Botanic Gardens
The decision didn’t arrive like a sudden confession.
It arrived like a slow pressure.
A word spoken in a car–I care–then left hanging between rain and streetlights.
A pause outside a lift where Jiawen turned back as if she wanted to ask something and couldn’t.
A morning after where Faris showed up earlier than usual and Jiawen pretended she didn’t notice.
A series of small restraints that began to feel like a cage.
By Friday, SkyFreight’s accelerated go-live was less a project and more a living storm.
The UAT went better than expected.
Ben’s patch held.
The client’s ops team, once suspicious, began to sound cautiously optimistic.
Priya, who had been running on caffeine and stubbornness, finally smiled–briefly–during the daily sync.
Reza stopped making jokes every five minutes.
Even Glenn’s tired eyes looked a fraction lighter.
At 6:12pm, the internal war-room ended.
Faris closed his laptop and exhaled slowly.
The office floor was thinning.
People stood, stretching, packing bags.
The air-conditioning remained cold, indifferent.
Faris watched his screen as if it might produce another emergency email. His mind stayed in work mode because work mode was easier than being a person.
Then Jiawen stood beside his desk.
“Faris,” she said quietly.
He looked up.
She wore a cardigan today, sleeves pushed up. Her hair was tied back, but a few strands had slipped loose around her face. Her eyes looked tired.
Not sleepy tired.
Emotionally tired.
“Are you free?” she asked.
Faris blinked.
The question was simple.
It also felt like a door.
“Now?” he asked.
Jiawen nodded.
Her face betrayed nervousness.
Faris’s chest tightened.
A part of him wanted to say no.
Not because he didn’t want to be with her.
Because he was afraid of what being with her meant.
He swallowed.
“Okay,” he said.
Jiawen exhaled.
Her face betrayed relief.
“Can we… walk?” she asked softly.
Faris frowned slightly. “Where?”
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she said, “Botanic Gardens.”
The words landed in Faris’s chest with a strange weight.
Botanic Gardens.
A place people went for dates.
For picnics.
For long conversations that changed things.
Faris stared at her.
Jiawen’s face did not perform now.
It was steady.
Intentional.
Faris swallowed.
“Okay,” he repeated.
Jiawen nodded quickly, as if afraid he might change his mind.
“I can take MRT,” she said immediately. “No need you send me. We meet there.”
Faris paused.
Her words carried the echo of rumour season.
Of being careful.
Of not being seen.
Faris’s jaw tightened.
“No,” he said.
Jiawen blinked. “Huh?”
Faris stood, grabbing his phone and wallet.
“I’ll drive,” he said. “We don’t need to take separate transport just to avoid people talking.”
Jiawen went still.
Her eyes widened.
Her face betrayed surprise.
Faris felt heat rise in his chest.
He didn’t know why he’d said it so firmly.
Maybe because he was tired of living by other people’s assumptions.
Maybe because he had spent too long letting optics shape his choices.
Jiawen swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded once. “Okay.”
They left the office together.
No one stopped them.
No one said anything.
But Jiawen could feel eyes anyway.
The lift ride down was quiet.
In the lobby, the security guard nodded at them.
“Going off ah,” he said casually.
“Yes,” Faris replied.
Jiawen forced a smile.
When they stepped out into the evening air, the humidity hit her like a blanket.
It smelled like rain on concrete.
The sky was darkening.
Faris walked toward his car.
Jiawen followed, steps quick to match his longer stride.
She didn’t speak.
Her chest was too tight.
Because she had asked for Botanic Gardens.
And because she knew what she wanted to do there.
And because she was terrified.
The drive to Botanic Gardens took them away from one-north’s glass-and-steel world into quieter streets.
Trees replaced office blocks.
Streetlights softened.
The radio played low instrumental music, almost too on-the-nose.
Faris turned it down.
Silence filled the car.
Jiawen stared out the window, fingers fidgeting with her cardigan sleeve.
Faris kept both hands on the wheel.
He could feel her nerves like a physical thing.
