George Town, Meet Halfway
The conversation with Jiawen’s parents happened the way most life-changing conversations happened in families like hers–quietly, over tea, without anyone raising their voice.
It happened after they returned from the aunt’s house, after the car ride where no one spoke too much because everyone was tired and pretending not to be. It happened when Jiawen’s mother had already washed the dishes with brisk efficiency and Jiawen’s father had taken out the same newspaper he’d read that morning, folding it with the same careful hands.
Faris sat on the sofa with his back straight and his knees together, like he was an intern again.
Jiawen sat beside him, just close enough to feel like a team and just far enough to remain respectful. Her fingers had the handkerchief folded neatly in her lap as if it were a small talisman she didn’t want anyone else to comment on.
Her father asked the first question in the calmest tone.
“So,” he said, looking at Faris over the rim of his cup. “You are serious?”
Faris didn’t rush.
He had learned, in the office and in life, that the first instinct was often wrong–either too defensive or too eager. He breathed once, slow.
“Yes, Uncle,” he said. “I’m serious.”
Jiawen’s mother leaned forward slightly, eyes bright but careful.
“You two… how long?” she asked.
Jiawen’s mouth opened.
Faris answered first–because this was his lane.
“We’ve known each other since she interned,” he said, choosing his words. “We became closer over time. We decided recently to… make it official.”
Jiawen’s father’s brows rose a fraction.
“Official,” he repeated, as if tasting the word.
Jiawen’s cheeks warmed.
Her mother smiled. “Good. Official is better than… what you call it in Singapore? No status?”
Jiawen groaned softly. “Ma.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
Her father’s gaze stayed on Faris.
“And religion,” he said calmly.
The word dropped like a stone into a quiet pond.
Faris felt Jiawen’s shoulders tighten slightly.
He didn’t reach for her hand.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
But he shifted subtly closer, a silent alignment.
“I’m Muslim,” he said. “Jiawen is Buddhist.”
Her father nodded once, as if confirming what he already knew.
Her mother’s eyes held Faris’. “In your family,” she asked softly, “this is okay?”
Faris took a breath.
He didn’t want to sell a dream. He didn’t want to promise a smooth road.
“My family will be cautious,” he said honestly. “But they will be fair. I will speak to them properly.”
Jiawen’s father’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“And you,” he asked, “you want her to change?”
The question came without accusation.
But it was still a blade.
Faris felt his jaw tighten.
“No, Uncle,” he said, calm. “I won’t force Jiawen. If we have difficult conversations in the future, we will have them openly. We will involve both families. We will decide together.”
Jiawen’s mother exhaled as if she had been holding her breath.
Her father studied Faris for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he asked, “You take care of her at work?”
Jiawen’s head snapped toward her father.
“Pa,” she hissed.
Faris’s ears warmed.
He answered carefully. “We keep things professional. HR is aware. We have safeguards. She has her own work and her own growth.”
Her father nodded slowly.
Then he looked at Jiawen.
“And you,” he asked her, voice softer now, “you are okay? Not because he is senior, you feel pressured?”
Jiawen’s face tightened with emotion.
“No,” she said quickly. Then, slower, “No. I chose. Properly.”
Faris felt something warm in his chest at the way she used his word as her own.
Her father’s eyes softened a fraction.
“Okay,” he said.
It wasn’t a blessing.
It wasn’t a grand acceptance.
But it wasn’t rejection.
It was what they gave when they were trying to be fair.
Jiawen’s mother smiled and patted Jiawen’s knee lightly.
“Tomorrow,” she announced, brightening the air like a curtain pulled open, “we go George Town. Bring you eat.”
Jiawen groaned. “Ma, you only know eat.”
Her mother waved a hand. “Penang is eat. How to not eat?”
Jiawen’s father looked at Faris again.
“You can eat vegetarian,” he said. Not a question.
Faris nodded. “Yes, Uncle.”
Her father’s mouth twitched. “Then tomorrow you suffer less. George Town has many things.”
