Two Seats Reserved
The ring felt heavier when the room went quiet again.
It was a strange thing–how a moment could erupt into noise, into laughter and applause and hands reaching for you, and then settle back into a hush that was almost sacred. Jiawen sat in her chair with her hand raised slightly above the table, as if she was afraid to let the ring touch anything in case it proved it was real.
The diamond caught the restaurant’s warm light and threw it back in tiny, clear flashes.
Faris watched her stare at it.
He had seen Jiawen cry before. In the theatre, when the orchestra swelled into something so beautiful it made her eyes spill without embarrassment. In corridors, when the past had pressed too hard against her chest and she needed one small fabric square to remind herself she could still breathe.
This was different.
Her tears now were not grief.
They were the shock of being chosen loudly.
Not conveniently.
Not privately.
Properly.
Across the table, her mother was still holding her mouth as if she couldn’t trust it not to say something too loud. Her father sat straighter than before, his hand resting on the edge of the table like he was anchoring himself. Faris’ mother had retreated into composure again, but the word she’d said–Okay–hung in the air like a quiet stamp.
Okay.
Not “welcome.”
Not “congratulations.”
But permission.
Faris could live on permission.
He had lived on worse.
Reza’s voice broke the quiet.
“Eh! Photo, photo!”
Jiawen flinched and laughed at the same time.
Reza had his phone out already, bouncing on his heels like a child at a birthday party.
“Why you so excited?” Jiawen demanded, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.
Reza gasped theatrically. “Hello, I am your colleague. I must document for office history. Also, I love drama.”
“Reza,” Faris warned.
Reza ignored him and leaned toward Jiawen’s parents.
“Auntie, Uncle, can I take one photo? For memory. Not for gossip.”
Jiawen’s father looked at him, unimpressed.
Jiawen’s mother smiled anyway. “Okay, okay. Take.”
Reza beamed like he’d been given a promotion.
Faris’ sister Farah moved in immediately, sliding beside Jiawen with zero hesitation.
“Come,” Farah said, slipping an arm around Jiawen’s shoulders. “I’m your sister-in-law now, okay?”
Jiawen choked on her laugh.
“Not yet,” Jiawen wheezed.
Farah waved a hand dismissively. “Soon. Confirm soon. My brother is slow but once he decide, he very… proper.”
Reza snorted.
Faris’ mother’s eyes narrowed at Farah. “Farah.”
Farah’s grin turned angelic in one second. “Yes, Ma.”
Faris watched the scene–Jiawen caught between a Malay mother’s quiet scrutiny and a Malay sister’s loud affection–and felt something in his chest loosen.
This, too, was integration.
Not perfect.
Not smooth.
Human.
He leaned closer to Jiawen, lowering his voice.
“You okay?”
Jiawen’s eyes lifted to him.
Her lashes were wet.
Her expression was a mixture of disbelief and laughter, like her body didn’t know whether to cry or tease him.
“You liar,” she whispered again.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
Jiawen blinked. “You admit.”
“I admit,” Faris replied.
Jiawen’s lips trembled into a smile.
Faris watched her fingers trace the ring once, lightly, as if memorising the sensation.
Then Jiawen whispered, softer, “I thought you would do it… privately.”
Faris inhaled.
He didn’t want to explain too much here, in front of colleagues and banks and family.
But he could give her the truth.
“I wanted you to feel safe,” he said quietly.
Jiawen’s brow creased.
Faris continued, voice low, “You kept saying you didn’t want to be a convenient comfort. You didn’t want to be a story people told instead of one you chose. So I thought…”
He swallowed.
“So I thought I should choose you where people could see,” he finished.
Jiawen stared at him.
Her throat moved.
Then she laughed, breathy.
“You’re insane,” she whispered.
Faris’s eyes warmed. “Yes.”
Jiawen shook her head, still smiling.
Then her gaze softened.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Faris looked away for a second because if he looked at her too long he would forget there were other people in the room.
Reza counted down loudly.
“Okay! Three, two–smile!”
The camera clicked.
Jiawen’s mother leaned closer to Jiawen, whispering something in Mandarin that made Jiawen’s cheeks go red.
Faris caught only a few words.
Something about finally.
Something about good man.
Jiawen hissed, “Ma!”
Her mother laughed, unbothered.
The bank director approached with his glass.
