brightly.
“Jiawen, right?” the woman asked.
Jiawen blinked. “Ya.”
The woman stepped closer, friendly. “You’re in Logistics pod with Faris, right?”
Jiawen nodded. “Yes.”
The other woman leaned on the counter, eyes bright with curiosity. “Wah, you’re lucky. Faris very steady one. Good mentor.”
Jiawen smiled politely. “He is.”
The first woman’s smile widened. “Not only mentor, right?”
Jiawen froze.
Her brain stalled.
She stared at the kettle like it might rescue her.
The second woman laughed lightly. “Aiya, we just teasing. Don’t scared.”
Jiawen forced a laugh that sounded like it belonged to someone else.
“No lah,” she said quickly. “Just work.”
The first woman nodded exaggeratedly. “Just work. Okay okay.”
The tone made it worse.
Jiawen felt heat creep up her neck.
She poured her water too fast and splashed a bit on her finger.
“Ow.”
The second woman giggled. “See? Nervous.”
Jiawen’s face betrayed her frustration.
She wanted to snap back.
But her mother’s voice echoed in her head: Don’t talk too fast.
Don’t look guilty.
Don’t make it bigger.
So Jiawen smiled, tight.
“Haha,” she said. “Cold morning only.”
She left the pantry quickly, mug warm in her hands but her chest tight.
When she reached her desk, Faris was already there, typing.
He looked up as she approached.
“Morning,” he said.
Jiawen nodded. “Morning.”
Faris’s eyes narrowed slightly.
He studied her face.
“You look angry,” he said quietly.
Jiawen forced a smile. “I’m not angry.”
Faris lifted an eyebrow.
Jiawen’s face betrayed her.
She sighed. “Okay, I’m a bit angry.”
Faris leaned back slightly. “Why?”
Jiawen hesitated.
A part of her wanted to tell him immediately.
Another part of her didn’t want to drag him into it.
Because Faris already carried enough.
Because she didn’t want to be the reason he became a topic.
She swallowed.
“Nothing,” she said.
Faris’s gaze held hers.
He didn’t push.
But his eyes softened.
“Okay,” he said.
The word should have felt harmless.
Instead, it felt like he had noticed something and decided to store it away.
Jiawen turned to her laptop, heart thudding.
Work.
SkyFreight escalated by noon.
The client’s COO demanded a new call.
They wanted assurance on the accelerated go-live.
They wanted “commitment.”
They wanted “confidence.”
They wanted the kind of certainty that only existed in fantasy.
Priya booked the call for 2pm.
Faris drafted the agenda.
Ben prepared logs.
Jiawen updated the risk log and documentation tracker.
The office moved around them like a machine under stress.
At 1:45pm, Faris stood and leaned over Jiawen’s partition.
“Call in fifteen,” he said. “You ready?”
Jiawen nodded, pen poised.
Faris hesitated.
Then, quietly, “You sure you’re okay?”
Jiawen blinked.
His voice carried something careful.
Not concern that looked like romance.
Concern that looked like responsibility.
Jiawen swallowed.
She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“I’m okay,” she said softly.
Faris stared at her.
Then he nodded.
“Okay,” he murmured.
He walked back to his desk.
Jiawen stared at her screen, trying to ignore the warmth that rose in her chest.
If he kept saying okay like that, she might start hearing it as something else.
The client call was a war-room with polite faces.
The COO’s camera showed a clean office behind him, his expression sharp.
He spoke in the calm tone of someone who was used to being obeyed.
“We need to move faster,” he said. “Our internal stakeholders are impatient. This dashboard is mission-critical. We want go-live next week.”
Faris’s voice was steady. “We understand the urgency. We also want a stable rollout. We can accelerate, but we need to align on scope and risk.”
The COO frowned. “Are you saying you can’t?”
Faris didn’t flinch. “I’m saying we can, but only with clear constraints. If we expand scope while accelerating, we increase failure probability.”