Jiawen made a face. “I’m not suffering. I’m enjoying.”
Her father’s eyes slid to her. “You always enjoy.”
Jiawen stuck her tongue out like a child.
Faris sat in the middle of it all–tea, quiet acceptance, jokes that weren’t really jokes–and felt a strange sensation.
Not relief.
Not victory.
Something steadier.
Like a door that had been left slightly open.
Not fully.
But enough.
The next morning, Jiawen woke him up by knocking on his door like she was summoning him to work.
“Faris,” she called, voice muffled through wood. “Wake up. George Town. Your mother-in-law is waiting.”
Faris’s eyes snapped open.
He stared at the ceiling fan for half a second, then sat up.
“Don’t say that,” he called back, voice rough with sleep.
Jiawen’s laughter floated through the door. “Why? Scared?”
Faris rubbed his face. “Not scared. Just… don’t say.”
“Okay, fiancé,” Jiawen sang.
Faris froze.
Then he heard Jiawen’s footsteps retreat, giggling.
Faris closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
This was what he got for dating a woman who treated teasing like oxygen.
He changed quickly–long pants, a clean shirt, shoes that weren’t sneakers because Jiawen’s cousin had explicitly threatened him about slippers.
When he stepped out, Jiawen was in the hallway wearing a light dress and comfortable sandals, hair tied neatly, face fresh.
She looked at him and squinted.
“Why you look so formal?” she asked.
Faris frowned. “Is this formal?”
Jiawen circled him once like she was inspecting a product. “You look like you’re going to meet a client.”
Faris deadpanned. “I am. Your family.”
Jiawen snorted.
Then her expression softened.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Faris blinked.
“For what?”
“For showing up properly,” Jiawen murmured.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He didn’t answer with words.
He just nodded.
Door deal.
They moved into the kitchen.
Jiawen’s mother had already packed a small bag–tissues, wet wipes, a bottle of water, something that smelled like medicated oil. Her father sat at the dining table, sipping coffee.
“We go now,” Jiawen’s mother announced. “Before hot.”
Jiawen laughed. “Ma, Penang always hot.”
Her mother waved a hand. “Early less hot. Later you complain.”
Jiawen’s father looked at Faris. “You ready?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Jiawen’s mother pressed a small packet into Faris’s hand. “This,” she said, “is vegetarian biscuit. For you. In case later cannot find food.”
Faris blinked.
“Thank you, Auntie,” he said.
Jiawen rolled her eyes. “Ma, you treat him like he will faint without food.”
Her mother shrugged. “Men always hungry.”
Jiawen stared at her. “That’s sexist.”
Her mother smiled sweetly. “Yes.”
Jiawen choked on her own laugh.
Faris watched, amused.
In Singapore, love lived under fluorescent lights and HR policy.
Here, love lived under ceiling fans and mothers who packed biscuits.
It was… different.
But maybe different didn’t mean worse.
George Town had a way of making time feel layered.
The streets were narrow, lined with shoplots whose paint had faded into soft pastels. Murals peeked from corners like secrets. The air smelled of heat and history and food–always food–oil and spice and sweet syrup drifting from hawker stalls. Motorbikes buzzed past with the confidence of creatures that belonged here.
Jiawen led them like she knew every corner.
Not because she did.
Because she walked like she did.
Her cousin Mei Li joined them near Armenian Street, bouncing with too much energy for the weather.
“Jiejie!” Mei Li squealed, hugging Jiawen tightly.
Then she stepped back and looked at Faris with open curiosity.
“You are Faris,” she declared.
Faris nodded politely. “Yes.”
Mei Li grinned. “Wah. Very tall. My aunties not lying.”
Jiawen hissed, “Mei Li.”
Mei Li ignored her, turning to Faris. “Okay. Today we will feed you. But you got restrictions right? Halal.”
Faris nodded.
Mei Li looked delighted as if this was a puzzle.
“Challenge accepted,” she announced.
Jiawen groaned. “Please don’t make him into a game.”
