Epilogue 3 — Landed
The first thing Jiawen learned about living in a landed property was that silence had a different sound.
In an HDB corridor, silence still carried neighbours–someone’s TV leaking through a metal gate, the faint echo of a lift door sliding shut, a cough in the night that reminded you you were never entirely alone. In a condo, silence was padded by distance and glass.
Here, in a quiet row of landed houses where the road curved gently and trees leaned over the pavement like they were trying to eavesdrop, silence was thick and personal.
It held the faint hum of an air-conditioner from somewhere down the street.
It held the occasional birdsong that sounded too confident.
It held the creak of their own staircase when someone walked down too fast.
It held the soft clink of two mugs on a kitchen counter.
Most of all, it held them.
Jiawen stood barefoot on cool tiles in the kitchen, hair twisted up in a messy knot that no longer felt like a compromise. She wore an oversized T-shirt and shorts–clothes that belonged to home rather than presentation. Morning light spilled through the windows in a wide, golden wash, painting the countertop and catching on the framed photo near the fruit bowl.
A wedding photo.
Not the staged kind.
The moment after. Jiawen’s head thrown back in laughter, Faris looking at her like he had just remembered the reason he learned patience.
Jiawen smiled faintly at it, then turned to the kettle.
The kettle clicked.
The house breathed.
And in the living room, Faris was arguing with the gate.
“Where is it?” his voice floated in, calm in tone but threaded with genuine frustration.
Jiawen didn’t look up from the mug she was filling.
“Where is what?” she called.
“The remote,” Faris replied.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched.
She could hear the sound of drawers being opened and closed. A man who believed in order searching through his own house like a stranger.
“You mean the remote you insisted must have a fixed location?” Jiawen called back sweetly.
Silence.
Then Faris’s voice, controlled.
“Yes. That remote.”
Jiawen stirred her tea slowly.
“You put it where?” she asked.
“I put it in the drawer,” Faris said.
“Which drawer?”
“The drawer.”
Jiawen turned slightly toward the living room doorway, eyebrows raised even though Faris couldn’t see her.
“Handsome HR,” she called, “this house has multiple drawers.”
Faris appeared at the kitchen entrance with a look that suggested he was one misplaced object away from issuing a formal escalation.
He was in a plain T-shirt and lounge pants, hair still slightly damp from a shower. He looked younger like this–less like a corporate lead, more like a man who belonged in a home.
His gaze flicked to her ring as it always did, not because he doubted, but because it grounded him.
He exhaled.
“Did you move it?” he asked.
Jiawen widened her eyes innocently. “Move what?”
Faris stared.
Jiawen sipped her tea.
Then she shrugged. “Maybe you put it in your ‘fixed location’ and your fixed location changed.”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
Jiawen watched him for a second, then softened.
“It’s probably in the bowl,” she said.
Faris blinked. “What bowl?”
Jiawen pointed with her mug. “The bowl where you put your wallet sometimes and then get angry when you can’t find it.”
Faris stared at her like she had just committed treason.
Jiawen smiled sweetly.
Faris walked into the living room without another word.
Jiawen heard a small clink.
Then Faris’s voice, annoyed.
“Why is it in the bowl?”
Jiawen took another sip.
“Because,” she called back, “you’re human.”
Faris returned to the kitchen holding the gate remote between two fingers like it had personally betrayed him.
Jiawen’s smile widened.
Faris looked at her.
“You said fixed location,” he accused.
Jiawen tilted her head. “I said door deal. I never said remote deal.”
Faris stared.
Then his mouth twitched.
It wasn’t quite a smile.
But it was surrender.
“Gate deal,” he muttered.
Jiawen blinked. “Excuse me?”
Faris lifted the remote slightly. “We need a gate deal.”
Jiawen laughed.
The laugh echoed in the kitchen differently than it did in a flat.
It wasn’t swallowed.
It stayed.
She set her mug down and stepped closer.
“Okay,” she said, mock-serious. “Gate deal. You open, I close.”
Faris raised a brow. “Why you close?”
Jiawen’s eyes glinted. “Because you always forget.”
Faris opened his mouth to protest.
Jiawen lifted a finger. “Don’t lie.”
Faris’s mouth closed.
Jiawen grinned, satisfied.
Then her gaze flicked to the fridge.
A Penang magnet held up a childlike drawing they’d received at a housewarming party from Farah–two stick figures under a roof, with a speech bubble that said proper.
Jiawen stared at the magnet and felt something warm in her chest.