Jiawen watched Faris speak.
He was calm.
He was firm.
He didn’t bend.
It was… attractive in a way she didn’t want to name.
She looked down at her notes quickly, heart thudding.
The COO pushed.
Priya supported.
Ben explained technical boundaries.
And then–unexpectedly–the COO directed a question at Jiawen.
“You’re the associate analyst?” he asked.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
She felt every eye on the call shift to her.
“Yes,” she said, voice steady.
“Do you think your team can deliver?”
The question was loaded.
If she said yes too quickly, she would sound naïve.
If she hesitated, she would undermine her team.
Jiawen swallowed.
She glanced briefly at Faris.
Faris met her eyes.
His expression didn’t tell her what to say.
It simply held steady.
Like: You can do this.
Jiawen breathed in.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “With the revised constraints Faris outlined and a locked scope, we can deliver a stable go-live. We’ll also provide daily progress updates so you have visibility.”
The COO blinked.
Then he nodded slowly.
“Good,” he said.
Jiawen exhaled.
Faris’s lips twitched slightly.
Pride.
Then he returned to business.
The call ended with an agreement: accelerate, but with a narrower scope and a clear risk sign-off.
After the call, Priya leaned back in her chair, exhaling loudly.
“Okay,” she muttered. “We survive.”
Ben groaned. “I feel like I aged ten years.”
Reza popped his head over the partition. “Eh, what happened? Everyone look like zombie.”
Priya glared. “Client war-room. You want join?”
Reza immediately disappeared.
Jiawen laughed weakly.
Faris turned to her.
“Good answer,” he said quietly.
Jiawen’s cheeks warmed.
Her face betrayed it.
Faris’s eyes softened.
Then he glanced around.
The office was full.
People were moving.
Ears existed.
His expression tightened slightly.
He turned back to his laptop.
Jiawen’s stomach twisted.
She had seen it.
The small shift.
The moment he remembered that being seen mattered.
That closeness was dangerous in public.
She swallowed.
Work.
That evening, Jiawen stayed late to update the documentation tracker.
She told herself it was because she wanted to be useful.
Not because Faris was still there.
Not because being near him made the office feel less heavy.
Around seven, Ben left.
Priya left shortly after, muttering about needing sleep.
Reza disappeared with a wave.
Soon, the pod was quiet.
Only Faris and Jiawen remained.
Faris was on a call with Glenn, voice low, discussing cutover plans.
Jiawen typed steadily, filling in updates.
The quiet felt intimate.
She hated that she noticed.
At 7:42pm, her phone buzzed.
A WhatsApp notification.
Junhao.
Her chest tightened.
She hadn’t blocked him.
Not yet.
It felt too final.
She glanced at the message preview.
Junhao: I’m in town. Can we talk?
Jiawen’s stomach turned.
Her fingers paused on the keyboard.
She stared at the screen.
Her face betrayed the sudden heaviness.
She could feel Faris’s presence beside her, even without looking.
Like he could sense when her mood shifted.
Faris ended his call and turned slightly.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Jiawen swallowed.
She wanted to say yes.
She wanted to lie.
But something in her chest felt too tight.
“It’s…” she began, then stopped.
Faris watched her.
His face was neutral, but his eyes were attentive.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
“It’s my ex,” she admitted softly.
Faris’s posture stiffened slightly.
Not jealousy.
Something protective.
“What did he say?” Faris asked.
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she showed him the screen.
Faris read the message.
His jaw tightened.
“He wants to talk,” Faris said.
Jiawen nodded. “Ya.”
Faris paused.
Then, carefully, “Do you want to?”
Jiawen stared.
The question made space.
It didn’t tell her what to do.
It didn’t assume.
It didn’t push.
It simply asked.
Jiawen swallowed.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Faris nodded slowly.
He didn’t speak for a moment.
Then he said, quietly, “You don’t owe him access to you just because he wants closure.”
Jiawen’s eyes widened.