Mei Li pouted. “But it’s fun.”
Faris watched Jiawen’s expression–the way she tried to look annoyed but couldn’t fully hide her fondness.
This was Jiawen here.
Not just office Jiawen.
Not just girlfriend Jiawen.
Daughter, cousin, Penang girl.
He felt his chest tighten with a quiet tenderness that made him slightly uncomfortable with himself.
Mei Li clapped her hands. “First stop. Char kway teow.”
Faris’s eyes flicked to Jiawen.
Jiawen winced. “Not halal.”
Mei Li’s face fell. “Aiyo.”
Jiawen’s mother laughed softly. “Vegetarian can.”
Mei Li brightened instantly. “Okay! Vegetarian char kway teow!”
Jiawen stared. “Where you find?”
Mei Li grinned. “I google. Just now.”
Jiawen’s father shook his head. “Young people.”
They walked.
Faris felt the heat settle on his skin, sweat gathering slowly. He kept pace beside Jiawen’s father, who walked with steady endurance.
Mei Li kept darting ahead, then returning, like a small tour guide with ADHD.
“This mural!” she shouted, dragging Jiawen toward a wall painting.
Jiawen posed with exaggerated reluctance.
Faris stood a few steps away, watching.
Jiawen’s mother pulled him closer. “Come, take picture together.”
Faris hesitated.
Jiawen’s mother smiled, gentle but firm. “It’s okay.”
Faris stepped in.
Jiawen turned and made a face. “Why you so stiff?” she whispered.
Faris murmured back, “Your mother is taking photo.”
Jiawen’s eyes narrowed. “So?”
Faris exhaled.
Jiawen leaned closer and whispered, “Smile.”
Faris tried.
Jiawen’s grin widened. “Not like that. You look like you’re about to present quarterly results.”
Faris’s mouth twitched, helpless.
The photo was taken.
Jiawen’s mother looked at it and smiled widely. “Very nice. You look good together.”
Jiawen groaned and tried to snatch the phone away.
Her mother swatted her hand lightly. “Don’t be shy. You are grown already.”
Jiawen’s cheeks reddened.
Faris felt his ears warm.
Mei Li cackled in the background.
Romcom.
He had thought romcom was something you watched.
He didn’t realise it was something that could happen to you in the middle of a street while an auntie took photos like she was collecting proof.
The vegetarian char kway teow stall was in a small hawker corner tucked behind a row of shoplots. The signboard was faded, the table surfaces sticky with years of use, the air thick with steam and frying oil.
Mei Li was triumphant.
“See? I told you,” she declared, hands on hips.
Jiawen rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
They sat.
Jiawen’s father ordered without looking at a menu, because men like him didn’t need menus.
When the plates arrived–dark noodles glistening with sauce, bean sprouts and chives and egg stirred in–Faris watched closely.
Jiawen’s mother pointed. “Vegetarian. No pork. No lard.”
Faris nodded.
He took a bite.
It was good.
Smoky, sweet, savoury, a little spicy.
He saw Jiawen watching him with expectation.
“It’s nice,” he said.
Jiawen grinned. “Of course it’s nice. Penang.”
Mei Li leaned forward. “Okay, next. Cendol.”
Jiawen groaned. “Mei Li, you’re like a food tour app.”
Mei Li smiled proudly. “I am.”
They ate.
For a while, it was easy.
Just food.
Just laughter.
Just the warmth of being folded into a family outing.
Then, as if the universe insisted on balance, a woman at the next table leaned over and asked Jiawen’s mother something in Hokkien.
Jiawen’s mother answered, laughing.
Then the woman’s gaze slid to Faris.
She smiled.
The smile had the same shape as the temple auntie’s.
Faris felt his stomach tighten preemptively.
The woman spoke in accented English. “This your daughter boyfriend ah?”
Jiawen’s mother smiled. “Yes.”
The woman nodded, eyes bright. “Wah. Nice. Muslim?”
Jiawen’s mother glanced at Faris, then nodded. “Yes.”