“Congratulations,” he said with smooth, corporate warmth. “Well done. This is… the most memorable close-out dinner we’ve had.”
Reza nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. Very memorable. Best dinner.”
The director chuckled.
Faris kept his expression professional, but he felt Jiawen’s knee bump his under the table–a small, private complaint about being made into corporate entertainment.
He slid his hand under the table and squeezed her fingers once.
Not hidden.
Just… held.
Jiawen’s breath steadied.
Farah leaned over to Jiawen’s parents.
“Uncle, Auntie,” she said brightly, “welcome to Singapore. We should eat together one day. Like proper family.”
Faris froze.
Jiawen froze.
Jiawen’s mother smiled widely. “Yes! Yes! We can.”
Jiawen’s father looked at Farah, then nodded once.
Faris’ mother’s gaze sharpened.
She looked like she was about to say something about timing.
Instead, she said quietly, “We can talk.”
The word talk made Jiawen’s shoulders tense.
Faris felt it.
He leaned in slightly, murmuring, “Later. After dinner. One step.”
Jiawen exhaled slowly.
One step.
The dinner continued.
Food arrived in courses.
People laughed.
Colleagues toasted.
Her parents looked mildly overwhelmed but proud.
Faris’ father spoke to Jiawen’s father in low voices that sounded more like two men comparing notes than strangers negotiating.
Faris watched them with a cautious hope.
Not because he expected instant warmth.
Because he wanted respect.
Respect was enough.
When dessert plates were cleared and the bank director stood to announce the end, people began to move in clusters–photos, hugs, casual goodbyes.
Jiawen’s mother insisted on taking pictures with everyone.
Amira hugged Jiawen hard.
“Wah, fiancé already,” Amira whispered dramatically.
Jiawen groaned. “Stop.”
Amira grinned. “No. I will call you fiancé for one month.”
Jiawen glared. “I will block you.”
Amira laughed and walked away.
Reza hovered near Faris, eyes glittering.
“So,” Reza whispered, “you planned this how long?”
Faris stared at him. “Reza.”
Reza held up both hands. “Okay lah, okay. I don’t ask. But I respect. Very… proper.”
He said the last word with exaggerated reverence.
Faris sighed.
Jiawen caught his eye and mouthed, Handsome HR.
Faris glared at her.
Jiawen smiled sweetly.
She wore the ring like it belonged there.
Like it had always been waiting.
The private moment came not with fireworks, but with a corridor.
It happened the way everything significant in their relationship seemed to happen–in the spaces between rooms.
While their parents and colleagues were still taking photos, Jiawen excused herself quietly and slipped out of the private room. Faris noticed the shift immediately, the way she moved too quickly like she needed air.
He followed without making it obvious.
The corridor outside the private room was dimmer, cooler, smelling faintly of polished wood and expensive perfume.
Jiawen stood near a window looking down at the city.
The lights of Singapore spread beneath them like a grid of quiet determination.
Faris approached slowly.
Jiawen didn’t turn.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Jiawen let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
“No,” she whispered. Then, after a beat, “Yes.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
Jiawen finally turned.
Her eyes were wet again.
Her fingers were trembling as she stared at the ring.
“It’s real,” she murmured.
Faris nodded.
Jiawen’s mouth tightened.
Then she looked up at him.
“You know,” she said quietly, “I was scared you would make it a performance.”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
“I tried not to,” he replied.
Jiawen shook her head.
“No. I mean… I was scared you would make it about proving something. About showing the office. About proving to HR.”
Faris swallowed.
Jiawen continued, voice softer, “But you didn’t. You looked at me the whole time. Like the rest of the room didn’t exist.”
Faris felt his throat tighten.
“That’s because they didn’t,” he said.
Jiawen blinked.
Then she laughed–small, disbelieving.
“You’re cheesy,” she whispered.
Faris’s ears warmed. “Don’t bully.”
Jiawen’s laughter faded.
Her expression shifted into something serious.
“My parents,” she murmured.
Faris nodded.
“And your mother,” Jiawen added, voice quiet.
Faris exhaled.
“Yeah,” he said.
Jiawen’s eyes searched his.
“Are we okay?” she asked.
The question wasn’t about love.
They had love.
It was about the world.
The families.
The faith.
The structures.
Faris stepped closer.
He didn’t touch her immediately.
