Dinner for Two
Jiawen’s refusal to let Faris walk her down should have felt like maturity.
Boundaries.
Optics.
The sensible choice.
Instead, it sat in her chest all the way home like an unpaid bill.
She told herself she was only unsettled because the office had been watching. Because people were kaypoh. Because the thought of becoming a rumour made her skin itch. She told herself the tightness in her throat was just stress from SkyFreight.
But when she reached her room, kicked off her shoes, and sat on her bed with her phone facedown like a guilty object, she had to admit the truth she didn’t want.
She had said no to his kindness.
And his face–so calm, so composed–had still flinched.
Not because he was angry.
Because he had understood.
That was what made it worse.
He never forced.
He never demanded.
He simply stepped back.
And the silence that followed his step back felt like distance she hadn’t chosen on purpose.
The next morning, she woke up early and decided she would fix it.
Not by being dramatic.
Not by apologising like she had done something wrong.
Just by being normal.
By showing up, working, joking like usual.
By not letting one careful moment become a crack.
When she reached the office, Faris was already at his desk, typing.
He looked up as she approached.
Their eyes met.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
Faris’s expression was neutral.
Professional.
But his gaze held for half a second longer than necessary.
“Morning,” he said.
Jiawen forced her voice to sound bright. “Morning.”
Faris nodded once and looked away.
Jiawen felt the small sting.
Not rejection.
Just the absence of warmth.
It reminded her too sharply that warmth was optional.
She sat down at her desk and opened her laptop.
Work.
SkyFreight didn’t give them space to sulk.
The accelerated go-live was now officially approved by the client.
The plan was set.
The pressure rose.
By mid-morning, the CIS floor had shifted into war-mode.
Priya’s voice came through the pod like a whip–short, sharp instructions.
Ben lived in his logs.
Reza made jokes louder than usual, as if humour could shield him from anxiety.
Jiawen typed steadily, updating trackers, preparing documentation, joining calls, her voice measured.
Faris led.
He spoke with calm structure.
He pushed back where needed.
He absorbed the client’s panic and translated it into tasks.
He did not look at Jiawen more than necessary.
And that, Jiawen realised, was its own kind of boundary.
A boundary that hurt.
At 4:38pm, the client sent an email.
Subject: URGENT – SIT Failure on Status Sync (Blocker)
Ben swore softly under his breath.
Priya leaned over his shoulder.
Reza stopped mid-joke.
Faris stood.
The energy in the pod tightened like a knot.
Faris leaned over Ben’s desk, eyes scanning the logs.
“Where is it failing?” he asked, voice calm.
Ben pointed at the screen. “The status sync API returns null on edge case. It doesn’t happen always. Only on certain shipments.”
Faris’s brow furrowed.
Priya said tightly, “We have UAT tomorrow. If this not fixed, we die.”
Reza muttered, “We already dead.”
Jiawen watched, heart pounding.
She wasn’t a developer.
She couldn’t fix code.
But she could do what Faris had taught her–structure.
She stood abruptly.
“Wait,” she said, voice steady.
The pod turned toward her.
Jiawen swallowed.
She felt heat rise in her cheeks.
But she pushed through.
“Can we isolate which shipment cases? Like what’s common factor? Time range? Location? Status sequence?” she asked. “If we know pattern, maybe easier to replicate.”
Ben blinked.
Faris’s eyes flicked to her, sharp and approving.
“Good,” Faris said.
Jiawen’s chest warmed.
Priya exhaled. “Okay. Jiawen, you take the screenshots and client examples. Pull the shipment IDs. Give Ben pattern.”
Jiawen nodded quickly.
She spent the next hour combing through client screenshots and logs, extracting shipment IDs and comparing them.
Her eyes burned.
Her shoulders ached.
But she found it.
A pattern.
All failing cases had a status sequence that included a rare “return-to-sender” loop.
Jiawen leaned over Ben’s desk.
“Here,” she said, pointing. “All these cases got this loop. Maybe API not handling repeated returns.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
Faris leaned in too.
He stared at the pattern.
Then he nodded slowly.
“Nice catch,” he murmured.
Jiawen felt something soften.
Faris’s voice was quieter now, less leader, more… him.
She wanted to bask in it.
She couldn’t.
Because the office was still full of ears.
And because she didn’t trust herself not to smile too obviously.
So she looked away quickly, returning to her desk.
Work.
By seven, the floor had emptied.
Most people had gone home.
Even Priya had finally left, eyes sharp with exhaustion.
Ben stayed, head down in code.
Reza left with a dramatic farewell.
That left only three.
Faris.
Jiawen.
Ben.
At 7:48pm, Ben pushed his chair back and sighed.