The woman made an approving sound. “Good. Good. So your daughter… convert or not?”
Jiawen’s chopsticks paused.
Jiawen’s jaw tightened.
Faris felt the air shift.
He didn’t like the way the question was asked like a casual curiosity.
He didn’t like the way people spoke about Jiawen like she was a decision waiting to be made by others.
Jiawen’s mother’s smile faltered slightly.
Before Jiawen could snap, Faris spoke, calm.
“Auntie,” he said politely, “we respect each other. We don’t talk like that.”
The woman blinked.
Faris continued, still polite, still firm. “If one day we decide something, we decide together. Not because people ask.”
Jiawen’s mother exhaled softly.
Jiawen’s eyes flicked to Faris, surprised.
The woman stared for a moment.
Then she chuckled. “Wah. Singapore boy very… direct.”
Faris gave a small, polite smile.
The woman waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, okay. Good luck.”
She turned back to her table.
Jiawen set her chopsticks down and stared at Faris.
“What?” he asked, quietly.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched. “You’re collecting aunties now. In one day.”
Faris frowned. “She asked.”
Jiawen’s smile softened. “Thank you.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
Jiawen leaned closer, voice low. “But next time, let me speak too. Door deal.”
Faris nodded.
“Door deal,” he murmured.
Her fingers brushed his wrist under the table–quick, subtle, a touch that lasted half a second.
Then she pulled away as if nothing had happened.
Faris sat in the heat and the noise and the smell of fried noodles, and realised this was what meeting halfway looked like.
Not grand gestures.
Small alignments.
Boundaries delivered politely.
A shared refusal to let other people write their story.
After cendol–sweet coconut milk, shaved ice, green jelly strands that Jiawen insisted were “the best in the world”–Mei Li dragged them toward Kapitan Keling Mosque like it was another tourist checkbox.
Faris slowed.
The mosque’s white façade rose clean against the sky, minarets reaching upward, the courtyard bright and open.
He had seen mosques before, of course.
But seeing one here, in Penang, after a morning of temples and incense and aunties, felt like a bridge he hadn’t expected to cross today.
Jiawen noticed him slowing.
She stepped closer.
“You want to go in?” she asked softly.
Faris looked at her.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
Jiawen’s brows knit. “I want to see.”
Mei Li perked up. “Wah! Mosque!”
Jiawen shot her a look. “Don’t say it like you’re at zoo.”
Mei Li pouted. “I’m excited.”
Jiawen’s father’s voice came from behind them. “We go in. Respect.”
Mei Li straightened instantly.
Jiawen’s mother nodded. “Yes. Respect.”
Faris’s chest warmed.
They didn’t treat his world like an exotic thing.
They treated it like something that deserved the same courtesy as theirs.
Faris stepped forward.
At the entrance, there were signs about dress code.
Jiawen’s mother pointed. “Need cover shoulder. Need long pants.”
Jiawen looked down at her dress, then at Faris.
“I didn’t bring scarf,” she whispered.
Faris shook his head. “There are robes.”
Jiawen blinked. “How you know?”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “I’ve been to mosques.”
Jiawen narrowed her eyes. “In Penang?”
Faris shrugged. “Mosque logic is similar.”
Jiawen snorted.
Inside, the air was cooler.
Shoes were left at the side.
Faris removed his, placing them neatly.
He glanced at Jiawen.
She hesitated, then removed her sandals, placing them carefully beside her mother’s.
A volunteer approached with robes.
Jiawen accepted one and wrapped it around herself, fumbling slightly.
Faris watched her struggle, then stepped closer.
“Here,” he said softly.
He adjusted the tie lightly, careful not to touch her more than necessary.
Jiawen’s eyes flicked up to him.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Faris nodded.
Mei Li had already put on a robe and was spinning like she was in costume.
Jiawen hissed, “Mei Li! Stop!”
Mei Li stopped, grinning.
They entered the courtyard.
The light was bright, bouncing off white walls.