He lifted his hand slightly, asking with that small, careful habit.
Jiawen nodded once.
Faris’s fingers rested against her cheek, gentle.
He wiped a tear with the pad of his thumb.
“No handkerchief?” Jiawen whispered, attempting humour.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.
Jiawen’s eyes widened.
“Of course,” she murmured.
Faris dabbed her cheek with the handkerchief, slower than he had in the restaurant.
This time it wasn’t for witnesses.
It was for her.
“We’re okay,” he said quietly.
Jiawen’s throat moved.
Faris continued, calm, “We will talk. We will plan. We will not rush. But we won’t hide. Not anymore.”
Jiawen stared at him.
Her fingers tightened around the handkerchief for a second.
Then she whispered, “Door deal?”
Faris nodded.
“Door deal,” he replied.
Jiawen exhaled.
Then, impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him.
Not a long kiss.
Not a performance.
A quick, soft press of lips that tasted like tears and relief.
Faris froze for half a second.
Then he kissed her back, gentle.
When they pulled apart, Jiawen’s eyes were bright.
“We should go back,” she whispered.
Faris nodded.
As they returned to the private room, Jiawen’s fingers slid into his for half a second.
Then she let go before anyone could claim it.
Not because she was ashamed.
Because she was still learning the rhythm.
One step.
Then another.
The next day, the table was smaller.
No bank stakeholders.
No colleagues.
No microphones disguised as wine glasses.
Just Faris’ living room.
A pot of tea.
Plates of kuih.
A bowl of fruit because Jiawen had learned that mothers were universal in their insistence on fruit.
Jiawen’s parents arrived in the late morning.
Faris’ mother greeted them at the door, composed.
“Welcome,” she said.
Jiawen’s mother smiled brightly. “Hello. Thank you for having us.”
Jiawen’s father nodded politely.
Faris’ father greeted them warmly.
Farah hovered behind, eyes shining with gossip energy.
“Come,” Faris’ mother said. “Sit.”
And again, Jiawen noticed the way the room structured itself.
Where you sat.
How close.
How far.
But today felt different.
Because the ring existed.
Because the word fiancé had already been spoken in front of witnesses.
There was no pretending this was casual.
No polite denial.
No “we’re just colleagues.”
Jiawen sat beside Faris.
Not touching.
But no longer hiding.
Faris’ mother poured tea slowly.
The cups clinked softly.
The silence that followed was not hostile.
It was cautious.
A family silence.
Then Jiawen’s father spoke.
“Thank you,” he said, voice calm, directed at Faris’ parents. “For accepting.”
Faris’ mother’s gaze tightened slightly.
She didn’t respond immediately.
Then she said, quietly, “We are… thinking.”
Jiawen’s mother blinked.
Faris’ father cleared his throat gently.
“We are happy,” Faris’ father said. “We are happy Faris found someone good.”
Jiawen’s mother smiled, eyes bright.
“Jiawen is stubborn,” she said proudly.
Farah laughed. “Faris also stubborn.”
Faris groaned softly.
The laughter loosened the air.
Faris’ mother set her teacup down.
Then she looked at Jiawen’s parents.
“Your daughter is Buddhist,” she said calmly.
Jiawen’s mother nodded.
“Yes,” she replied.
Faris’ mother continued, “We are Muslim.”
“Yes,” Jiawen’s father said.
Faris’ mother’s gaze moved to Jiawen.
“You understand what this means,” she said.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
She glanced at Faris.
He gave a small nod.
Door deal.
She spoke.
“I understand it’s complicated,” Jiawen said softly. “I’m not pretending it’s easy.”
Faris’ mother watched her.
Jiawen continued, “I respect Islam. I respect Faris’ family. I will learn. But I won’t promise conversion like it’s paperwork. If I ever do, it must be because I understand and choose. Not because I’m forced.”
Her own words from the kitchen came back.
But now they were being said in front of parents.
The room held its breath.
Faris’ mother’s mouth tightened.
Then she said quietly, “In Islam, marriage has rules.”
Jiawen nodded. “I know.”
Faris’ mother’s gaze shifted to Jiawen’s parents.
“And your family,” she said, “you will accept if your daughter becomes Muslim?”
Jiawen’s mother’s eyes widened.
Jiawen’s father’s jaw tightened slightly.
He spoke calmly.
