Steering Committee
On Monday morning, Jiawen learned the difference between being nervous and being visible.
Nervousness was private.
It lived in your stomach.
It made your hands cold.
It made your thoughts run in circles.
Visibility was public.
It lived in other people’s eyes.
It made you hyper-aware of every breath you took, every word you said, every pause that could be interpreted as incompetence.
The bank kickoff was a steering committee.
High visibility.
High stakes.
A room full of people who didn’t know Jiawen but would decide, in under ten minutes, whether she belonged.
She woke up at 6:42am, stared at her ceiling, and immediately regretted being ambitious.
Then she remembered the word in the calendar invite.
Optional.
Her jaw tightened.
She sat up.
She would not be optional in her own life.
She dressed carefully.
Not too cute.
Not too senior.
Not too soft.
A blouse that looked crisp enough to command respect.
A skirt that didn’t feel like cosplay.
Shoes that didn’t make her feel like she was wearing someone else’s confidence.
She tied her hair back neatly.
Then she stared at herself in the mirror.
Her face looked composed.
Her eyes betrayed her anyway.
Too bright.
Too anxious.
She reached into her tote bag and touched the folded handkerchief.
Soft fabric.
A small private anchor.
She didn’t take it out.
She simply let her fingers rest there for a second.
Then she breathed in.
Breathed out.
And left her house.
At the CIS floor, the office was already awake.
The bank kickoff was at 9:30.
Faris had arrived early.
Of course.
He stood at his desk with a notebook open, posture steady.
Jiawen entered the floor and walked to her new pod.
She told herself she wouldn’t look over.
Her head turned anyway.
Faris looked up as if he could feel it.
Their eyes met across rows of monitors.
Jiawen’s heart thudded.
Faris’s expression was calm.
But his gaze held something gentle.
A silent message.
You can do this.
Jiawen felt her chest loosen a little.
She sat down at her desk.
Opened her laptop.
Then immediately panicked.
Because the calendar invite had an attachment.
A deck.
A massive deck.
Bank kickoff slide pack.
Jiawen clicked.
It loaded.
Thirty-seven slides.
Her throat tightened.
She scrolled.
Compliance workflow diagrams.
Audit trail requirements.
Timeline.
RACI charts.
A list of stakeholders with titles that made her want to hide under her desk.
CIO office.
Head of Compliance Operations.
Risk Technology Lead.
Internal Audit Liaison.
Jiawen’s stomach churned.
Then a Teams message popped up.
Faris.
Faris: Pantry. 8:55.
Jiawen stared.
Her body exhaled before her brain could argue.
She typed back.
Jiawen: Okay.
Then she added:
Jiawen: I’m going to throw up.
His reply came quickly.
Faris: Don’t.
Faris: Drink water.
Faris: Breathe.
Jiawen rolled her eyes, half amused, half desperate.
She stood at 8:55 and walked toward the pantry.
Her steps felt too loud.
Her heartbeat too heavy.
The office aisle too exposed.
She entered the pantry.
Faris was already there.
He stood at the counter, holding a bottle of water and–absurdly–a small packet of mints.
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed disbelief.
“Are you my father,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Mentoring.”
Jiawen groaned. “This one not mentoring. This one stage dad.”
Faris slid the water toward her.
“Drink,” he said.
Jiawen drank.
The cold water hit her throat like reality.
Then Faris placed the mints beside her.
“You get dry mouth when you’re nervous,” he said.
Jiawen froze.
Her chest tightened.
“How you know?” she whispered.
Faris’s eyes softened.
He shrugged. “I notice.”
Jiawen stared at him.
Warmth rose in her chest.
Then fear.
Because being noticed could become a rumour.
She looked away quickly.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes. “Stop okay.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Cannot.”
Jiawen took a mint.
Her breath steadied.
Faris leaned slightly forward.
“Remember,” he said quietly, “you’re there to observe. Not perform.”
Jiawen frowned. “But if I’m only observing, I’ll stay optional forever.”
Faris stared.
His eyes sharpened.
Then his voice softened.
“You don’t need to fight for space by talking more,” he said. “You fight by being sharp when it matters. One good intervention is worth ten nervous sentences.”
Jiawen swallowed.
Her throat tightened.
She nodded slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
Then he said, quieter, “And if anyone tries to make you small, you look at me once. Not for permission. Just… to remember you’re not alone.”
Jiawen blinked.
Her eyes stung.
She swallowed hard.
“Okay,” she managed.
Faris’s gaze held hers for a beat.
Then he looked away.