The space felt clean, open, quiet in a different way from the temple–less sensory, more spacious.
Faris breathed in.
It smelled faintly of stone warmed by sun and something floral drifting from outside.
Jiawen’s father looked around with a calm interest.
Jiawen’s mother’s gaze was curious but respectful.
Jiawen walked slowly, as if she didn’t want her footsteps to sound too loud.
Faris watched her.
In the office, Jiawen was expressive, quick.
Here, she was deliberate.
Not because she was scared.
Because she was paying attention.
They approached the prayer hall.
Faris paused at the threshold.
He looked at Jiawen.
“You can go in,” he said, “but just… keep quiet. Don’t step in front of people praying.”
Jiawen nodded immediately. “Okay.”
Mei Li whispered, “Can take picture?”
Jiawen glared. “No.”
Mei Li pouted. “Why?”
Faris replied gently, “Some mosques allow, some don’t. Better not.”
Mei Li sighed dramatically. “Okay lah.”
Inside, the prayer hall was carpeted, the air cooler. The ceiling was high, fans spinning slowly. A few men were seated quietly, heads bowed.
Faris stepped in and felt something settle in his chest.
Not peace.
Something like alignment.
Jiawen walked beside him, eyes moving slowly across the space.
She didn’t look like she was pretending.
She looked like she was learning.
Faris guided them to a side area where they could stand without disturbing anyone.
Jiawen’s mother whispered, “Very beautiful.”
Faris nodded.
Jiawen’s father’s eyes lingered on the mihrab, the architectural focus.
Jiawen glanced at Faris.
“You pray?” she whispered.
Faris hesitated.
He hadn’t planned to.
But the space invited it.
A quiet reminder of who he was beneath all the roles.
“If it’s okay,” he said softly.
Jiawen nodded at once. “Of course.”
Faris stepped slightly away, toward a corner.
He didn’t make a show.
He didn’t announce.
He just stood, facing the right direction, and let his mind slow.
The world–Penang, aunties, Junhao’s messages, HR–faded to a dull hum.
His lips moved in a quiet whisper.
A prayer for steadiness.
A prayer for respect.
A prayer that he would not become the kind of man who loved with control instead of trust.
When he finished, he turned back.
Jiawen was watching him.
Her eyes were soft.
Not romantic.
Not dramatic.
Just… something like understanding.
“You look calmer,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “It works.”
Jiawen smiled faintly. “Magic?”
Faris shook his head. “Not magic. Just… reset.”
Jiawen nodded.
Mei Li whispered loudly, “Wah, he pray so handsome.”
Jiawen elbowed her hard.
Mei Li hissed in pain.
Faris’s ears warmed.
Even here, romcom refused to die.
Outside the mosque, back in the heat, they returned their robes.
Jiawen tied hers neatly, handing it back with both hands like she was giving respect to an object.
Faris watched.
Jiawen’s mother glanced at Jiawen, then at Faris.
“You two,” she said carefully, “you respect each other.”
It wasn’t a compliment.
It was an observation.
Faris nodded.
“Yes, Auntie.”
Jiawen smiled, small.
Mei Li bounded ahead again.
“Next food!” she announced.
Jiawen groaned. “We already ate three things.”
Mei Li grinned. “Penang is eat.”
Jiawen’s mother nodded proudly. “Yes.”
They walked through George Town’s streets again.
This time, Faris noticed more.
The way Jiawen’s father walked slightly behind his wife, letting her lead without making it a performance.
The way Jiawen’s mother occasionally reached back to touch Jiawen’s elbow, as if checking she was still there.
The way Jiawen moved between Faris and her family, bridging without splitting.
Door deal.
Not just between lovers.
Between worlds.
At a corner near a souvenir shop, Jiawen’s phone buzzed.
Faris saw her shoulders stiffen.
She didn’t react dramatically.
She didn’t flinch visibly.
She simply took her phone out, opened her Notes app, typed, then took a screenshot.
Faris’s chest tightened.
He didn’t ask.
