Proper
On the morning after the kiss, Jiawen’s lips didn’t feel different.
The world did.
Not in a dramatic way.
Singapore still ran on schedules.
The bus still arrived late.
The office still blasted air-conditioning like it was trying to preserve everyone.
SkyFreight still pinged with post go-live questions.
But Jiawen’s mind kept returning to one street lamp and one brief softness that had landed like a quiet vow.
Faris hadn’t kissed her like a man trying to take something.
He had kissed her like a man choosing.
And Jiawen–who had spent too much of her early twenties trying to earn certainty from people who gave it reluctantly–felt something in her chest loosen.
She didn’t have to beg for clarity.
She didn’t have to decode silence.
She didn’t have to wonder what she was.
She was his.
Properly.
The word itself made her cheeks warm.
She rolled over in bed and pressed her face into her pillow with a muffled scream.
Then she remembered she had work.
Adult life did not pause for romance.
Unfortunately.
Her phone buzzed.
Faris.
Faris: Morning.
Faris: Eat.
Jiawen stared.
Of course.
Even after kissing her, he was still trying to keep her alive with food.
She typed:
Jiawen: Morning.
Jiawen: Yes stage dad.
A pause.
Then:
Faris: Mentoring.
Jiawen laughed into her pillow.
Then she typed:
Jiawen: Today 3:20 pantry?
His reply came.
Faris: Yes.
Jiawen exhaled.
The routine.
The thread.
Still there.
At the office, everything looked the same.
Glass walls.
Low partitions.
Teams pings.
The soft clatter of keyboards.
The smell of kopi.
Jiawen walked into Pod Cluster B with her tote bag on her shoulder and her face set to “professional.”
Her face betrayed her anyway.
Because the moment she sat down, Sharon glanced over.
Sharon’s eyeliner was sharp enough to cut paper.
Her smile was small.
Knowing.
“Morning,” Sharon said.
Jiawen blinked. “Morning.”
Sharon’s eyes flicked over Jiawen’s face.
Then she hummed softly.
“You look… well-rested,” Sharon said.
Jiawen froze.
Her cheeks warmed.
Her face betrayed her.
“I’m always well-rested,” she lied.
Sharon’s mouth twitched.
“Okay,” Sharon said, in a tone that meant Sure.
Jiawen stared at her screen.
She could feel Sharon’s amusement like a spotlight.
Across the rows, Faris sat at his desk.
He looked up once.
Their eyes met.
Jiawen’s heart thudded.
Faris didn’t smile.
Not in the office.
But his gaze softened.
A quiet warmth.
Jiawen looked away quickly.
Too dangerous.
Too visible.
Work.
SkyFreight had questions.
The bank project had follow-ups.
Marcus had scheduled another internal alignment.
Stephanie from HR had not replied yet about safeguards.
The world was moving.
Jiawen opened her laptop and tried to be a person with one life at a time.
It didn’t work.
At 11:32am, a Teams notification popped up.
Marcus Tan:
Faris, can you drop by my office at 2pm? Staffing discussion.
Jiawen’s stomach tightened.
Staffing discussion.
HR asked.
Optics.
She stared at the message.
Then realised it wasn’t sent to her.
It was on Faris’ screen.
Visible because he had shared his screen earlier for a tracker.
Her chest tightened.
She glanced at him.
He was reading something on his laptop.
His expression didn’t change.
But his posture stiffened slightly.
He knew.
The bank project was already trying to test their status.
Not the relationship status.
The professional status.
Would they be treated as a risk?
Would Jiawen be cut out to keep things clean?
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Her fingers clenched around her mouse.
She didn’t want to be protected by being removed.
She wanted to be protected by being respected.
At lunch, Jiawen went with Sharon and two other colleagues from the pod.
Not because she didn’t want to sit with her old team.
Because lunch protocol still existed.
Because being seen with Faris alone would feed Reza like a stray cat.
Still, as she walked past the food court, she saw Faris at a table with Priya and Ben.
Reza was there too, animated as always.
Faris looked up.
Their eyes met across the crowd.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
Faris’s gaze held for a fraction.
Not long.
Just enough.
A thread.
Then he looked away.
Jiawen exhaled.
Sharon leaned close, voice amused.
“Wah,” Sharon whispered. “If you two stare any longer, HR will get pregnant.”
Jiawen choked.
Her face betrayed shock.
“Sharon!” she hissed.
Sharon laughed quietly. “Relax. I’m joking.”
Jiawen glared.
Sharon grinned. “80% romcom, 20% thriller right?”
Jiawen froze.
“How you know that,” she whispered, horrified.
Sharon’s grin widened. “Because your life is like drama. Easy to read.”
Jiawen groaned. “My face is loud.”
Sharon nodded. “Very.”
Jiawen sighed and ate her lunch like someone trying to survive embarrassment.
At 2:03pm, Faris walked past Pod Cluster B.
Jiawen saw him out of the corner of her eye.
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t look at her.
Work mode.
Marcus.
Staffing.
Jiawen’s stomach tightened.
She tried to focus on her screen.
But the tightness grew.
What if Marcus told Faris she couldn’t join the project?
What if HR insisted she be moved further away?
What if Faris decided the safest way to protect her was to keep her out?
Jiawen swallowed.
The fear wasn’t only professional.
It was personal too.
Because she had been protected her whole life by being excluded.
By being told, politely, that something wasn’t for her.
She hated that.
At 3:19pm, Jiawen stood abruptly.
Sharon looked up. “Pantry?”
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed surprise.
Sharon smiled. “Your face is predictable.”
Jiawen groaned and walked to the pantry.
Faris was there.
Standing by the counter.
Two mugs.
Of course.