He didn’t know what she planned to say.
But he knew something was coming.
And his own chest felt tight with the anticipation of it.
Because he was not stupid.
He had seen the way she watched him sometimes.
He had seen the way she flinched when he pulled away.
He had heard the quiet weight under her jokes.
He had felt his own body respond to her laughter.
He had tried to control it.
Tried to keep it in boxes.
Colleague.
Mentor.
Friend.
Safe.
But the boxes were starting to feel like lies.
When they arrived, the carpark was half-full.
The air smelled of grass and earth.
Evening in Botanic Gardens was a different kind of Singapore–less concrete, more breath.
Faris parked.
Turned off the engine.
The sudden quiet felt intimate.
Jiawen unbuckled her seatbelt slowly.
Then she froze.
She looked at Faris.
“Can I ask you something?” she said softly.
Faris’s chest tightened.
“Okay,” he replied.
Jiawen’s fingers twisted together.
“Why you always… take care of people?” she asked.
Faris blinked.
The question was not what he expected.
He hesitated.
Jiawen watched him, eyes steady.
Faris exhaled slowly.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Jiawen frowned slightly. “You know. You always know.”
Faris’s mouth twitched faintly.
Then his expression sobered.
“Because my mother taught me,” he said quietly. “Because I don’t like seeing people stranded. Because…”
Because if I take care of them, maybe they’ll stay.
Faris swallowed the last part.
He looked away.
Jiawen’s voice softened.
“Because you’re afraid to be alone?” she whispered.
Faris froze.
The words landed too close.
He turned back to her.
Jiawen’s eyes were steady.
No teasing.
No performance.
Just truth.
Faris felt his throat tighten.
He didn’t answer.
Not because he didn’t want to.
Because the answer was dangerous.
Jiawen swallowed.
“Sorry,” she whispered quickly. “I’m being… kaypoh.”
Faris exhaled.
He forced his voice to be calm.
“You’re not,” he said quietly. “You’re… observant.”
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed softness.
Then she nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
They stepped out of the car.
The air outside was cooler than the city.
The path into the gardens was lit by warm lamps.
People walked in small groups–couples holding hands, joggers passing silently, families with children chasing each other.
Jiawen’s chest tightened again.
Everyone looked like they belonged to someone.
She walked beside Faris, hands clasped in front of her as if to keep them from shaking.
Faris matched his pace to hers.
He didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
They walked past the Swan Lake, water dark and still.
The air smelled of wet leaves.
Somewhere, an insect chirped.
Faris spoke first.
“Why Botanic Gardens?” he asked.
Jiawen swallowed.
Her mouth went dry.
She looked at the path ahead.
“Because it’s quiet,” she said.
Faris nodded.
Jiawen’s voice dropped.
“And because… it feels safe,” she added.
Faris’s chest tightened.
Safe.
He wanted to be that.
He was terrified of failing.
They walked deeper.
The city noise faded.
The lamps cast soft pools of light on the path.
Jiawen stopped abruptly.
Faris stopped too, turning toward her.
Jiawen stared at the ground.
Her fingers clenched.
For a moment, she didn’t speak.
Faris waited.
The silence stretched.
Then Jiawen said, barely above a whisper, “Faris, I need to tell you something.”
Faris’s throat tightened.
He nodded once. “Okay.”
Jiawen looked up.
Her eyes were bright.
Wet.
Her face betrayed fear.
“I didn’t plan this,” she said.
Faris’s chest thudded.
Jiawen continued, voice trembling slightly.
“When I joined, you were just… my senior. My mentor. The guy who fixed everything. The guy who teased me because my face is stupid.”
Faris’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Jiawen’s eyes filled.
“I thought you were just kind because you’re kind,” she whispered. “And I told myself… don’t misunderstand. Don’t be that girl who falls for her senior just because he’s helpful.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
He stared at her.
Jiawen’s voice cracked.
“But somewhere,” she said softly, “between lunch breaks and late nights… between your ‘okay’ and your stupid handkerchief… I started wanting you in ways I shouldn’t.”