Not here.
Not in front of her parents.
But Jiawen glanced up at him, eyes steady.
A silent message.
I’m handling.
Faris nodded once.
Good.
Mei Li turned around mid-walk and squinted at them.
“Why you two keep doing eye contact like drama?” she asked loudly.
Jiawen choked. “Mei Li!”
Mei Li grinned. “It’s true what. Very intense.”
Jiawen’s father shook his head, amused.
Jiawen’s mother laughed softly.
Faris felt his ears warm again.
He had never been this visible in his life.
And somehow, it didn’t feel like danger.
It felt like… possibility.
They ended the afternoon at a small shop selling trinkets and postcards.
Jiawen’s mother bought keychains for relatives.
Jiawen bought nothing, pretending to be uninterested while secretly picking up a tiny magnet and holding it like she was deciding if she deserved joy.
Faris watched her.
She turned the magnet over, reading the words.
PENANG
Underneath, a small illustration of a temple roof.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched.
“You want?” Faris asked quietly.
Jiawen frowned. “It’s childish.”
Faris reached for his wallet.
Jiawen snapped, “No.”
Faris paused.
Jiawen looked at him and softened.
“Door deal,” she murmured. “I buy my own magnet.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“Okay,” he said.
Jiawen bought it with a look of satisfied stubbornness.
When she tucked it into her bag, she glanced at him.
“Later you can put on your fridge,” she teased.
Faris deadpanned. “I don’t have fridge magnets.”
Jiawen stared. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Faris,” Jiawen said, scandalised, “how can you be a human being without fridge magnets?”
Faris looked at her with calm seriousness. “I’m efficient.”
Jiawen groaned and laughed at the same time.
Mei Li hovered nearby, watching them with the gleeful expression of someone who wanted to gossip.
Then she leaned toward Jiawen’s mother and whispered something.
Jiawen’s mother’s face shifted.
Faris saw it from the corner of his eye.
Not dramatic.
Just… alert.
Jiawen’s mother looked at Jiawen.
“Jiawen,” she called softly.
Jiawen turned. “What?”
Her mother hesitated, then said, “Your cousin… she say someone message her.”
Jiawen’s face went blank.
Her fingers stopped moving.
Faris felt his stomach tighten.
“Who?” Jiawen asked, voice suddenly flat.
Mei Li’s grin faded for the first time all day.
“Junhao,” she admitted quietly.
The heat around them sharpened into something suffocating.
Faris kept his face calm.
Jiawen’s eyes flicked to him.
Door deal.
This was her lane.
But this was also now touching her family.
Jiawen inhaled slowly.
“What did he say?” she asked.
Mei Li swallowed. “He asked if you’re really with… him.” She glanced at Faris, apologetic. “And he said… he wants to talk to you. He said last chance.”
Jiawen’s jaw tightened.
Faris felt steel settle under his ribs.
Jiawen looked at her mother.
Her mother’s face was gentle but worried. “He disturb you?” she asked softly.
Jiawen’s throat moved.
Then, with a steadiness Faris admired, she nodded.
“Yes, Ma,” she said. “He disturb.”
Her mother’s eyes widened slightly.
Jiawen continued, voice firm but not loud. “He keeps messaging from new numbers. I’m documenting. I’m not replying. But now he’s contacting cousin.”
Her father, who had been quietly browsing postcards nearby, looked up.
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Something more dangerous.
A calm that meant consequences.
“Junhao,” he repeated.
Jiawen nodded.
Her father’s jaw tightened. “He is… shameless.”
Jiawen’s eyes glistened slightly, but she blinked it away.
Faris watched her, chest tight.
Her mother reached out and touched Jiawen’s arm lightly.
“Why you never tell us earlier?” her mother asked.
Jiawen swallowed. “Because I didn’t want you to worry. And I didn’t want to make Penang… noisy.”
Her father’s gaze moved to Faris.
Faris met it.
There was a silent question there.
What are you going to do?
Faris didn’t answer with bravado.