“We don’t force,” he said. “If she chooses, we accept. But we don’t want her to be isolated.”
The word again.
Isolated.
Faris felt his stomach tighten.
Then he spoke.
“Ma,” Faris said gently, “Uncle said the same thing in Penang. I agree. We won’t isolate Jiawen. She will still see her family. We will still go Penang. We will do it properly.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed.
“Properly,” she repeated.
Farah snorted.
Faris shot her a look.
His mother ignored Farah.
She looked at Jiawen.
“Learning,” Faris’ mother said slowly, “is good. But we need clarity.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Clarity.
The word Faris had demanded from Amani.
The word that had become their relationship’s spine.
Faris stepped in, calm.
“We will do pre-marriage counselling,” he said. “With someone neutral. Someone who understands interfaith realities. We will learn, we will talk. We will decide the marriage path when we are ready. But we are engaged because we are serious. Not because we have everything solved today.”
Jiawen’s parents listened.
Faris’ mother’s gaze held Faris for a long moment.
Then she turned to Jiawen.
“You are willing to learn Islam?” she asked.
Jiawen swallowed.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I’m willing to learn. To understand. I don’t want to disrespect. But I also want to be honest with myself.”
Faris’ mother nodded slowly.
Then she said something unexpected.
“Good,” she said.
Jiawen blinked.
Faris blinked too.
Faris’ mother continued, her voice softer than before.
“I don’t want you to pretend,” she said to Jiawen. “Pretend will break you. Break him. I want… honest.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
“Yes, Auntie,” she whispered.
Faris’ mother looked down at Jiawen’s ring.
The ring glinted under living room light.
Faris’ mother reached forward and touched Jiawen’s hand lightly.
Not grabbing.
Not possessive.
A small, careful touch.
Then she said, quietly, “Congratulations.”
Jiawen’s breath caught.
Her mother’s eyes watered immediately.
Jiawen’s father’s expression softened.
Faris felt his own throat tighten.
He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Farah made a loud sniffing sound.
“Okay lah,” Farah declared dramatically, wiping an imaginary tear. “Now we are proper family.”
Faris groaned.
Jiawen laughed through the tightness in her chest.
The table–this living room coffee table with tea cups and kuih crumbs–felt more significant than the bank dinner.
Because this one was quiet.
This one was real.
This one didn’t have stakeholders.
Only family.
And family, Faris understood now, was the biggest stakeholder of all.
On Monday, the office felt different.
It was the same fluorescent lights.
The same air-conditioning.
The same carpet that made everyone’s footsteps sound muffled.
But Jiawen walked in wearing a ring.
She had debated taking it off.
Faris had told her she didn’t have to.
She had told him she refused to hide again.
So she wore it.
Not flashing it.
Just… letting it exist.
The whispers began before she reached her desk.
Not malicious.
More like… electricity.
Amira spotted it first.
She gasped loudly enough to scare someone in the next pod.
“OH MY GOD,” Amira hissed, grabbing Jiawen’s hand. “YOU DID IT.”
Jiawen pulled her hand back quickly, laughing. “Can you not scream?”
Amira grinned. “No.”
Reza appeared immediately, eyes shining.
“I knew,” he announced.
Jiawen glared. “You know nothing.”
Reza waved a hand. “I know vibes.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes.
Faris arrived a minute later, calm, carrying his laptop bag like it weighed nothing.
Reza turned to him.
“Congratulations,” Reza said solemnly, then immediately added, “Now you cannot escape my wedding speech.”
Faris stared. “What wedding speech?”
Reza grinned. “My speech. At your wedding. I will talk about how you two started with pantry coffee and HR audits.”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
Jiawen laughed.
“Reza,” Faris warned, “I will uninvite you.”
Reza gasped. “Cannot. I’m essential.”
Jiawen’s laughter softened.
The office moved around them.
Some colleagues smiled.
Some whispered.
But there was no scandal.
Because there was nothing to expose.
They had disclosed.
They had safeguards.
They had clean reporting lines.
And now–engagement.
The office could gossip.
But it couldn’t claim they were doing something shameful.
At 11 a.m., Ms. Low from HR sent a polite email.
Congratulations on your engagement. Please schedule a brief check-in to confirm that your existing safeguards remain appropriate.
Jiawen stared at the email and laughed softly.
Faris glanced over.