“Go,” he said. “We have ten minutes.”
They left the pantry separately.
Not because they wanted to.
Because optics.
But Jiawen carried the water bottle and mints like tiny weapons.
Meeting Room 4C was bigger than she expected.
It had a long table with microphones.
A screen that looked too expensive.
Chairs that seemed designed to make you sit straighter.
People in suits.
People with lanyards that screamed seniority.
A quiet hum of confidence.
Jiawen entered and immediately felt small.
Faris was already there, standing near the front with Marcus Tan, the Delivery Director.
Marcus was in his forties, polished, smiling like he owned the room without needing to show it.
He shook hands with stakeholders.
His voice was warm.
His eyes sharp.
Faris stood beside him like a calm shadow.
Jiawen took a seat near the side, slightly behind Faris.
She tried not to look like she was hiding.
Her hands clasped in her lap.
Her notebook open.
Her pen ready.
The bank stakeholders filed in.
A woman in a dark blazer with an expression like she had seen every lie ever told.
A man with a silver watch and tired eyes.
Another man whose smile didn’t reach his eyes.
They greeted Marcus.
They nodded at Faris.
Then their gaze flicked to Jiawen.
Brief.
Assessing.
She felt it like a pin.
Marcus began.
“Good morning everyone,” he said smoothly. “Thank you for making time. This compliance workflow rollout is a key initiative–high visibility, tight timeline, but we’re confident with the right structure, we’ll deliver.”
Jiawen wrote quickly.
High visibility.
Tight timeline.
Deliver.
Marcus introduced the team.
“Faris Zulkarnain will be the implementation lead,” he said.
The stakeholders nodded.
Of course.
Then Marcus’s gaze flicked to Jiawen.
“And this is Chong Jiawen, associate analyst supporting documentation and stakeholder communications.”
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
He named her.
Not optional.
Named.
She nodded politely.
A few stakeholders gave small nods.
The woman in the dark blazer–Head of Compliance Ops–held Jiawen’s gaze for a beat longer.
Then looked away.
Marcus clicked to the timeline slide.
Faris began to speak.
His voice was calm.
Structured.
He walked through scope and phases.
Requirements gathering.
Design workshops.
Build.
UAT.
Cutover.
Training.
Jiawen listened.
She took notes.
Her heart thudded.
The bank stakeholders asked questions.
Sharp questions.
“What’s the audit trail granularity?”
“How do we ensure no approvals are bypassed?”
“What’s the rollback plan if the workflow fails mid-cutover?”
Faris answered calmly.
He didn’t overpromise.
He offered structure.
Marcus supported with executive framing.
Then, fifteen minutes in, it happened.
The Head of Compliance Ops leaned forward.
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
“I see your associate analyst is supporting stakeholder communications,” she said.
Jiawen’s stomach dropped.
She felt every eye shift toward her.
The woman continued.
“How do we ensure the communications are accurate and not… filtered by the implementation lead?”
Silence.
The sentence was polite.
It was also a knife.
Filtered.
A subtle insinuation.
Faris’s jaw tightened slightly.
Marcus’s smile remained.
Jiawen’s throat went dry.
Her hand clenched around her pen.
For a moment, she wanted to vanish.
Then she remembered Faris’s words.
One good intervention.
She breathed in.
She lifted her head.
Her voice came out steady.
“We’ll establish a documented comms protocol,” Jiawen said. “All stakeholder updates will be aligned against a weekly status report approved by both the delivery director and the project steering group. Communications will be logged and traceable–so accuracy is auditable, not dependent on any one person.”
The room went still.
Jiawen’s heart pounded.
She continued, calm.
“And I’ll maintain a shared project log with timestamps for key decisions and risks, so any update can be referenced back to documented facts.”
Silence.
Then the Head of Compliance Ops nodded slowly.
“Good,” she said.
Jiawen exhaled.
Her cheeks warmed.
She looked down quickly.
Then, instinctively, she glanced at Faris.
He didn’t smile.
Not in the room.
But his eyes softened.
A tiny, proud warmth.
It steadied her.
The meeting continued.
More questions.
More answers.
Jiawen stayed mostly quiet.
But now, she felt less like a child at the adult table.
She felt like she had earned her chair.
At 10:42am, the steering committee ended.
Stakeholders stood.
Handshakes.
Polite goodbyes.
Marcus thanked everyone.
Faris stayed composed.
Jiawen packed her notebook with hands that were still slightly shaky.
As people filed out, Marcus turned briefly to Jiawen.
“Nice answer,” he said quietly.