It was ridiculous.
But it was theirs.
The second thing Jiawen learned about living in a landed property was that it made everyone else more excited than you.
They had saved for years.
Not in a dramatic, cinematic montage.
In the slow, unglamorous way–budgeting, sacrificing, watching property listings like they were stalking a crush. Faris had gotten promoted. Jiawen had moved into a role where her name carried weight without needing Faris’ shadow. They had lived within their means even when they could have upgraded earlier.
When they finally bought the house, Faris had sat on their sofa in their old flat and stared at the papers like he was reading a contract with destiny.
Jiawen had laughed and cried at the same time, then teased him until he finally smiled.
Now, on a Saturday morning in their new home, the living room smelled faintly of fresh paint and new furniture.
And the WhatsApp group chats were behaving like they had purchased the house too.
Jiawen’s mother had been texting since dawn.
What time we come?
I bring food. Don’t say no.
Your father want to see gate. He say gate looks expensive.
Faris’ mother had sent fewer messages.
But each one carried weight.
We will come after Zohor.
Do you need anything?
Don’t order too much. Waste.
Farah had sent a voice message that was mostly screaming.
Reza had sent twenty stickers.
Amira had asked if the house had a “proposal corner.”
Jiawen had replied with a threat.
It was their housewarming.
Not a party for strangers.
A gathering of the people who had watched their story become real.
And despite Jiawen’s teasing, she felt it–beneath the humour.
A tender pressure.
This house wasn’t just a house.
It was a visible symbol of stability.
A seat at the table of adulthood.
A confirmation that they weren’t a phase.
They were a life.
Jiawen walked into the living room and found Faris standing in front of the dining table, staring at the chairs.
Two chairs had been placed at the head.
Faris had insisted.
Not because he wanted to be the king of the house.
Because he liked symmetry.
And because, somewhere deep in his brain, the series title had etched itself into his bones.
Jiawen leaned on the doorframe and watched him.
He wore that serious expression again.
The one he used when he was trying to prevent chaos.
“You’re arranging chairs,” Jiawen said.
Faris didn’t look up. “Yes.”
Jiawen’s mouth twitched. “Why?”
“Because people will come,” Faris said, as if that explained everything.
Jiawen walked closer and glanced at the table.
There, in the center, was a small acrylic sign.
RESERVED.
Jiawen stared.
Then she burst out laughing.
“Faris!” she squealed.
Faris finally looked up, eyes narrowing. “What?”
Jiawen pointed at the sign. “What is this?”
Faris blinked once.
Then his mouth twitched.
“Farah,” he said.
Jiawen laughed harder.
Faris sighed. “She brought it last week. She said it’s for our table.”
Jiawen’s shoulders shook.
“Your sister is insane,” she said.
Faris’s eyes warmed. “Yes.”
Jiawen picked up the sign and turned it in her hands.
It was glossy, dramatic, unnecessary.
It was perfect.
She placed it back down gently.
Then she looked at the two chairs.
For a moment, the laughter softened into something else.
Tenderness.
Those chairs weren’t just furniture.
They were proof.
Of every time they had chosen each other under scrutiny.
Of every time Jiawen had refused to shrink.
Of every time Faris had refused half measures.
Of every time their families had learned to meet halfway.
Jiawen exhaled.
“Okay,” she whispered, mostly to herself.
Faris heard.
He stepped closer.
“Okay?” he repeated.
Jiawen looked at him.
Her eyes softened.
“Okay,” she said again, louder. “Let’s host.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Properly,” he added.
Jiawen rolled her eyes. “Always.”
By noon, the house had the kind of tension that came before guests arrived.
Not dread.
Anticipation.
Jiawen wiped the kitchen counter three times.
Not because it needed it.
Because she needed her hands to do something.
Faris checked the gate remote’s “fixed location” twice.
Jiawen watched him and smiled.
“Gate deal,” she reminded.
Faris nodded solemnly. “Gate deal.”
Then he paused.
“Door deal,” he added.
Jiawen laughed. “There are too many deals.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “It’s structure.”
Jiawen groaned. “Handsome HR.”
Faris sighed as if he had been wounded.
Jiawen grinned.
At 12:45, the doorbell rang.
Jiawen froze.
Faris reached for the remote.
Jiawen slapped his hand lightly.
“Door,” she said.
Faris blinked. “Door deal.”
Jiawen pointed. “I open.”
Faris stepped back obediently.
Jiawen opened the door.
And chaos entered.
