Junhao, Please
Junhao didn’t show up like a villain.
That was the problem.
He didn’t arrive with threats, or dramatic speeches, or a bouquet of roses that made everyone turn their heads.
He arrived the way inconvenient people always did–quietly, persistently, and with the confidence of someone who believed he still had a place in your life.
On Friday morning, Jiawen woke up to three missed calls from an unknown number and one long WhatsApp message that made her stomach go cold.
Unknown: Jiawen, I know I messed up.
Unknown: I’m not asking you to forgive me immediately.
Unknown: I just want one talk. Please.
Unknown: I’m near your office later. I can wait.
Jiawen stared at the message until her vision blurred.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
Near your office.
A boundary had been crossed without the courtesy of asking.
She sat up in bed, heart pounding.
Her room felt too small.
The air felt too thick.
She wanted to throw her phone across the room.
Instead, she did the adult thing.
She blocked the number.
Again.
Her breath shuddered.
She lay back down for one second, staring at the ceiling.
Then her phone buzzed.
Faris.
Faris: Morning.
Faris: You sleep okay?
Jiawen stared.
The tenderness of the question made her throat tighten.
She wanted to say, No, my ex is haunting me like a software bug.
Instead she typed:
Jiawen: Morning.
Jiawen: Can you pick me up today?
She hit send.
Immediately, her cheeks warmed.
The request felt too intimate.
Too dependent.
But she also knew–if Junhao really went near the office, she did not want to walk alone from MRT to building.
Faris replied within seconds.
Faris: Yes.
Faris: What time?
Jiawen exhaled.
Her chest loosened slightly.
She typed:
Jiawen: 8:45 at my block.
A pause.
Then:
Faris: Okay.
Jiawen rolled her eyes, half relieved, half annoyed.
At least some things in life were predictable.
At 8:43am, Faris’s car pulled up under Jiawen’s block.
The void deck smelled of morning kopi and damp concrete.
A cleaner pushed a trolley past, humming softly.
The estate looked like it always did–quiet, domestic, safe.
Jiawen stepped out of the lift and saw Faris waiting by the car.
He was dressed in a clean shirt, sleeves rolled, hair neat.
Not suit.
Not date.
Just office Faris.
He looked up when he saw her.
His expression softened.
Then tightened.
He noticed immediately.
Jiawen’s face–traitor–was pale.
Her shoulders were tense.
Her eyes were bright with something close to fear.
Faris walked toward her.
“Morning,” he said softly.
Jiawen tried to smile.
Her face betrayed her.
Faris’s jaw tightened.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Jiawen swallowed.
She didn’t want to say his name out loud in the void deck.
As if the walls might hear.
She lifted her phone and showed Faris the message preview she had screenshotted before blocking.
Faris read.
His expression went still.
Not angry.
Something colder.
Controlled.
He looked up.
“He said he’s near your office,” Faris murmured.
Jiawen nodded.
Her throat tightened.
“I blocked,” she whispered.
Faris’s eyes softened.
“Good,” he said.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched.
She wanted to laugh.
She couldn’t.
Faris stepped closer.
He didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
But his voice dropped.
“Do you feel unsafe?” he asked.
Jiawen blinked.
The question was serious.
It made her chest tighten.
She hesitated.
“I don’t think he will hurt me,” she whispered. “He’s just… persistent.”
Faris nodded slowly.
His jaw tightened again.
“Persistent people can still be dangerous,” he said quietly.
Jiawen swallowed.
Her fingers tightened around her tote bag strap.
Faris looked at the car.
Then at her.
“Get in,” he said.
Jiawen nodded quickly.
She moved toward the passenger side.
Faris opened the door.
Jiawen didn’t protest today.
She slid in and buckled her seatbelt with trembling hands.
Faris got into the driver’s seat.
He didn’t start the car immediately.
He turned to look at her.
His eyes were steady.
“Okay,” he said softly. “We handle properly.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Faris started the engine.
The drive to one-north felt different.
Not because the roads changed.
Because Jiawen’s body was on alert.
She stared out the window, scanning every pedestrian near the MRT entrances, every man standing under sheltered walkways, every familiar silhouette.
Faris noticed.
He kept his speed steady.
His hands stayed calm on the wheel.
He didn’t ask too many questions.
He didn’t lecture.
He simply said, quietly, “If he’s there, you don’t talk. You don’t engage. You go straight in. If he follows, we call security.”
Jiawen swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris glanced at her.
His voice softened. “I’ll walk you to the lobby.”
Jiawen’s heart thudded.
She wanted to say yes.
She also remembered rumour season.
