The Door Problem
It started with a door.
It always did.
The doors at Meridian Harbor Systems were mostly glass–clean, heavy, and smug with the assumption that everyone inside knew how to behave. They swung open with soft resistance, the kind that made you feel like you were entering a place where mistakes left fingerprints.
Jiawen knew those doors.
She knew the front glass door with the etched department name.
She knew the pantry door that never closed properly.
She knew the meeting room doors that creaked when someone stayed too late.
But the door that mattered this week was the one Faris insisted on opening for her.
The pantry door.
It was Wednesday afternoon, 3:16pm–prime time for the office’s collective sugar cravings.
Jiawen was on her way to the pantry for water and perhaps–if she was feeling brave–a packet of the cursed biscuits everyone pretended not to eat.
Faris stood up at the same time.
Of course.
Because even their schedules were starting to align in ways that felt suspicious.
Jiawen told herself it was coincidence.
Then Faris walked ahead of her and held the pantry door open with a calm little tilt of his arm.
Jiawen stopped.
She stared at him.
Faris looked back at her, expression neutral.
“Go,” he said.
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed disbelief.
“Why are you holding the door,” she hissed.
Faris shrugged. “Because you’re walking.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
Jiawen looked around.
Ben had headphones on.
Priya was on a call.
Reza was nowhere.
Still, Jiawen felt the phantom eyes of rumour season.
She stepped through the door quickly, muttering, “Extra.”
Faris followed her in.
The pantry smelled like lemon cleaner and stale coffee.
Someone had left bubble tea pearls in the sink again like a crime scene.
Jiawen headed for the water dispenser.
Faris went for the kettle.
They moved around each other with the cautious rhythm of people trying to look normal while being unable to un-know what they knew.
Jiawen filled her bottle.
Faris poured hot water into his mug.
Jiawen pretended she didn’t notice the way he held the mug steady with both hands, like it grounded him.
She turned toward the counter.
The biscuit packet lay open.
Tempting.
Dangerous.
Jiawen reached for one.
Faris spoke, calm as always. “Those biscuits are stale.”
Jiawen paused mid-reach.
“How you know?” she asked.
Faris lifted an eyebrow. “Experience.”
Jiawen narrowed her eyes. “So you ate.”
Faris took a sip of his drink. “Yes.”
“Hypocrite,” Jiawen muttered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “I learned so you don’t have to suffer.”
Jiawen stared.
Her face betrayed the small warmth that sentence created.
Then she fought it.
“I can suffer myself,” she said firmly.
Faris glanced at her. “You want to suffer?”
Jiawen exhaled sharply. “No. I want you to stop treating me like I’m…”
She stopped.
Her throat tightened.
Like what?
Fragile?
Small?
Intern?
Girlfriend?
She didn’t know which word would be the most dangerous.
Faris watched her carefully.
His eyes softened.
“Like what?” he asked gently.
Jiawen’s cheeks warmed.
Her face betrayed her frustration.
“Like I’m… helpless,” she said, finally.
Faris blinked.
Then he nodded slowly. “Okay.”
Jiawen threw up her hands. “Stop okay-ing me!”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “I can’t.”
Jiawen groaned. “Faris.”
Faris leaned against the counter slightly, shoulders relaxed. “Jiawen.”
She glared at him.
His expression was calm.
A little amused.
It was infuriating.
Because she couldn’t tell if he was taking her seriously.
Or if he thought this was cute.
Jiawen took a breath.
“I know you’re raised to be gentleman,” she said quietly. “I know you do it for everyone. But sometimes… it makes me feel like you don’t think I can stand on my own.”
Faris’s expression shifted.
The amusement faded.
Work Faris faded too.
This was something else.
He looked at her, truly.
“I do think you can stand on your own,” he said softly.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
Faris continued, voice low, “You proved that already. You didn’t need me to talk in steering calls. You didn’t need me to fix your life. You…”
He paused.
His throat moved.
Then he added, quieter, “You closed your door with Junhao yourself.”
Jiawen blinked.
Warmth and pain mingled.
Faris’s gaze held hers.
“So why you keep opening doors for me,” she whispered.
Faris exhaled.
His eyes flicked away briefly.
Then back.
“Because I like taking care,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty hit Jiawen like a soft push.
Her face betrayed surprise.
Faris’s mouth tightened slightly, as if he regretted being that exposed.
Then he said, calmer, “It’s habit. It’s not… a judgment.”
Jiawen swallowed.
Her anger softened.
But the tension remained.
Because his habit was sweet.
And sweetness was dangerous.
It made you want more.
It made you forget the office’s glass walls.
Jiawen looked down at her bottle.
Then she said softly, “Okay. Then we make deal.”
Faris blinked. “Deal?”
Jiawen nodded firmly. “Yes. Sometimes you open door. Sometimes I open door. We take turns.”
Faris stared.
His mouth twitched.
“That’s… weird,” he said.
Jiawen pointed at him. “You are the one with bread breakfast. Don’t call me weird.”
Faris let out a quiet laugh.
Jiawen’s face betrayed triumph.
Then she remembered where they were.
She glanced around.
No one.
Still, her cheeks warmed.
Faris nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said.
Jiawen groaned. “Stop.”
Faris’s eyes softened. “Fine. Deal.”
Jiawen exhaled.
Relief washed through her, absurdly strong.
A door.
They had fought about a door.
And yet it was never about the door.
It was about space.
Respect.
Control.
Not disappearing inside someone else’s care.
Jiawen lifted her chin, satisfied. “Good.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Don’t copy me.”
Jiawen grinned. “I’m practising.”
They left the pantry together.
And because Jiawen was now on a mission, she rushed ahead and grabbed the pantry door handle first.
