Lunch Protocol
By Tuesday, Jiawen had learned two things about dating a senior colleague.
One: the relationship itself was not the hard part.
Two: everyone else’s imagination was.
She woke up to a WhatsApp notification from her mother.
Ma: Today bring jacket. Office cold. And don’t skip breakfast.
Jiawen stared at the message.
She typed back with obedient speed.
Jiawen: Okay.
Then she stared at her own reply and groaned.
She was catching Faris’ disease.
Her phone buzzed again.
Faris.
Faris: Morning.
Faris: Eat something.
Jiawen rolled over in bed and hugged her pillow like it had committed a crime.
Was this romance?
Or was this a mutual campaign to prevent each other from fainting at one-north?
She typed back.
Jiawen: Morning.
Jiawen: You too.
A pause.
Then his reply:
Faris: I already did.
Jiawen narrowed her eyes at the screen.
A lie.
Or worse–he had actually eaten breakfast, which meant he was either recovering from heartbreak like a responsible adult, or he was trying to impress her, or he had turned into a different man overnight.
She typed:
Jiawen: What did you eat.
His reply came.
Faris: Bread.
Jiawen stared.
Bread.
That was not a meal.
That was evidence.
She typed:
Jiawen: Bread is not breakfast.
A moment later:
Faris: It is if you eat it in the morning.
Jiawen sat up in bed.
She felt outrage bloom in her chest like a flower.
Then she laughed, because it was Faris logic–calm, literal, infuriating.
Jiawen: Okay uncle.
She hit send.
Then immediately regretted it.
Because the word “uncle” in their private chat was cute.
The word “uncle” in office was a liability.
And Jiawen was still learning where the boundaries lived.
At the CIS floor, the air-conditioning greeted her like an enemy.
Jiawen stepped out of the lift and immediately felt the cold settle into her bones.
She clutched her cardigan tighter and walked toward her desk.
Faris was already there.
Of course.
He was always there.
He looked up when she arrived.
Their eyes met.
Jiawen’s heart did its annoying leap.
Then she remembered the office.
She forced her face into neutrality.
“Morning,” she said.
Faris nodded. “Morning.”
Normal.
Professional.
Yet his gaze lingered for half a second.
Just enough to remind her: I’m still here.
Jiawen sat down quickly, opened her laptop, and pretended Teams was the love of her life.
A second later, Reza exploded into existence.
“Jiawen!” he shouted, as if calling across a kampung field. “Why you look happy today?”
Jiawen froze.
Ben snorted from behind his monitor.
Priya looked up with murder in her eyes. “Reza, why you so loud. You want HR to hear your voice from another building?”
Reza grinned. “HR already hear me from last year.”
Jiawen forced a laugh. “I’m not happy. I’m just… awake.”
Reza leaned closer, eyes bright with suspicion. “Awake = happy? Wah, your life very simple.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”
Reza’s grin widened. “Okay, okay. But I’m just saying. Today your aura different.”
Jiawen’s stomach tightened.
Aura.
This man spoke like he was a feng shui master.
Faris, without looking up from his screen, said calmly, “Reza, do your work.”
Reza gasped dramatically. “Wah, Faris. Why you protect her. You see–”
Priya cut in sharply, “Reza.”
One word.
He shut up.
Jiawen exhaled slowly.
She glanced at Faris.
He still didn’t look at her.
But she could feel, somehow, that he had intervened on purpose.
A quiet protection.
Not loud.
Not possessive.
Just enough.
Jiawen’s chest warmed.
Then she remembered last night’s Teams reminder about professional boundaries.
Her stomach tightened again.
Warmth and fear.
Like always.
The morning sprinted.
SkyFreight was on a countdown.
Action items multiplied like rabbits.
At 11:55, Priya stood and stretched.
“Lunch,” she declared. “Everyone go. I don’t want anyone faint at their desk.”
Reza shot up like a spring. “Yes! Food!”
Ben groaned. “I want sleep.”
Faris stood too.
Jiawen stood a beat later.
The chairs rolled back together.
Again, the timing felt too intimate.
Jiawen swallowed.
They walked toward the lifts as a group.