But this wasn’t about rumours.
This was about safety.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she said.
Faris’s mouth twitched faintly.
He parked the car in the visitor lot near the building.
They stepped out.
The morning air was humid.
The sky already bright.
Office workers streamed toward the entrance.
Jiawen’s eyes scanned.
She didn’t see Junhao.
Not yet.
They walked toward the lobby.
Faris stayed beside her.
Not touching.
But close.
The presence was protective.
Jiawen’s chest loosened slightly.
Then, near the sheltered walkway, she saw him.
Junhao.
Standing near a pillar, hands in his pockets, wearing the same kind of casual office attire he used to wear when he met her after work. He looked tired.
He looked nervous.
He looked… human.
Jiawen’s stomach dropped.
Her breath caught.
Faris noticed the shift.
His posture tightened slightly.
Jiawen’s heart pounded.
Junhao’s eyes lifted.
He saw her.
His expression brightened.
Relief.
Hope.
He took a step forward.
“Jia–”
Jiawen’s chest tightened like a fist.
Faris moved.
Not aggressively.
Not dramatically.
He simply stepped half a pace forward, placing himself between Jiawen and Junhao in a way that looked natural.
Like a colleague walking with another colleague.
Junhao stopped.
His gaze flicked to Faris.
Then back to Jiawen.
His brows knit.
Confusion.
Then something sharper.
Realisation.
Jiawen felt heat rise in her cheeks.
Not guilt.
Anger.
Because Junhao had no right to look at her as if she owed him explanations.
She took a breath.
She stepped slightly to the side so she could see Junhao fully.
Her hands trembled.
But her voice came out steady.
“Junhao,” she said.
His eyes widened.
He smiled weakly. “Jiawen. Thank you for–”
“No,” Jiawen cut in.
The word landed clean.
Junhao froze.
Jiawen’s heart pounded.
Her throat tightened.
But she held.
“You can’t come here,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “This is my workplace.”
Junhao swallowed.
“I just wanted one talk,” he whispered.
Jiawen’s jaw tightened.
“Then you should have asked properly,” she said. “And you should have accepted no.”
Junhao’s eyes flicked to Faris again.
He stared.
Then he looked back at Jiawen.
“You’re with him?” he asked, voice thin.
Jiawen felt her chest tighten.
She didn’t want to answer that.
Not because she was ashamed.
Because it wasn’t Junhao’s business.
She kept her voice steady.
“Junhao,” she said again. “This is not about him. This is about you not respecting my boundaries.”
Junhao’s lips parted.
His eyes looked wet.
“Jiawen, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I really regret. I didn’t mean–”
“You did,” Jiawen said, voice soft but sharp. “Even if you didn’t mean it, you did. I saw the messages. I saw how you talked to her. I saw how you lied to me.”
Junhao flinched.
The truth landed.
He looked down.
His voice broke slightly. “I know. I was stupid. I just… I thought you wouldn’t leave.”
Jiawen’s stomach turned.
There it was.
The entitlement.
She swallowed.
She kept her voice calm.
“That’s your problem,” she said. “Not mine.”
Junhao looked up, eyes desperate.
“Can we at least talk once? For closure?” he pleaded.
Jiawen exhaled.
She felt Faris beside her, steady and silent.
Not speaking.
Not escalating.
Letting her own the moment.
Jiawen looked at Junhao.
She spoke slowly.
“This is closure,” she said. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to meet. I want you to stop. If you keep coming here, I will tell security. If you keep contacting me from new numbers, I will go to HR.”
Junhao’s face went pale.
He swallowed.
“You would do that?” he whispered.
Jiawen’s jaw tightened.
“Yes,” she said. “Because I deserve peace.”
Silence.
Junhao stared at her.
Then he nodded slowly.
His shoulders sagged.
“Okay,” he whispered.
The word sounded like defeat.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
Not pity.
Relief.
Junhao took a step back.
He looked at Faris again.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Then he looked at Jiawen.
“Take care,” he said, voice low.
Jiawen didn’t reply.
She simply nodded once.
Junhao turned and walked away, disappearing into the morning crowd.
Jiawen stood frozen for a moment, breath shallow.
Her hands shook.
Faris’s voice came softly.
“You okay?”
Jiawen blinked.
Her eyes stung.
She didn’t cry.
She wanted to.
Instead, she laughed weakly.
“Wah,” she whispered. “My heart is doing cardio.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
A small smile.
Then he sobered.
“You did good,” he said quietly.
Jiawen swallowed.
Her throat tightened.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded once. “Okay.”
Then he said, low, “Let’s go in.”
They walked into the lobby.