Farah stood at the gate holding two large shopping bags and wearing sunglasses like she was arriving at a press conference.
“HELLOOOO,” Farah shouted.
Jiawen blinked. “Why are you wearing sunglasses?”
Farah lifted her chin. “Because I am a celebrity.”
Faris appeared behind Jiawen, already looking tired.
Farah grinned wider. “Brother! Your house is so atas.”
Faris’s jaw tightened. “Farah.”
Farah ignored him and marched inside.
She dumped the shopping bags onto the coffee table.
“Housewarming gifts,” she announced.
Jiawen leaned over and peeked.
Inside were candles.
A ridiculous number of candles.
Jiawen stared. “Why so many?”
Farah shrugged. “For ambience.”
Faris exhaled slowly. “No candles.”
Farah gasped. “Why?”
Faris deadpanned. “Because fire.”
Farah looked offended. “You are so boring.”
Jiawen snorted.
Farah turned to Jiawen. “You see? You married boring.”
Jiawen smiled sweetly. “Yes. It’s peaceful.”
Farah made a face. “Peaceful is overrated.”
Faris’ mother arrived next.
Not shouting.
Just the quiet sound of slippers at the gate.
Jiawen stepped out to greet her.
“Auntie,” Jiawen said warmly, bowing her head slightly.
Faris’ mother nodded.
“Assalamualaikum,” she said.
“Waalaikumsalam,” Jiawen replied, natural now.
Faris’ mother’s gaze flicked to Jiawen’s scarf.
Today Jiawen wore it loosely, light fabric in a soft colour.
Not performative.
Just… her.
Faris’ mother’s eyes softened slightly.
“You look nice,” she said.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
“Thank you, Auntie,” she replied.
Faris’ mother stepped inside and handed Jiawen a container.
“Food,” she said.
Jiawen blinked. “Auntie, you didn’t have to–”
Faris’ mother waved a hand. “Mothers always bring. Your mother will bring also.”
Jiawen laughed softly.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Faris’ father arrived behind her mother, calm, smiling gently.
He shook Jiawen’s hand.
“Congratulations again,” he said.
Jiawen smiled. “Thank you, Uncle.”
Faris’ father turned to Faris.
Faris straightened instinctively.
Faris’ father patted his son’s shoulder once.
“Good,” he said.
That was it.
One word.
But it held warmth.
Faris blinked and nodded.
“Yes, Abah,” he murmured.
Jiawen watched and felt her chest warm.
Then, right on cue, another car pulled up.
Penang arrived.
Jiawen’s mother stepped out of the taxi holding a large thermal bag like she had just raided an entire kitchen.
Her father followed with a smaller bag and a face that looked calm but curious.
Jiawen’s mother saw Jiawen and immediately beamed.
“Aiyo!” she cried. “Your house so big!”
Jiawen groaned. “Ma.”
Her mother marched straight in and then stopped in the living room, turning slowly like she was assessing a museum.
“So nice,” her mother declared. “Got stairs!”
Jiawen’s father looked up at the staircase, eyebrows raised.
“Stairs means exercise,” he said.
Jiawen stared. “Pa, please don’t start.”
Her mother waved a hand. “Exercise good.”
Faris’ mother approached Jiawen’s parents.
The air tightened for half a second.
Not hostility.
Two mothers.
Two worlds.
Two sets of expectations.
Then Jiawen’s mother smiled brightly and extended her hand.
“Hello,” she said in English. “Thank you for having us.”
Faris’ mother took her hand.
“Hello,” she replied. “Welcome.”
Jiawen’s father nodded politely.
Faris’ father nodded back.
The men did their quiet handshake.
Firm.
Respectful.
No speeches.
Just acknowledgement.
Jiawen stood between them and felt something settle.
This was the part that used to scare her.
The collision.
Now it felt… possible.
Her mother opened the thermal bag.
“I bring food,” she announced, proud.
Jiawen groaned. “Ma, everyone brings food.”
Her mother blinked. “Of course. Housewarming is eat.”
Farah nodded vigorously. “Yes.”
Faris sighed.
Jiawen laughed.
Faris’ mother glanced at the dishes.
“What is this?” she asked.
Jiawen’s mother smiled. “Vegetarian. For you. And halal also. Don’t worry.”
Faris’ mother’s eyes softened.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Jiawen’s mother waved a hand. “No need thank. We family.”
The word landed.
Family.
Jiawen blinked hard.
She looked away quickly to hide the emotion.
In the kitchen, the mothers began to move.