“I need to go toilet. My brain cannot.”
He stood, stretched, and walked toward the pantry.
The moment he disappeared, the pod felt suddenly too quiet.
Faris stood by Ben’s desk, arms folded, staring at the log output on the screen.
Jiawen sat at her desk, updating the risk log and drafting a client update email.
Her stomach growled.
She ignored it.
She had learned that work hunger was common.
At 8:05pm, Ben returned, slumping into his chair.
“I think I can fix,” he muttered.
Faris nodded. “Good. Take your time. Don’t patch blindly.”
Ben sighed. “I’ll need maybe one hour.”
Faris nodded again. “Okay.”
Ben hesitated, then glanced at Jiawen. “You two go eat first lah. I will finish, then update.”
Jiawen blinked.
Faris’s eyes flicked toward her.
The air between them tightened.
Jiawen felt her heart thud.
Dinner.
Alone.
With Faris.
Her chest warmed and tightened simultaneously.
Faris cleared his throat. “No. I stay. I’m lead.”
Ben waved him off. “Aiya, you always like this. Go eat. If you faint, then I really die.”
Jiawen laughed weakly.
Ben turned to her, grinning. “Jiawen, you bring Faris go eat. He very stubborn. Tell him you hungry.”
Jiawen froze.
Her face betrayed panic.
Faris watched her, expression unreadable.
Jiawen swallowed.
Her stomach growled again, traitorous.
She took a breath.
“Faris,” she said softly. “I… am hungry.”
Faris stared.
Then his mouth twitched slightly.
“You’re hungry,” he repeated.
Jiawen nodded.
Faris exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” he said.
The word sounded heavier than usual.
Not okay as in agreement.
Okay as in surrender.
Ben beamed triumphantly, already turning back to his code.
“Go go go,” he said. “I update you.”
Faris grabbed his phone and wallet.
Jiawen stood too, heart pounding.
They walked toward the lift.
The office floor was mostly empty now.
The lights still bright.
The air-conditioning still cold.
But the silence between them was different.
Not awkward.
Just… full.
In the lift, Jiawen stared at the floor numbers to avoid staring at Faris.
Faris stood beside her, hands in his pockets.
The reflection in the metal wall showed how small she looked next to him.
She hated that she noticed.
Because noticing made her feel too aware.
Faris spoke first.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
Jiawen blinked. “For what?”
“For earlier,” Faris said. “The pattern.”
Jiawen’s cheeks warmed.
Her face betrayed it.
She forced a grin. “I’m analyst. I analyse.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
The lift doors opened.
They stepped out into the lobby.
Outside, the night air hit them like a wave–humid, heavy, smelling faintly of rain.
The streets around one-north were quieter at this hour.
Most office workers had gone home.
Faris glanced at Jiawen. “You want to eat where?”
Jiawen hesitated.
She hadn’t expected choice.
She thought he would already have a plan.
Faris watched her face.
“You don’t know,” he said.
Jiawen narrowed her eyes. “Stop reading me.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “I’m not reading. You’re just… obvious.”
Jiawen groaned. “Okay, then you choose.”
Faris exhaled. “There’s a place near here. Quiet. Good food. Not too crowded.”
Jiawen blinked. “You already know.”
Faris shrugged. “I plan.”
Jiawen laughed. “Of course you plan.”
They walked toward his car.
Jiawen hesitated near the passenger side.
Faris paused.
She remembered the night she refused to let him walk her down.
She remembered his face.
She didn’t want to repeat it.
She took a breath.
Then, before Faris could open the door for her, she said quietly, “Faris… I’m sorry about last time. When I said I can go myself.”
Faris froze.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
She forced herself to continue.
“I just… I didn’t want people to talk. But I think I made it weird.”
Faris stared at her.
The night air felt suddenly too still.
Then Faris exhaled slowly.
“You didn’t make it weird,” he said quietly. “You were protecting yourself. It’s okay.”
Jiawen blinked.
The sting in her chest eased.
Faris continued, voice low, “I… understand.”
Jiawen swallowed.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded once. “Okay.”
Then he opened the passenger door.
Jiawen rolled her eyes gently, but she didn’t protest.
She slid into the seat.
Faris shut the door softly and walked around.
As he drove, the city lights blurred outside.
The restaurant he chose was tucked along a quieter street–warm lighting, soft music, not too many people.
Not a date place.
Just a place.
They sat in a corner booth, away from the window.
Jiawen exhaled as she sank into the seat.
“I didn’t know one-north got places like this,” she murmured.
Faris glanced at her. “Because you always eat food court.”
Jiawen scoffed. “Food court is good what.”
Faris nodded. “It is. But sometimes… you need quiet.”
The words landed softly.
Quiet.