Security guard nodded.
Turnstile blinked green.
The office swallowed them.
At her desk, Jiawen stared at her screen without seeing it.
Teams pings arrived.
Emails came.
SkyFreight tasks waited.
But Jiawen’s body still felt like it was vibrating.
She had done it.
She had closed the door herself.
Properly.
And she hadn’t needed Faris to fight for her.
He had simply stood.
Steady.
Behind her.
She realised her fingers were trembling.
She clenched them into fists under the table.
Faris leaned slightly over the partition.
“Pantry,” he said quietly.
Jiawen blinked. “Now?”
Faris nodded. “Now.”
She stood.
They walked to the pantry.
The room was empty.
The kettle was quiet.
The window showed one-north’s clean skyline.
Jiawen sat down heavily.
Her knees felt weak.
Faris sat opposite her.
He didn’t speak immediately.
He let her breathe.
Jiawen exhaled shakily.
“I hate him,” she whispered.
Faris’s eyes softened.
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
Jiawen glared. “Stop okay.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Sorry.”
Jiawen blinked.
Faris rarely apologised.
The small word warmed her chest.
She swallowed.
“I hate him,” she repeated, quieter. “Not because… he cheated only. But because he came here like he still owns access.”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
He kept his voice calm.
“He doesn’t,” he said.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Her eyes shimmered.
She blinked fast.
Faris’s voice softened.
“You handled it well,” he said. “You were clear. You were firm. You didn’t let him pull you into emotional bargaining.”
Jiawen let out a shaky laugh.
“I was shaking,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Still handled.”
Jiawen stared at him.
Warmth rose in her chest.
She didn’t want to cry.
She did anyway.
A single tear slid down.
She wiped it quickly with her sleeve.
Faris reached into his pocket.
The handkerchief.
He pulled it out and held it toward her.
Jiawen froze.
Her face betrayed disbelief.
“You took back?” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “You gave me yesterday. Door deal.”
Jiawen laughed weakly through tears.
“You and your deals,” she whispered.
Faris’s eyes softened.
“Take,” he said.
Jiawen took the handkerchief.
Pressed it to her cheek.
The fabric smelled faintly like clean laundry.
Like steadiness.
She breathed in shakily.
Faris watched her.
Then he spoke, voice low.
“If he contacts again,” he said, “we escalate. Properly. HR. Security. Whatever needed. Not because we want drama. Because you deserve safety.”
Jiawen nodded.
Her chest tightened.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
Silence settled.
Then Jiawen sniffed and made a face.
“This is so embarrassing,” she muttered. “Crying in pantry.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“It’s okay,” he said gently.
Jiawen glared at him. “Don’t comfort me like I’m fragile.”
Faris blinked.
Then he nodded slowly.
“Not fragile,” he said. “Just… human.”
The words landed softly.
Jiawen’s throat tightened again.
She looked down.
Her fingers twisted the handkerchief.
Then she whispered, “Thank you for being there.”
Faris’s eyes softened.
He didn’t say okay.
Not immediately.
He exhaled slowly.
“I didn’t do much,” he admitted quietly.
Jiawen looked up sharply.
“You did,” she said.
Faris frowned. “What?”
Jiawen’s face betrayed sincerity.
“You stayed calm,” she whispered. “You didn’t jump in and make it about you. You just… stood. Like you trusted me to handle.”
Faris’s throat tightened.
He looked away.
His voice came out low.
“I’m trying,” he admitted.
Jiawen’s chest warmed.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Okay.”
They sat in the pantry for a moment longer.
Then Jiawen wiped her face one last time.
She folded the handkerchief carefully.
Then she held it out to him.
Faris blinked. “Why?”
Jiawen lifted her eyebrows. “Door deal. Today you open door. You take this.”
Faris stared.
Then he let out a quiet laugh.
“You weaponise my manners,” he murmured.
Jiawen smiled faintly. “Yes. Equality.”
Faris took the handkerchief.
His fingers brushed hers.
Warm.
Brief.
Then he stood.
“Come,” he said softly. “Back to work.”
Jiawen stood too.
As they walked out of the pantry, Jiawen felt the office air-conditioning hit her skin.
Cold.
Uncaring.
But the tightness in her chest had eased.
Junhao had tried to force a door open.
She had shut it.
Properly.
And Faris–steady, stubborn Faris–had learned the hardest kind of care.
The kind that didn’t rescue.
The kind that simply stayed.
Which, Jiawen realised as she sat down at her desk again, was a different kind of romance altogether.
Not fireworks.
Not declarations.
Just two people choosing to be on the same side of the door.