He sighed.
“Quarterly,” Jiawen muttered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Standard.”
Jiawen looked at him.
“You’re not angry?” she asked.
Faris’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I am,” he admitted. “But I can be angry and still be proper.”
Jiawen laughed.
She reached for her coffee and lifted it like a toast.
“To being angry properly,” she murmured.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t make it a motto,” he warned.
Jiawen grinned. “Too late.”
HR’s check-in was fifteen minutes.
Ms. Low was polite.
Clinical.
She confirmed the safeguards.
She confirmed the reporting chain separation.
She reminded them of policy.
Then, at the end, she said something unexpectedly human.
“Congratulations,” Ms. Low said softly. “You handled this… well.”
Jiawen blinked.
Faris nodded once.
“Thank you,” Faris replied.
As they left the room, Jiawen exhaled.
“We passed HR,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Again.”
Jiawen laughed.
Then her laughter softened.
“Now what?” she asked quietly.
Faris looked at her.
Now what.
In the past, that question would have triggered his planning brain into overdrive.
Now, he answered with something steadier.
“Now,” he said softly, “we live.”
Jiawen blinked.
Faris added, quieter, “We plan, yes. We do counselling. We involve family. We keep boundaries. But… we live too.”
Jiawen’s mouth trembled into a smile.
“You’re becoming poetic again,” she whispered.
Faris’s ears warmed. “Stop bullying.”
Jiawen laughed.
Then she looked down at her ring.
It caught the office light and threw it back.
Bright.
Unapologetic.
Junhao tried once more.
He didn’t show up.
He didn’t create a scene.
He did what people like him always did–he attempted to reclaim access with words.
A week after the engagement, Jiawen’s phone buzzed with an unknown number.
She was at home, sitting on her sofa with Faris beside her, both of them in the quiet comfort of tiredness. A show played softly on the TV.
Jiawen’s phone vibrated.
Her body stiffened automatically.
Then she exhaled.
She turned the phone over.
Faris watched her hand.
“You want to see?” he asked quietly.
Jiawen hesitated.
Then she nodded.
She unlocked it.
Unknown number.
A message.
Congrats. I saw. You think he will stay? You think you are special?
Jiawen stared.
Her throat tightened.
Faris’s jaw tightened too.
Not because he believed Junhao.
Because he hated the attempt.
Jiawen inhaled slowly.
Then she did what she had learned.
She didn’t reply.
She screenshot.
She added it to her folder.
She blocked.
Then she placed her phone down.
She looked at Faris.
Her eyes were steady.
“He’s trying to sit at our table,” she said quietly.
Faris nodded.
“He doesn’t get a seat,” Faris replied.
Jiawen exhaled.
Then she did something Faris didn’t expect.
She opened her phone again.
She went to her contacts.
She found his old saved name.
Junhao.
She stared at it for a second.
Then she deleted it.
The motion was small.
But the finality of it made Faris’ throat tighten.
Jiawen looked up.
“It’s done,” she whispered.
Faris’s gaze softened.
“Yes,” he said.
Jiawen leaned back.
For a moment, she looked like she was waiting for fear to return.
When it didn’t, she let out a breath.
“I thought… I would feel something,” she murmured.
“What do you feel?” Faris asked.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched.
“I feel hungry,” she said.
Faris blinked.
Jiawen grinned, eyes bright with humour.
“Sorry,” she added, “I feel free. But also hungry.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Okay,” he said.
Jiawen leaned her head on his shoulder.
Faris wrapped an arm around her, gentle.
Not possessive.
Just steady.
Junhao’s message sat in a folder.
Documented.
Powerless.
A ghost that no longer had keys.
They returned to the Botanic Gardens on a Sunday.
Not as a dramatic callback.
As a quiet ritual.
The sun was softer, filtered through trees. The air smelled of wet earth and greenery after a light rain. Families walked past with strollers. Couples sat on benches. The world moved without caring about anyone’s personal milestones.
Faris and Jiawen walked slowly along a path that curved into shade.
Jiawen wore her ring.
She kept glancing at it like it might disappear.
Faris kept watching her, amused and tender.
They reached the spot near the water where she had confessed in the past–where two seats on a bench had once felt like the whole world.
The bench was empty.
Faris paused.
Jiawen paused too.
She looked at the bench, then at him.