Her chest tightened.
Faris continued, voice low. “If you want to talk for your own closure, okay. If you don’t, also okay.”
Jiawen stared at him.
Her face betrayed a sudden soft gratitude.
She didn’t trust herself to respond.
So she looked away.
The office lights hummed above them.
Then Faris added, softer, almost embarrassed by his own honesty, “Just… don’t let him disturb your peace.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded once. “Okay.”
Jiawen looked down at her phone.
Junhao’s message sat there like a hand on a door.
She typed slowly.
Jiawen: I’m not ready to talk. Please respect.
She hit send.
Her heart pounded.
She stared at the screen, waiting for immediate retaliation.
None came.
She exhaled shakily.
Faris watched her.
“You did good,” he murmured.
Jiawen’s face betrayed relief.
She laughed softly, then wiped at her eye quickly.
“Wah,” she whispered. “Why I always like this.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Because you feel things.”
The phrase echoed his words from Friday night.
Jiawen froze.
Faris froze too, realising what he had repeated.
The air between them tightened.
Not romantic.
Not yet.
But charged.
Jiawen looked at him.
Her eyes were wet.
Her face betrayed vulnerability.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He wanted to reach for his handkerchief.
Then he remembered–he had it now. The note inside.
He didn’t take it out.
Instead, he stood abruptly.
“I’ll get water,” he said.
Jiawen blinked. “Huh? Now?”
Faris nodded quickly. “Yes.”
He walked to the pantry, heart pounding.
He needed distance.
Because if he stayed, he might do something stupid.
Like touch her shoulder.
Like offer comfort that looked like more than comfort.
Like forget they were in an office where rumours lived.
In the pantry, he stared at the water dispenser, hands gripping the bottle too tightly.
He breathed in slowly.
He breathed out.
Then his phone buzzed.
Amani.
A message.
Amani: Are you free to talk tonight? I want to explain.
Faris stared.
The timing felt cruel.
He exhaled slowly.
He didn’t reply.
Not yet.
He put the phone away.
When he returned to the pod, Jiawen was already packing her bag.
She looked up when he approached.
Her face was composed again.
Too composed.
“I’m going off,” she said quietly.
Faris nodded. “Okay. I’ll walk you down.”
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she shook her head quickly.
“No,” she said. “It’s okay. I can go myself.”
Faris froze.
Jiawen’s eyes flicked away.
Her face betrayed discomfort.
Not with him.
With the idea of being seen.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He understood.
Too well.
Because being seen had ruined things before.
He nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Jiawen grabbed her bag and left.
Faris watched her small figure disappear toward the lifts.
He stood in the quiet pod, the office lights too bright, the air-conditioning too cold.
He told himself she had done the right thing.
Keep boundaries.
Protect optics.
Avoid rumours.
But the quiet left behind felt like a punishment.
As if, by trying to be careful, they had accidentally created distance that felt like rejection.
Faris sat back down at his desk.
He opened his laptop again, staring at the SkyFreight tracker.
The numbers blurred.
His phone buzzed again.
This time, a Teams message from Reza.
Reza: Eh Faris. You and Jiawen okay or not? She seems a bit off today.
Faris stared.
Rumour season.
It wasn’t even full rumour yet.
It was the beginning of people noticing.
Of patterns being turned into stories.
Faris typed back, fingers steady.
Faris: She’s fine. Project stress. Don’t disturb her.
He hit send.
Then he stared at his screen.
Outside, the city darkened.
Inside, the office hummed with invisible noise.
Faris reached into his inner pocket.
His fingers brushed the folded handkerchief.
The note inside.
A small private warmth.
He held it there for a second.
Then he let go.
Because he could already feel the sequel of their lives forming–the high-stakes rollout looming, the ex hovering at the edges, the office watching.
And because the hardest part of being careful was realising that caution could hurt, too.
Like a hand withdrawing before the other person could decide whether they wanted it.