Not competing.
Coordinating.
Jiawen watched her mother and Faris’ mother stand side by side at the counter, opening containers, pointing, asking questions.
Faris’ mother explained which dishes should be heated.
Jiawen’s mother insisted on plating properly.
They bickered softly about fruit.
It was ridiculous.
And it was everything.
Faris stood beside Jiawen in the kitchen doorway.
He watched too.
His posture was still.
Like he didn’t want to disturb a fragile miracle.
Jiawen leaned closer and whispered, “Your mother is… talking to my mother.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
Jiawen’s eyes were bright. “They’re… cooperating.”
Faris nodded slowly.
Then, softly, he said, “Okay.”
Jiawen looked at him.
His eyes glistened faintly.
Not tears.
Just emotion he refused to dramatise.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She reached for his hand under the doorway shadow.
Faris let her fingers slide into his.
A quiet hold.
Door deal.
Not hiding.
Just… theirs.
By one thirty, the house was full.
Not crowded.
Lived.
Amira arrived with balloons.
Reza arrived with his mouth already running.
“Wah!” Reza shouted. “Landed! Rich already!”
Jiawen glared. “Reza. Please.”
Reza grinned. “I’m praising.”
Faris sighed. “Reza, shoes.”
Reza looked down at his shoes like he had forgotten the concept.
“Oh,” he said, then kicked them off too enthusiastically. One shoe slid under the console table.
Faris stared.
Reza froze. “Sorry.”
Jiawen laughed.
Amira bounced into the living room and immediately squealed.
“The RESERVED sign!” she shrieked.
Farah grinned proudly. “I made!”
Faris groaned.
Jiawen’s mother blinked. “Reserved for what?”
Jiawen’s father answered calmly, “Reserved for them.”
Jiawen stared at her father.
He looked at her and shrugged.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Her father had learned their language.
Without being asked.
Jiawen exhaled slowly.
Food was served.
Everyone ate.
Of course.
Penang dishes beside Malay dishes.
Vegetarian options beside meat.
A table that didn’t force anyone to disappear.
The dining table became a map of their story.
Reza sat between Farah and Amira and talked too loudly.
Farah roasted him.
Amira took photos.
Jiawen’s mother watched with delighted horror.
“Your friends very noisy,” her mother whispered.
Jiawen nodded. “Yes.”
Her mother smiled. “Good. Noisy means happy.”
Jiawen’s father spoke quietly with Faris’ father.
They compared work stories.
They compared Singapore and Penang.
They made small jokes about food.
Every now and then, Jiawen saw Faris’ mother glance at Jiawen’s mother.
The gaze was no longer sharp.
It was softened by familiarity.
Jiawen’s mother, for her part, kept trying to feed Faris’ mother more.
“Auntie, eat this,” Jiawen’s mother urged.
Faris’ mother protested politely.
Jiawen’s mother insisted.
Faris watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and awe.
Then, inevitably, someone asked.
Not about religion.
Not about HR.
Not about Junhao.
Those doors were closed.
The question was simpler.
“So,” Farah said loudly, eyes sparkling, “when baby?”
Jiawen choked.
Faris froze.
Amira squealed.
Reza clapped as if someone had announced a prize.
Jiawen’s mother gasped. “Aiyo!”
Faris’ mother’s eyes narrowed. “Farah.”
Farah lifted both hands. “What? I ask only.”
Jiawen stared at the table.
Heat rose to her cheeks.
This was the part of family gatherings nobody warned you about.
The sudden invasion of your future.
Faris cleared his throat.
Then, with calm seriousness, he said, “We will plan properly.”
Reza snorted.
Jiawen glared at him.
Farah cackled. “Even baby got SOP.”
Jiawen hissed, “Stop.”
Faris’ mother finally spoke, voice calm.
“One step,” she said.
The room quieted slightly.
Faris’ mother looked at Jiawen.
“You just settle,” she said. “Let them rest.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
“Okay, Auntie,” Jiawen murmured.
Jiawen’s mother nodded quickly. “Yes, yes. No pressure. I just excited.”
Jiawen’s father gave a small smile. “Let them live first.”
Faris exhaled.
The tension dissolved.
Not because the topic was erased.
Because boundaries were respected.
Door deal.
Family deal.
Gate deal.
All of it.
The afternoon passed.
People toured the house.
Reza ran upstairs and declared the guest room “my room.”
Faris threatened him.
Amira took photos of every corner.
Farah insisted the staircase was good for dramatic entrances.