The words landed like a soft explosion.
Faris went still.
Jiawen swallowed hard.
Her face betrayed the effort it took to keep going.
“I tried to ignore it,” she whispered. “I told myself it’s rebound. It’s grief. It’s me being stupid after breaking up. But it didn’t go away. It… grew.”
Faris’s throat tightened.
Jiawen’s eyes searched his face.
“I’m scared,” she admitted quietly. “Because you just left Amani. And I just left Junhao. And I don’t want to be… timing. I don’t want to be convenience. I don’t want you to look at me one day and realise I was just… the person who made you laugh when you were sad.”
Faris felt his chest tighten so hard it almost hurt.
He stared at her.
Her words hit his deepest fear.
Being used.
Being half-chosen.
Being kept because it was comfortable.
Faris swallowed.
Jiawen blinked fast.
Her tears slipped free.
She wiped at them angrily with her sleeve.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to cry. My face–”
Faris stepped closer.
Instinct.
He reached into his inner pocket.
Handkerchief.
The same fabric.
Her note inside.
He pulled it out and held it out to her.
Jiawen froze.
Her eyes widened.
Her face betrayed disbelief.
“You still carry?” she whispered.
Faris’s throat tightened.
“I…” he began, then stopped.
He couldn’t explain.
So he simply said, “Take.”
Jiawen hesitated, then took it.
Her fingers brushed his.
Warm.
Faris felt the contact like electricity.
Jiawen pressed the handkerchief to her face, breathing shakily.
Faris stood close, hands at his sides, forcing himself not to touch her more.
He needed to answer.
Not with kindness.
With clarity.
Because she deserved that.
And because he had promised himself he would never do no status again.
Faris swallowed.
“Jiawen,” he said softly.
She looked up, eyes wet.
Faris held her gaze.
His voice came out quiet, controlled.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “When Amani ended, I was… in a bad place. And yes, you made me laugh. You softened it.”
Jiawen’s face betrayed fear.
Faris continued quickly, “But you are not timing.”
Jiawen blinked.
Faris stepped closer, just enough that his presence felt steady.
“I don’t do… half-measures anymore,” he said. “I don’t do no status. I don’t do situations where you don’t know where you stand.”
Jiawen’s breath caught.
Faris’s throat tightened.
He didn’t want to promise what he couldn’t keep.
But he knew what he wanted.
He said it.
“I like you,” he admitted quietly. “Not because you’re convenient. Because you are you. Because you work hard. Because you feel things. Because you make the office feel… human.”
Jiawen stared at him.
Her face betrayed shock.
Then something softened.
Hope.
Faris swallowed.
“But,” he added, voice firm, “I won’t touch this if it’s just rebound. If you need time, we take time. If you want to be sure, we be sure. But I’m not… rejecting you because I’m scared.”
Jiawen’s tears slipped again.
She laughed weakly through them.
“You always sound like you’re writing contract,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Maybe.”
Jiawen stared at him.
Her voice came out small.
“So… what are you saying?”
Faris took a breath.
He felt the weight of the gardens around them–the soft lamp light, the quiet air, the distant sound of someone’s laughter.
He held her gaze.
“I’m saying,” he said quietly, “if we do this, we do it properly.”
Jiawen blinked.
Faris continued, “We date. We’re intentional. We don’t hide like we’re ashamed, but we’re smart about work. We keep boundaries in office. We talk to manager if needed. We don’t give people reasons to question you.”
Jiawen’s breath hitched.
Her face betrayed relief.
Then she frowned slightly, still afraid.
“And if… one day you realise you don’t actually like me?” she whispered.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He stepped closer.
He didn’t touch her face.
But he lifted his hand slowly and hesitated near her shoulder.
A question.
Jiawen’s eyes flicked to his hand.
Her face betrayed permission.
Faris’s fingers settled gently on her shoulder.
Warm through fabric.
Steady.
“If that day comes,” he said softly, “I’ll tell you. Properly. Not like no status. Not like dragging you along.”