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed surprise.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Marcus nodded. “Keep it up.”
Then he turned away.
Jiawen stood frozen for a moment.
Warmth rose in her chest.
Not romance.
Professional validation.
The kind that healed something.
Faris approached her once the room cleared.
He stopped at a professional distance.
His voice was low.
“Good job,” he said.
Jiawen exhaled shakily.
Then she laughed softly.
“I thought my soul left my body,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “It didn’t.”
Jiawen stared at him.
Warmth rose again.
Then she remembered the room.
Glass walls.
People outside.
She swallowed.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Faris nodded. “Okay.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes. “Stop okay.”
Faris’s eyes crinkled slightly. “Cannot.”
They walked out separately.
Not because they wanted to.
Because optics.
But as Jiawen returned to her desk, she felt lighter.
Because she had spoken once.
And it had mattered.
That evening, Faris texted her.
Faris: Are you free after work?
Jiawen stared at the message.
Her heart thudded.
Free.
After work.
A date?
Or just… decompression.
She typed back.
Jiawen: Yes.
Jiawen: Why?
His reply came.
Faris: I want to take you somewhere.
Jiawen’s cheeks warmed.
Her face betrayed excitement.
Then she panicked.
What if someone saw?
What if Reza sniffed aura?
She typed:
Jiawen: Somewhere where Reza cannot see.
Faris replied:
Faris: Yes.
Faris: Somewhere quiet.
At 7:18pm, after most of the office had cleared, Jiawen met Faris downstairs.
They didn’t walk out together.
They staggered by minutes.
Optics.
But outside, in the humid Singapore evening, Faris waited by his car.
He opened the passenger door.
Jiawen opened it first.
He blinked.
She smirked.
Door deal.
Faris laughed softly.
They drove.
Not to a fancy restaurant.
Not to a date spot with fairy lights.
To a quiet supper place with plastic chairs and warm soup.
A place where no one cared about steering committees.
Where people ate and talked and lived.
They sat side by side.
Faris ordered for both of them, then paused.
“Are you okay with me ordering?” he asked.
Jiawen blinked.
Her face betrayed surprise.
Then she laughed.
“You’re learning,” she said.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
They ate.
Warm food.
Warm silence.
Then Jiawen whispered, “I’m proud of myself today.”
Faris turned his head slightly.
His eyes softened.
“You should be,” he said.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She looked down quickly.
Then she pulled out the mints packet he’d given her earlier and placed it on the table.
Faris blinked. “Why you keep?”
Jiawen lifted an eyebrow. “Evidence.”
Faris frowned. “Evidence of what?”
Jiawen’s face betrayed mischief.
“That you are stage dad,” she whispered.
Faris stared.
Then he laughed.
Jiawen laughed too.
The laughter softened something heavy.
After supper, they walked slowly along the pavement.
City lights blurred.
The air smelled of rain.
Faris kept his hands in his pockets.
Jiawen walked close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Neither pulled away.
At a quiet corner under a street lamp, Jiawen stopped.
Faris stopped too.
Jiawen looked up at him.
Her face betrayed shyness.
Then she whispered, “Thank you for… not rescuing me.”
Faris blinked.
His expression softened.
“I wanted to,” he admitted quietly.
Jiawen smiled faintly. “I know.”
Faris stared at her.
The air between them tightened.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Something tender.
Faris exhaled.
Then, slowly, he lifted his hand and hesitated near her cheek.
A question.
Jiawen’s eyes flicked to his hand.
Her face betrayed permission.
Faris’s fingers brushed her cheek lightly.
Warm.
Careful.
Jiawen’s breath hitched.
Faris’s gaze held hers.
Then he leaned down.
Not rushing.
Not claiming.
Just choosing.
His lips met hers.
Soft.
Brief.
A kiss that felt like relief.
Like confirmation.
Like something earned, not stolen.
When he pulled back, Jiawen’s cheeks were warm.
Her face betrayed shock and happiness and the urge to laugh.
“Wah,” she whispered. “I thought you will say okay.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Okay,” he murmured, deadpan.
Jiawen gasped, shoving his arm lightly.
Faris laughed quietly.
Jiawen laughed too, covering her mouth.
Then she whispered, “You’re stupid.”
Faris’s eyes softened. “Yes.”
They walked back to the car with lighter steps.
The bank project was still looming.
HR still existed.
Junhao still had a phone.
The office glass walls would still reflect their shadows.
But for tonight, under one street lamp and one soft kiss, Jiawen felt something settle.
She wasn’t optional.
Not to the project.
Not to Faris.
Not to herself.