Jiawen’s mother admired the kitchen and immediately suggested renovations.
Jiawen groaned.
Her father inspected the gate like it was indeed expensive.
Faris watched him and offered the remote.
Her father pressed the button once.
The gate slid.
Her father nodded, satisfied.
“Good gate,” he declared.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Thank you, Uncle,” he said solemnly.
Jiawen laughed.
At sunset, people began to leave.
Shoes were found.
Containers were packed.
Hugs were exchanged.
Faris’ mother hugged Jiawen briefly–still stiff, but real.
Jiawen’s mother hugged Faris too hard.
Faris survived.
Jiawen’s father shook Faris’ hand again.
“Good,” he said.
Faris nodded.
“Okay,” Jiawen’s father added, looking at Jiawen.
Jiawen smiled.
“Okay,” she replied.
When Jiawen’s parents finally left, her mother stood at the gate and waved dramatically.
“Come Penang soon!” her mother shouted.
“Ma,” Jiawen called, embarrassed.
Her mother ignored her. “Don’t forget! Don’t isolate!”
Faris’ mother sighed.
Jiawen laughed.
Faris raised a hand in farewell.
“Yes, Auntie,” he called back, voice steady.
The taxi drove away.
The street quieted.
The house exhaled.
Inside, after the last guest had gone, Jiawen stood in the living room and looked at the mess.
Plates stacked.
Cups.
A balloon deflating slowly in the corner like it was tired.
The RESERVED sign still standing proudly on the dining table.
Jiawen let out a breath.
Then she laughed.
Faris appeared behind her.
He looked equally exhausted.
Not stressed exhausted.
Satisfied exhausted.
“How many cups,” Jiawen whispered, staring.
Faris exhaled. “Too many.”
Jiawen turned to him.
“We survived,” she said.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Properly.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes.
Then her expression softened.
She looked around the house again.
The living room light.
The staircase.
The dining table.
The kitchen where their mothers had stood side by side.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Faris watched her.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Jiawen exhaled.
“No,” she admitted. Then she smiled. “Yes.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
Jiawen stepped closer.
She pressed her forehead lightly to his chest.
A small collapse.
Not grief.
Relief.
“We really did it,” she whispered.
Faris’s arms wrapped around her slowly.
Not tight.
Just steady.
“Yes,” he murmured into her hair.
Jiawen’s voice shook slightly.
“Penang,” she whispered. “HR. Junhao. Your mother. My aunties. Everything.”
Faris’s jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Junhao.
Then he exhaled.
“He doesn’t exist here,” Faris said quietly.
Jiawen’s breath caught.
He was right.
Junhao had tried to sit at their table.
Now there was no seat.
No access.
No keys.
Just a closed door.
Properly.
Jiawen pulled back and looked at Faris.
His eyes were warm.
Tired.
Alive.
Jiawen laughed softly.
“You know what’s funny?” she whispered.
Faris raised a brow. “What?”
Jiawen gestured toward the mess.
“This,” she said. “This is the life we wanted. Not drama. Just… family invading our house and leaving containers.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Yes,” he said.
Jiawen’s laughter softened.
Then she glanced at the dining table.
The RESERVED sign.
The two chairs.
She walked toward it slowly.
Faris followed.
Jiawen placed her hand on one chair.
Then on the other.
Two seats.
She looked up at Faris.
“Remember when HR moved me?” she asked softly.
Faris nodded.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched. “And we still met at the pantry like criminals.”
Faris’s eyes warmed.
“3:20,” he murmured.
Jiawen laughed softly.
Then her expression turned tender.
“I thought that was the hardest part,” she admitted. “Being watched.”
Faris watched her.
Jiawen continued, “But Penang was harder. And your mother was harder. And… the faith part was the hardest.”
Faris’s throat tightened.
Jiawen’s fingers brushed her scarf lightly.
Now it was hers.
Not borrowed.
Not a costume.
Chosen.
She looked at Faris.
“But my parents stood with me,” she whispered. “They supported me. And you never forced.”
Faris swallowed.
He reached into his pocket without thinking.
The handkerchief.
Always.
Jiawen saw it and groaned softly.
“Again,” she whispered, amused.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
He held it out.
Jiawen took it, pressed it to her eyes lightly.
Not crying hard.
Just catching the overflow.
She laughed at herself.
“This handkerchief is our family heirloom now,” she muttered.
Faris nodded solemnly. “Yes.”
Jiawen laughed.