Jiawen’s breath shuddered.
Her fingers tightened around the handkerchief.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
The lamps cast light on Jiawen’s cheeks, still damp.
Faris’s hand remained on her shoulder.
Neither moved.
Then Jiawen let out a small laugh, shaky.
“You know,” she whispered, “this is the first time someone… makes me feel like I don’t have to beg for clarity.”
Faris’s throat tightened.
He swallowed.
“Because you shouldn’t have to,” he said.
Jiawen looked at him.
Her face betrayed softness.
Then, very slowly, she reached out and placed her hand over his on her shoulder.
The touch was light.
But it anchored him.
Faris felt something in his chest loosen.
Not a dramatic rush.
A steady settling.
Jiawen’s voice came out small.
“So… we are… together?” she asked.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
He nodded once.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “We are.”
Jiawen stared.
Her face betrayed disbelief.
Then she smiled.
It wasn’t her usual bubbly grin.
It was softer.
Braver.
As if she was letting herself hold something fragile.
Faris watched her.
His chest tightened.
He wanted to kiss her.
The thought arrived sudden and honest.
He didn’t.
Not yet.
Because he knew the next step wasn’t passion.
It was care.
He lowered his hand from her shoulder slowly.
Jiawen’s hand fell too.
They stood facing each other, close.
Faris cleared his throat.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Jiawen laughed, wiping her cheeks with his handkerchief.
“No,” she admitted. “But yes.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “That’s the most Jiawen answer.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes, smiling. “Shut up.”
Faris chuckled.
Then he said, voice low, “We should go.”
Jiawen blinked. “Why?”
Faris glanced around.
A couple walked past in the distance, hands intertwined.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He didn’t want to rush.
But he wanted to protect this moment from becoming something messy.
“Because you’re crying and your makeup will die,” he said dryly.
Jiawen gasped. “Eh!”
Faris’s smile softened.
Jiawen sniffed, then laughed through it.
“You’re mean,” she muttered.
“I’m mentoring,” Faris said automatically.
Jiawen rolled her eyes. “Mentoring my heartbreak.”
Faris shook his head, amused.
They walked back toward the car slowly.
Jiawen held the handkerchief in her hand.
Faris walked beside her.
Their shoulders brushed once.
Faris didn’t pull away.
Jiawen didn’t flinch.
The night air felt lighter.
The lamps glowed softly.
When they reached the car, Jiawen paused.
She looked at Faris.
Her face betrayed a new fear.
“What about… office?” she asked.
Faris nodded slowly.
“We handle,” he said. “Step by step.”
Jiawen swallowed.
“And Junhao?” she whispered.
Faris’s jaw tightened.
“Does he matter?” he asked carefully.
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she shook her head.
“No,” she whispered. “Not like before.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
He nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Jiawen nodded. “Okay.”
She climbed into the passenger seat.
Faris started the car.
As they drove out of the gardens, the city lights returned.
Singapore’s clean roads, its quiet order.
The world looked the same.
But something inside Faris had shifted.
Not because he had won something.
Because he had chosen something.
Chosen to step into a story that would require courage beyond work.
When he sent Jiawen home, she stepped out of the car and hesitated.
She turned back.
“Faris,” she said softly.
He looked at her.
Jiawen’s face betrayed shyness.
Then she said, barely above a whisper, “Can I keep the handkerchief for now?”
Faris’s chest tightened.
He nodded once.
“Okay,” he said.
Jiawen smiled.
Then she disappeared into the lift.
Faris drove home alone.
His inner pocket felt emptier without the folded fabric.
But his chest felt fuller.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, like a distant thundercloud, he could already feel what came next.
Monday.
The office.
The high-stakes rollout.
The ex who wouldn’t stay quiet.
Rumours.
HR.
Family.
A life that would not be solved by planning alone.
But for tonight, Faris let himself breathe.
Because in the quiet of Botanic Gardens, under soft lamps and wet leaves, someone had finally asked him to be more than useful.
And he had said yes.