She pulled it open.
Then she stepped aside, holding it for Faris.
Faris stopped.
He stared at her.
Jiawen lifted her eyebrows as if to say: Your turn to walk.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
He stepped through, slow.
Then he leaned slightly closer, voice low.
“You’re very proud of yourself,” he murmured.
Jiawen’s face betrayed smugness. “Yes.”
Faris shook his head, amused.
They returned to the pod.
The office resumed.
Emails.
Calls.
Deadlines.
And yet Jiawen felt lighter.
Because she had drawn a line.
Not against him.
With him.
By late afternoon, the door problem evolved.
It turned into a chair problem.
At 4:52pm, Priya called a quick internal meeting in Meeting Room 3A.
“Ten minutes,” she said. “Sit. We align on cutover tasks. No drama.”
Everyone filed in.
The meeting room was cold enough to preserve meat.
Jiawen sat down quickly, hugging her cardigan around her.
Faris sat beside her.
Of course.
Because seats, like schedules, loved to betray them.
Reza slid in last, carrying his laptop like it was a burden.
As Jiawen pulled her chair closer to the table, the chair leg caught on the carpet and jolted.
She yelped softly.
Not loud.
But enough.
Faris’s hand shot out instinctively, steadying the chair.
His palm pressed briefly against the chair back.
Not her.
But close enough.
Jiawen froze.
Her face betrayed embarrassment.
Faris’s expression was calm.
Automatic.
He didn’t even seem to register the intimacy of the movement.
Jiawen clenched her jaw.
Deal, she reminded herself.
We take turns.
So, when Faris began to stand at the end of the meeting, reaching for the door handle like always, Jiawen moved faster.
She grabbed the door first.
Pulled it open.
Stepped aside.
Faris stopped.
Reza stopped.
Ben stopped.
Priya’s eyes narrowed.
Jiawen felt every gaze.
For a heartbeat, she thought she had made a mistake.
Then Priya’s mouth twitched.
A smile.
Not mocking.
Almost… approving.
Faris stepped through.
His eyes flicked to Jiawen, amusement softening them.
Jiawen held the door for everyone, cheeks warm.
Reza passed her and whispered loudly, “Wah, today Jiawen very gentleman.”
Jiawen glared at him. “Shut up.”
Reza grinned. “Okay, okay.”
When they returned to the pod, Priya leaned slightly toward Jiawen.
“Everything okay?” Priya asked, voice low.
Jiawen blinked. “Why?”
Priya shrugged. “You look like you’re fighting something.”
Jiawen exhaled.
She glanced at Faris.
He was already back in work mode.
Then she looked at Priya.
She wanted to say it.
She wanted to tell Priya, We’re together, but I’m trying to stay myself.
Instead she said, “Just… learning.”
Priya studied her for a moment.
Then she nodded.
“Good,” Priya said.
Jiawen blinked.
Priya’s mouth twitched. “Don’t let anyone write your story for you.”
The sentence landed in Jiawen’s chest like warmth.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she murmured.
Priya rolled her eyes. “Don’t copy Faris.”
Jiawen’s face betrayed laughter.
She covered her mouth quickly.
Priya’s eyes softened. “Go do work.”
Jiawen nodded.
That night, after work, Jiawen stood at the lift lobby with her bag on her shoulder.
Faris stood beside her.
This time, they weren’t with a group.
The floor was quiet.
The lights still bright.
The air still cold.
But there were fewer eyes.
Jiawen’s heart thudded.
She glanced at Faris.
He looked tired.
He looked steady.
He looked like a man holding a hundred tasks in his head.
Jiawen swallowed.
“Faris,” she whispered.
He turned toward her. “Hm?”
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she said, softly, “I know you take care as habit. But… thank you for trying to meet me halfway.”
Faris stared.
His eyes softened.
He didn’t say okay immediately.
Instead, he exhaled slowly.
“I’m learning too,” he admitted quietly.
Jiawen blinked.
Warmth rose in her chest.
Faris continued, voice low, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to shrink to fit me.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She nodded slowly.
The lift doors opened.
They stepped inside.
For a moment, the metal walls reflected them–his tall frame, her small one–two people trying to occupy the same space without erasing each other.
As the lift descended, Jiawen reached into her bag and pulled out his handkerchief.
Faris blinked. “Why you bring that?”
Jiawen looked up, eyes mischievous.
Her face betrayed playfulness.
“Emergency,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “You never cry.”
Jiawen gasped. “Excuse me. I cry only when orchestra attack me.”
Faris laughed softly.
Jiawen smiled.
Then she held the handkerchief out.
“Here,” she said.
Faris frowned. “Why?”
Jiawen lifted her eyebrows. “Door deal. Today I opened door for you. Now you take this back.”
Faris stared.
Then his eyes softened.
He didn’t take it immediately.
He hesitated.
Like the fabric carried more weight than it should.
Jiawen’s smile gentled.
“Keep,” she whispered. “For your emergencies also. Like when Reza open his mouth.”
Faris chuckled.
Then he took the handkerchief.
His fingers brushed hers.
Warm.
Brief.
The lift dinged.
The doors opened.
They stepped out into the lobby.
The security guard nodded at them.
Faris walked toward the exit.
Jiawen walked beside him.
And for the first time since they made it official, Jiawen felt something settle.
Not because rumours stopped.
Not because HR disappeared.
Not because Junhao would suddenly become mature.
But because she and Faris were learning a protocol that mattered more than lunch strategies.
A protocol of respect.
Of turns.
Of not losing herself inside someone else’s care.
A protocol where love didn’t only look like doors held open.
It also looked like letting the other person hold the door for themselves.