Jiawen sat down quickly, heart thudding.
Faris slid a mug toward her.
Warm water.
Anchor.
Jiawen wrapped her hands around it.
Faris sat opposite her.
His expression was calm.
But his eyes looked tired.
And his jaw held that slight tension she recognised now.
“How was Marcus?” Jiawen asked softly.
Faris paused.
He didn’t answer immediately.
He took a sip of his drink.
Then he said, quietly, “He asked about staffing.”
Jiawen’s stomach tightened.
“And?” she whispered.
Faris looked at her.
His gaze was steady.
“They want you,” he said.
Jiawen froze.
Her breath caught.
Faris continued, voice calm. “Not as my add-on. As support for comms and documentation. Marcus said your SkyFreight work was noticed.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Warmth surged.
Then fear.
“What about HR?” she whispered.
Faris exhaled.
“HR wants safeguards,” he said. “Marcus suggested a second reviewer for your deliverables–Priya or another senior. And you won’t report to me on paper.”
Jiawen stared.
Her chest loosened.
He had done it.
He had structured it.
He had protected her credibility without erasing her.
Tears prickled.
Jiawen blinked fast.
Faris’s eyes softened.
“You okay?” he asked.
Jiawen laughed weakly. “No. But yes.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“That’s the most Jiawen answer,” he murmured.
Jiawen wiped the corner of her eye quickly.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Faris’s expression softened.
He didn’t say okay immediately.
Instead, he said quietly, “I didn’t want them to solve optics by cutting you out.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
Faris continued, voice low, “But… we still need to be careful. Bank project has many eyes. We keep it clean at work.”
Jiawen exhaled.
She nodded again.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
Then Jiawen looked down at her hands.
She hesitated.
And finally, she pulled the handkerchief out of her tote bag.
Faris blinked.
Jiawen held it out.
“Here,” she said softly.
Faris frowned. “Why?”
Jiawen swallowed.
Her cheeks warmed.
Her face betrayed shyness.
“Because I keep using it as excuse to feel… safe,” she admitted quietly. “But I don’t want to rely on an object. I want to rely on… us.”
Faris went still.
The handkerchief, folded neatly, looked innocent.
But it carried their entire story.
The concerto.
The note.
The pantry cries.
The door deals.
Jiawen’s voice was soft.
“I want to return it,” she said. “Properly.”
Faris stared at it.
Then he looked at her.
His eyes softened.
He didn’t take it.
Jiawen blinked.
Faris exhaled slowly.
“Keep it,” he said quietly.
Jiawen froze.
“Why?” she whispered.
Faris’s throat moved.
He looked down at his mug.
Then back at her.
“Because you’re going to doubt yourself,” he admitted softly. “Bank project. HR. Stakeholders. People talking. You’ll have days where you feel small.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Faris continued, voice low, “And I don’t want you to forget the first day you realised you could be steady under pressure. The first day you closed a door properly. The first day you chose clarity.”
Jiawen’s eyes stung.
Her face betrayed it.
She blinked fast.
Faris’s gaze held hers.
“So keep it,” he said. “Not because you need the object. But because it’s proof. For the days you doubt.”
Jiawen’s breath shuddered.
Her fingers tightened around the handkerchief.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
Silence settled.
Warm.
Full.
Jiawen looked down at the handkerchief.
Then she laughed softly through her tears.
“You always so dramatic in a quiet way,” she muttered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Mentoring.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes, smiling.
Then her expression softened.
“Faris,” she whispered.
He looked at her. “Hm?”
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she said, softly, “Thank you for being proper.”
Faris went still.
The word landed like a vow.
Proper.
Not no status.
Not half-measures.
Not hiding.
Clarity.
Choice.
Faris exhaled slowly.
“I’m trying,” he admitted.
Jiawen nodded.
She stood.
Faris stood too.
They left the pantry separately.
Because office.
Because glass walls.
But in Jiawen’s chest, something steady settled.
Not because the world became safe.
Because her relationship had become a place she could stand.
That night, Jiawen and Faris met for supper–quietly, off-site.
No fairy lights.
Just warm food.
Plastic chairs.
A side street where no one cared about bank stakeholders.
Jiawen ate slowly.
She was tired.
But a good tired.
Faris sat beside her.
He didn’t talk too much.
He just existed.
At one point, Jiawen glanced at him.
“Do you regret,” she whispered, “choosing someone younger?”
Faris froze.
Then he turned toward her.
His eyes were steady.
“No,” he said simply.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Faris’s voice softened.
“You’re not younger in the ways that matter,” he said. “You’re brave. You’re clear. You’re… you.”
Jiawen’s cheeks warmed.
Her face betrayed shyness.
She muttered, “Wah, you suddenly romantic.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Don’t get used to it.”
Jiawen laughed.
Then she reached under the table and touched his hand lightly.
Not a grab.
A small claim.
Faris’s fingers tightened around hers once.
Warm.
Steady.
Then he let go, because public.
But the warmth lingered.
When he sent her home, Jiawen stepped out of the car and hesitated.
She looked back.
“Good night,” she whispered.
Faris nodded once. “Good night.”
Jiawen grinned. “Not friend.”
Faris’s mouth softened.
“Not friend,” he repeated quietly.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
Then she disappeared into the lift.
Faris drove home.
Alone in the car.
But not alone in the story.
Because tomorrow would bring bank project planning.
HR safeguards.
More eyes.
More whispers.
And maybe–somewhere in the background–Amani’s shadow returning, polite and dangerous.
But for tonight, Faris let himself breathe.
Because they had done it properly.
Not perfectly.
Not loudly.
But properly.
And sometimes, in a world of glass walls and quiet gossip, that was the bravest kind of love.