Jiawen nodded slowly.
They ordered.
Simple food.
Warm soup.
Rice.
Something comforting.
When the food arrived, Jiawen ate like someone who had forgotten hunger was a real physical thing.
Faris watched her, amused.
“What?” Jiawen asked, catching his look.
Faris shrugged. “You eat like you’re fighting.”
Jiawen’s face betrayed offence. “I am hungry.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes. Hungry.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes.
They ate quietly for a while.
The restaurant music was soft, the kind you didn’t notice until there was silence.
Outside, rain began to fall lightly, tapping the window.
Jiawen glanced out, watching droplets slide down.
Then she said quietly, “You think people really talk?”
Faris’s fingers paused on his spoon.
He looked up.
Jiawen’s face was serious now.
Not bubbly.
Not performing.
Just… worried.
Faris exhaled slowly.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Jiawen’s shoulders sagged.
Faris continued, voice calm, “But people talk about everything. Today they talk about you. Tomorrow they talk about someone else. The problem is when it affects work.”
Jiawen stared. “Will it?”
Faris hesitated.
He didn’t want to scare her.
But he didn’t want to lie.
“It can,” he said carefully. “If people think there’s favouritism. Or conflict. Or if HR hears and gets nervous.”
Jiawen swallowed.
Her fingers tightened around her spoon.
“I don’t want to be… that girl,” she whispered.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He leaned forward slightly.
“You’re not,” he said quietly. “You work hard. Everyone sees that.”
Jiawen blinked.
Her eyes shimmered slightly.
Her face betrayed it.
She looked down quickly.
Faris watched her.
He wanted to reach into his inner pocket.
The handkerchief.
The note.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he spoke more softly.
“And,” he added, “I’ll make sure work stays clean. I don’t… mix.”
Jiawen looked up.
Her expression shifted.
Something sharp.
“You think I will mix?” she asked, defensive.
Faris blinked. “No. I mean–”
Jiawen’s cheeks flushed.
Her face betrayed a flicker of hurt.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He realised–too late–what his words could sound like.
Like he was building distance.
Like he was reminding her she was just a colleague.
Like he was afraid of her.
Faris swallowed.
He forced himself to slow down.
“What I mean,” he said carefully, “is I respect you. I don’t want anyone to think your growth is because of me. It’s because of you.”
Jiawen froze.
Her expression softened.
The hurt in her eyes eased.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Faris exhaled.
Jiawen looked down at her bowl again.
For a moment, they ate quietly.
Then Jiawen said softly, “My ex texted me again.”
Faris’s fingers stilled.
He looked up.
Jiawen’s eyes flicked away.
“He want to talk,” she said. “He said he’s in town.”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
Jiawen rushed to add, “I said no.”
Faris’s shoulders eased slightly.
“Good,” he said.
Jiawen blinked. “You keep saying good.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Because it is.”
Jiawen’s lips parted.
A laugh escaped her.
Then it faded.
She looked down.
“Sometimes I feel bad,” she admitted quietly. “Like… am I cruel?”
Faris stared.
“No,” he said firmly. “You’re not cruel for protecting yourself.”
Jiawen swallowed.
Her eyes shimmered again.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He didn’t reach for the handkerchief.
Instead, he asked, voice low, “Why did you break up?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Jiawen froze.
Faris immediately regretted it.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
Jiawen stared at her bowl.
The rain tapped the window.
The restaurant music hummed.
For a moment, Faris thought she would shut down.
Then Jiawen spoke.
“He cheated,” she said softly.
The words landed like a slap.
Faris went still.
Jiawen continued, voice quiet, as if saying it aloud made it more real.
“Not like… physical only. But emotional. He kept talking to someone else. He said nothing happened, but…” she swallowed. “But I saw the messages. The way he wrote. The way he promised. It was like… he had another relationship in his phone.”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
Heat rose in his chest.
Anger.
Not for himself.
For her.
Jiawen’s fingers clenched around her spoon.
“I felt stupid,” she whispered. “Because I called him the one. I defended him. And then I realised… he was only the one because I wanted him to be. Not because he actually treated me like one.”
Faris stared at her.
Her face was calm.
Too calm.
Pain held under control.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He swallowed.
“Jiawen,” he said quietly.
She looked up.
Her eyes were wet.
Her face betrayed vulnerability.
Faris leaned forward slightly, voice low.
“You’re not stupid,” he said. “You trusted. That’s not stupid. That’s… human.”
Jiawen’s breath hitched.
She blinked fast.
Then she laughed softly, bitter.
“Wah, why you always know what to say,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched without humour. “Because I’ve been… dumb before.”
Jiawen stared.
Her eyes searched his face.
Faris held the gaze for a moment.