“Two seats,” she murmured.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Reserved?” he asked softly.
Jiawen rolled her eyes. “Don’t.”
Faris smiled faintly.
They sat.
Side by side.
No gap.
No HR.
No aunties.
No optics.
Just two people on a bench.
Jiawen exhaled.
Then she leaned her head lightly against his shoulder.
Faris stared ahead.
A bird hopped near the path, pecking at the ground.
Leaves rustled.
Water shimmered.
Jiawen spoke softly.
“I still can’t believe you did it in front of everyone,” she murmured.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “You said you wanted to be chosen.”
Jiawen turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t say I wanted to be attacked by attention,” she muttered.
Faris let out a quiet laugh.
Jiawen’s expression softened.
“Your mother said congratulations,” she whispered.
Faris nodded.
Jiawen continued, “My father touched your shoulder.”
Faris nodded again.
Jiawen’s voice trembled slightly. “It felt like… everything aligned.”
Faris inhaled slowly.
He didn’t want to pretend alignment meant there would be no difficulties.
There would be.
Faith discussions.
Counselling.
Wedding planning.
Family expectations.
But alignment meant something else.
It meant they were facing it together.
“We’re not done with conversations,” Faris said softly.
Jiawen nodded. “I know.”
Faris continued, “But we’re done with guessing.”
Jiawen’s fingers curled around his.
“Proper,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Proper,” he echoed.
Jiawen laughed softly.
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out something.
A small notebook.
Faris blinked.
“What is that?” he asked.
Jiawen grinned. “Our wedding tracker.”
Faris stared.
Jiawen laughed. “I’m joking. But also not joking.”
Faris sighed, but his eyes warmed.
“Door deal,” Jiawen said, flipping it open. “You cannot bulldoze. I will not disappear. We plan together.”
Faris nodded.
“Door deal,” he repeated.
Jiawen scribbled something on the first page.
Counselling appointment
Talk to Imam / counsellor
Talk to my temple aunties? (optional)
Faris stared at the last line.
“Temple aunties?” he repeated.
Jiawen grinned. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
Faris shook his head, smiling.
Then Jiawen’s expression softened.
She looked at him.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Faris blinked. “For what?”
Jiawen’s voice was soft.
“For not letting me be half,” she whispered. “For not letting me be a secret. For not letting my past sit at our table.”
Faris’s throat tightened.
He looked at her ring.
Then at her face.
He reached into his pocket.
The handkerchief.
Always.
He took it out.
Jiawen groaned softly. “Here we go.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
He unfolded it and placed it on the bench between them.
A small white square.
Then he placed his hand over it.
Jiawen stared.
Faris looked at her.
“This,” he said softly, “started as comfort.”
Jiawen’s eyes softened.
Faris continued, “Then it became proof.”
Jiawen nodded.
Faris’s voice lowered further.
“Now it’s a vow,” he said.
Jiawen’s breath caught.
Faris held her gaze.
Not dramatic.
Just steady.
“A vow that I will keep choosing you properly,” Faris said.
Jiawen’s eyes glistened.
She reached out and placed her hand over his, on top of the handkerchief.
Her ring caught the sunlight.
Then she whispered, “Okay.”
It was her word.
His word.
The word that had carried them through HR and gossip and Penang and Junhao.
Okay.
Faris exhaled.
He felt the world widen slightly.
Not because everything was solved.
Because they had stopped running.
They sat there for a long moment, hands on fabric, eyes on water, letting the quiet settle.
Two seats.
Not assigned.
Not placed.
Reserved.
By choice.
By love that didn’t hide.
By two people who had learned that adulthood wasn’t about grand gestures.
It was about showing up.
Again and again.
Meeting halfway.
Closing doors.
Opening new ones.
Properly.
When they finally stood to leave, Jiawen folded the handkerchief carefully and tucked it into her bag.
Not because she needed it to survive.
Because it belonged to their story.
Faris slipped his fingers into hers.
This time, he didn’t let go when people walked past.
He didn’t look around to check who was watching.
He just held.
Two seats reserved.
And for the first time since the beginning, the series ended the way it always promised it would.
Not with a cliffhanger.
Not with a new threat.
But with a quiet, unwavering certainty.
Sometimes love doesn’t need more chapters.
Sometimes it just needs two seats.
Closer.
Chosen.
Reserved.