Then she folded it carefully and placed it on the RESERVED sign.
A soft fabric square on a glossy word.
Comfort on top of symbolism.
Faris watched.
His eyes softened.
Jiawen looked at him.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris nodded.
“Okay,” he echoed.
They stood there for a long moment–two people in a house that smelled like food and family and new beginnings.
Then Jiawen sighed.
“Okay,” she said again, louder. “Now we clean.”
Faris blinked. “Now?”
Jiawen narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Or else tomorrow ants will host their own housewarming.”
Faris sighed.
“Properly,” he muttered.
Jiawen grinned.
They moved together.
Stacking plates.
Wiping counters.
Laughing when Faris insisted on organising containers by size.
“Why you doing inventory?” Jiawen demanded.
Faris deadpanned. “Because containers are assets.”
Jiawen groaned. “Handsome HR.”
Faris sighed.
At some point, Jiawen reached for a cabinet and realised she couldn’t reach the top shelf.
She stood on her toes.
Failed.
Faris watched her for a second.
Then he stepped behind her and lifted her gently by the waist–one smooth motion.
Jiawen squealed.
“Faris!” she hissed.
Faris raised a brow. “You can’t reach.”
Jiawen glared. “Put me down.”
Faris held her steady. “Take the container.”
Jiawen snatched it and smacked his arm lightly.
Faris put her down, calm.
Jiawen’s cheeks were warm.
She tried to look angry.
Faris’s eyes were amused.
“You’re enjoying,” Jiawen accused.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
Jiawen groaned.
Then she laughed.
The laughter echoed through the house.
Not swallowed.
Not hidden.
Just… living.
When the house was finally quiet and clean, Jiawen and Faris sat on the porch steps.
The night air was warm.
The streetlights cast soft pools on the road.
The gate was closed.
Properly.
Jiawen leaned her head on Faris’ shoulder.
Faris rested his hand over hers.
Her ring glinted faintly.
A small circle of light.
They sat in silence for a while.
Not awkward.
Comfortable.
Then Jiawen whispered, “Do you ever think about the beginning?”
Faris turned his head slightly. “What beginning?”
Jiawen’s mouth twitched.
“The cube,” she said. “Two seats apart.”
Faris’s eyes softened.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Jiawen sighed.
“I was so young,” she murmured.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “You still are.”
Jiawen elbowed him lightly. “Don’t start.”
Faris laughed softly.
Jiawen continued, voice tender, “I thought my life would stay small. Like… office, cubicle, lunch, go home. And then you showed up with your stupid handkerchief.”
Faris blinked. “My handkerchief didn’t show up. You did.”
Jiawen stared.
Faris’s gaze held hers.
“You showed up,” he said quietly. “You earned your chair. You made my life… human.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She looked away quickly.
Faris’s hand squeezed hers once.
Not tight.
Just steady.
Jiawen smiled faintly.
“Door deal,” she whispered.
Faris nodded.
“Door deal,” he echoed.
Jiawen’s eyes drifted to the dining room through the window.
The RESERVED sign was still on the table.
The handkerchief folded neatly beside it.
Two chairs at the head.
And behind them, other chairs.
For family.
For friends.
For life.
Jiawen exhaled.
“You know,” she murmured, “I used to think reserved seats were sad. Like… someone told you where to sit and you just obey.”
Faris listened.
Jiawen continued, “But now… reserved means chosen. Like… we made space on purpose. We didn’t let people place us.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
He nodded.
“Yes,” he said softly.
Jiawen turned her head and looked at him.
Her eyes were warm.
Tired.
Happy.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Okay,” he echoed.
They sat there in the quiet street, the landed house behind them holding their life like a shell.
No loose ends.
No ghosts.
No half-status.
Just two people who had learned, through every corridor and pantry and temple line and HR check-in, that love didn’t need drama to be real.
It needed discipline.
Respect.
Humour.
And the courage to be seen.
Jiawen leaned closer.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered.
Faris raised a brow. “What tomorrow?”
Jiawen’s eyes glinted mischievously.
“We buy another magnet,” she announced.
Faris stared.
Jiawen grinned. “For the fridge. Because now we are human beings.”
Faris sighed.
Then his mouth twitched.
“Okay,” he said.
Jiawen laughed.
The laughter rose into the night and stayed there, soft and real.
Behind them, the house waited.
A place with a gate and a staircase and too many containers.
A place where two seats had finally become more than a metaphor.
A place where love wasn’t something you survived.
It was something you lived.
Properly.