The lift doors opened.
Everyone piled in.
Jiawen squeezed in beside Ben.
Faris stood a little behind her.
Reza, as always, stood in the middle like a talk show host.
“So,” Reza said, loudly, “today we eat where? Mala again? Or chicken rice? Or we try something new?”
Priya shrugged. “Anywhere fast.”
Reza turned toward Jiawen. “Jiawen, you choose. Newcomer privilege.”
Jiawen blinked. “I’m not newcomer already.”
Reza waved his hand dismissively. “Still small. Still cute. Still can choose.”
Jiawen made a face.
Her face betrayed irritation.
Reza laughed. “See? Entertainment.”
Faris, behind her, said calmly, “She doesn’t have to choose.”
Reza’s eyes widened.
He looked between Faris and Jiawen like he was watching an episode of drama.
“Ohhh,” he said.
Priya’s head snapped toward him.
“Reza,” she warned.
Reza shut his mouth.
The lift dinged.
They exited.
Jiawen’s heart thudded.
This was the problem.
Even Faris saying a normal sentence sounded like a claim if people wanted it to.
As they walked, Jiawen fell into step beside Priya.
Priya glanced at her.
“You okay?” Priya asked, voice low.
Jiawen blinked. “Why you ask?”
Priya shrugged. “You look like you’re holding your breath.”
Jiawen exhaled. “Just… Reza.”
Priya snorted. “Reza always like that. Don’t let him bully you.”
Jiawen hesitated.
She wanted to tell Priya the truth.
Priya was blunt but fair.
Priya had already protected them from Reza’s mouth once.
But telling Priya felt like making it real in the office.
So Jiawen shook her head.
“Nothing,” she said.
Priya’s eyes narrowed.
Then she said, “Okay. But if you need me to murder him, just tell.”
Jiawen laughed, relieved.
They reached the food court.
The usual chaos.
Queues.
Clattering trays.
Office chatter.
They found their table.
Jiawen sat down and immediately regretted it.
Because Reza sat right across from her.
Of course.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
His eyes glittered with mischief.
“Okay,” he began.
Jiawen’s stomach dropped.
Reza continued, voice too innocent, “So… Faris, you got weekend go where?”
Jiawen froze.
Faris lifted his gaze slowly.
Reza smiled wider.
Ben coughed into his drink.
Priya’s eyes narrowed.
Faris’s expression remained neutral.
“Home,” Faris said.
Reza blinked. “Home only? Wah, boring.”
Faris shrugged. “Yes.”
Reza tilted his head. “You sure? No go Botanic Gardens?”
Jiawen nearly choked.
Her face betrayed her panic.
Ben actually choked.
Priya slammed her spoon down. “Reza.”
Reza raised both hands. “WHAT? I just guessing. Many people go Botanic Gardens what.”
Faris stared at Reza.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Eat your food,” he said.
Reza pouted. “Okay.”
Priya leaned toward Jiawen slightly, whispering, “Ignore him. He’s like mosquito. Annoying but small.”
Jiawen laughed weakly.
Her heart pounded.
How did Reza even guess Botanic Gardens?
Was she that obvious?
Was Faris?
Did the office have CCTV for romance?
Jiawen stared down at her food.
Her appetite vanished.
Faris ate quietly.
But she could feel his attention flicking to her face.
Not staring.
Just checking.
As if he wanted to ask, Are you okay?
But couldn’t.
Not here.
Not with Reza’s antennae up.
Jiawen’s phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
She checked reluctantly.
A WhatsApp from an unknown number.
Unknown: Jiawen, please. Just talk.
Her stomach dropped.
Junhao.
Again.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
She felt heat rise in her face.
She tried to keep her expression neutral.
Her face betrayed her anyway.
Faris noticed immediately.
He leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only she could hear.
“What?” he asked.
Jiawen swallowed.
She didn’t want to say his name.
Not at this table.
Not with Priya and Ben and Reza.
She slipped her phone under the table, angling it toward Faris.
Faris glanced.
His jaw tightened.
He didn’t curse.
He didn’t react loudly.
He simply said, low, “Block.”