He didn’t explain.
He didn’t name Amani.
But Jiawen understood.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded once. “Okay.”
Silence settled.
But it wasn’t empty.
It was full of things they weren’t saying.
In the quiet, Jiawen reached into her bag and pulled out a small packet.
She slid it across the table.
Faris frowned. “What’s this?”
Jiawen shrugged. “Chocolate. I bought extra at 7-Eleven. For you. Because you look like you want to fight someone.”
Faris blinked.
Then, despite himself, he laughed.
Jiawen smiled–small, satisfied.
Her face betrayed relief.
Faris took the chocolate packet.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
Jiawen nodded. “Okay.”
Faris snorted softly. “Don’t copy my okay.”
Jiawen grinned. “I’m practising.”
They finished dinner slowly.
When it was time to leave, Faris paid.
Jiawen protested.
Faris refused.
Jiawen sighed dramatically.
“You always like this,” she muttered.
Faris opened the door for her as they stepped out into the rain.
The air outside was cooler now.
The pavement wet.
Street lights reflected in puddles.
Faris held his jacket over Jiawen’s head automatically.
Jiawen gasped. “Eh, don’t–your suit–”
Faris ignored her, guiding her quickly toward the car.
Jiawen stumbled slightly.
Faris’s hand caught her elbow.
For a second, his fingers stayed.
Warm through fabric.
Jiawen froze.
Faris froze too.
The rain tapped his jacket.
Their eyes met.
Jiawen’s face betrayed softness.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He released her elbow quickly.
Too quick.
Jiawen’s mouth tightened.
A flicker of something crossed her face.
Hurt.
Or disappointment.
Faris swallowed.
He opened the car door.
Jiawen slid in.
They drove back toward one-north in silence.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
At the office, Ben had messaged.
Ben: Fixed. Deployed patch. SIT now passing. You two can go home already.
Faris showed Jiawen the message.
Jiawen exhaled in relief. “Wah. Ben saved our lives.”
Faris nodded. “Yes.”
Jiawen glanced at him. “Are you going to praise him tomorrow?”
Faris nodded. “Yes.”
Jiawen smiled faintly.
Then her expression shifted.
She looked out the window.
Rain blurred the city lights.
Her voice came out small.
“Faris,” she said.
He glanced at her. “Hm?”
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she said, softly, “You don’t have to… pull away.”
Faris’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
His chest tightened.
He kept his eyes on the road.
“What do you mean?” he asked quietly.
Jiawen swallowed.
Her face betrayed nervousness.
“I know rumours exist,” she said. “And I know we should be careful. But… when you pull away, it feels like… you regret being kind.”
Faris’s throat tightened.
He didn’t answer immediately.
The rain tapped the windshield.
The wipers moved steadily.
Faris swallowed.
“I don’t regret,” he said quietly.
Jiawen stared at him.
Faris continued, voice low, “I’m just… trying to protect you.”
Jiawen’s breath caught.
Her face betrayed surprise.
Faris glanced at her briefly, then back to the road.
“I don’t want you to be talked about,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to question your work. I don’t want… you to be hurt because of me.”
Jiawen’s eyes shimmered.
She blinked fast.
Her voice came out small.
“You think I’m that fragile?” she whispered.
Faris frowned. “No.”
“Then why you protect like I’m–”
Faris cut in gently, “Because I know how offices work. And because I… care.”
The last word landed between them like a soft explosion.
Care.
Not love.
Not romance.
But something heavier than friendship.
Jiawen went still.
Faris went still too.
His heart thudded.
He felt the danger of the word.
He forced himself to breathe.
Jiawen looked down at her hands.
Her fingers were clenched.
Then she exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
They drove in silence the rest of the way.
When Faris sent her home, the void deck was quiet.
The rain had softened.
Jiawen unbuckled her seatbelt slowly.
She hesitated.
Then she looked at Faris.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For dinner.”
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes gently, but her smile was small and sincere.
“Good night,” she said.
Faris nodded once. “Good night.”
She opened the door and stepped out.
Faris watched her walk toward the lift.
Halfway, she paused.
She turned back.
Their eyes met.
Jiawen’s face betrayed a question she didn’t ask.
Faris felt his chest tighten.
He wanted to answer.
He didn’t know how.
Jiawen turned away and disappeared into the lift.
Faris sat in the car for a moment longer, rain tapping softly on the roof.
He stared at the steering wheel.
He should have felt good.
The project had been saved.
Dinner had been shared.
Boundaries had been discussed.
Instead, he felt a quiet fear.
Because he had heard himself say, “I care.”
And because once a word like that existed, it didn’t disappear.
It only waited.
Like a handkerchief folded in a pocket.