Jiawen whispered back, “He keeps using new number.”
Faris’s eyes sharpened.
A flicker of something protective.
He kept his voice calm.
“Block again,” he said.
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she tapped.
Block.
Her breath shuddered.
Faris’s eyes softened.
“Good,” he murmured.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched.
She wanted to laugh.
She couldn’t.
Because Reza suddenly leaned forward.
“Eh,” he whispered loudly, which was an accomplishment, “why you two always whisper? You two got secret project?”
Jiawen froze.
Her cheeks flared.
Ben looked up, amused.
Priya’s eyes flashed.
Faris didn’t even blink.
“Work,” he said.
Reza’s eyes widened. “Work whisper? Wah, so suspense.”
Priya kicked Reza’s shin under the table.
Reza yelped. “OW! Priya!”
Priya smiled sweetly. “Accident.”
Reza rubbed his leg, glaring. “You violent.”
Priya shrugged. “You deserve.”
Jiawen exhaled slowly, grateful.
She mouthed “thank you” at Priya.
Priya winked.
The conversation moved on.
Reza complained about mala being too spicy.
Ben laughed.
Faris ate quietly.
Jiawen ate slowly, forcing her stomach to accept food.
But her heart still pounded.
Because the office was watching.
And because Junhao had found a way to push through her block.
And because Faris had protected her in the smallest, quietest ways–ways that could look like “close” to anyone who wanted a story.
When lunch ended, the group returned trays.
Jiawen lingered behind, walking slightly slower.
Faris slowed too.
Not obvious.
But enough.
In the lift lobby, Priya walked ahead with Ben, still bickering with Reza.
Jiawen found herself beside Faris, a small pocket of quiet forming between the noise.
Faris spoke softly, eyes forward.
“You okay?”
Jiawen swallowed.
She wanted to say no.
She wanted to say, This is scary.
She wanted to say, I hate being watched.
Instead she said, “I’m okay.”
Faris lifted an eyebrow.
Jiawen’s face betrayed her.
She sighed. “Okay, not okay. But… manageable.”
Faris nodded slowly.
“We’ll adjust,” he said.
Jiawen glanced at him.
His profile looked calm.
But she could see tension in his jaw.
She realised he was carrying it too.
Not just for himself.
For her.
Jiawen’s chest warmed and tightened.
“Faris,” she whispered.
He glanced at her. “Hm?”
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she said, quietly, “Thank you for… today.”
Faris’s eyes softened.
He didn’t smile.
Not here.
But his voice came out gentle.
“Okay,” he said.
Jiawen rolled her eyes slightly, but her lips twitched.
“Stop okay-ing me,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched too.
“I can’t,” he murmured.
The lift arrived.
They stepped in.
The doors closed.
And for a moment, trapped in a metal box with fluorescent lights and too many colleagues, Jiawen realised what their lunch protocol truly was.
Not rules.
Not strategies.
Not perfect optics.
It was simply this:
Trying to love each other in a place that demanded you pretend you didn’t.
That afternoon, Jiawen’s Teams pinged again.
Sharon from banking.
Sharon (Bank CIS): LOL Reza damn kaypoh. Don’t worry. We all like you.
Sharon: But serious, if your ex becomes problem, tell HR okay.
Jiawen stared at the message.
Her throat tightened.
Tell HR.
It sounded drastic.
It also sounded… real.
She glanced across the partition at Faris.
He was typing, focused.
He looked up briefly.
Their eyes met.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
Faris’s gaze held steady.
Like: I’m here.
Jiawen swallowed.
She typed back to Sharon:
Jiawen: Thanks. I’m okay. Just annoying.
Then she opened WhatsApp.
She typed a message to Faris.
Jiawen: Lunch protocol today: Priya kicked Reza.
A moment later, Faris’s reply came.
Faris: Good.
Jiawen stared.
Then she laughed silently into her sleeve.
Because even with rumours and protocols and exes with new numbers…
She could still find him.
In two words.
In a quiet steadiness.
In the small space between two seats.
And she knew–cheeky title aside–that becoming closer wasn’t about grand declarations.
It was about surviving days like this.
Together.