He didn’t answer with threats.
He said, calm, “Uncle, Auntie–we will handle properly. Jiawen will not meet him. We will document everything. If he escalates, we report. If he shows up, we call authorities. No conversation.”
Jiawen’s mother blinked, absorbing the words.
Her father nodded slowly.
Then he looked at Jiawen.
“You don’t reply,” he said. Not a suggestion.
Jiawen nodded. “I won’t.”
Her father’s voice lowered. “If he come, you tell me.”
Jiawen swallowed. “Okay.”
Mei Li looked pale. “I’m sorry, jiejie. I didn’t know he will message me. I blocked already.”
Jiawen exhaled and squeezed Mei Li’s hand briefly.
“It’s not your fault,” she said.
Faris watched the exchange.
Something in his chest loosened.
This–this was what Jiawen had feared.
Not rejection.
Acceptance.
Her family was in it now.
The story was no longer hers alone.
Faris stepped slightly closer to Jiawen.
He didn’t touch her.
But his presence was a wall.
Not between her and her family.
Between her and the past.
Jiawen looked up at him.
Her eyes were steady.
A silent vow.
We don’t negotiate.
Faris nodded once.
We don’t.
The ride home was quieter.
Jiawen sat in the back seat, looking out the window at George Town sliding past in blurred colours.
Faris sat in the front, hands resting on his thighs, posture calm.
Jiawen’s mother kept glancing back, as if she wanted to ask more but didn’t want to overwhelm her daughter.
Jiawen’s father drove with a tight jaw.
At a red light, he spoke, voice low.
“Faris,” he said.
“Yes, Uncle?”
“You say you handle properly,” her father continued. “This is good. But you must understand–Penang people talk. If he come make noise, it become shame. For Jiawen.”
Faris inhaled.
“I understand, Uncle,” he said. “That’s why we won’t meet him. We won’t give him a scene.”
Her father nodded slowly.
Then he added, quieter, “But you also… must protect her.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
The word protect could mean many things.
Control.
Possession.
Rescue.
He chose his answer carefully.
“I will stand with her,” he said. “And I will respect her decisions. That’s how I protect.”
In the rearview mirror, Faris saw Jiawen’s eyes lift.
She watched him.
Her gaze softened.
Her father didn’t respond immediately.
Then he nodded once.
“Okay,” he said.
Again–quiet acceptance.
Not loud.
Not perfect.
But real.
That night, after dinner, Jiawen and Faris stood on the small balcony outside her parents’ living room.
The air was cooler now, carrying the faint smell of rain and distant cooking from other apartments. Penang’s night sounded different from Singapore’s–more motorbikes, more voices, more life pressed close.
Jiawen leaned her elbows on the railing.
Faris stood beside her, not touching.
A safe space between them.
Not empty.
Chosen.
Jiawen spoke first.
“I hate that he messaged Mei Li,” she said quietly.
Faris nodded. “He’s trying to widen his access.”
Jiawen’s mouth tightened. “He wants to make it feel like he can still reach me.”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
Jiawen continued, voice soft but sharp. “And now my parents know. I didn’t want them to know like this.”
Faris glanced at her.
“How did you want them to know?” he asked.
Jiawen’s eyes glistened faintly. “When I’m ready. When it’s… calm. Not because he forced it.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
“He didn’t force it,” he said gently. “You told them. You chose.”
Jiawen’s breath caught.
She stared at the railing for a long moment.
Then she whispered, “I did.”
Faris watched her fingers–still, then slowly moving again, tracing the metal edge.
Jiawen exhaled.
“Okay,” she said, voice firmer. “Then we do it properly.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
Jiawen shot him a look. “Don’t be smug.”
Faris let a small smile appear. “I’m not smug.”
“You are,” Jiawen insisted.
Faris shrugged, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the handkerchief.
Jiawen blinked.
“What,” she asked, “are you doing?”
Faris held it out.
Jiawen stared.
Then she laughed, breathy. “You and your handkerchief. You think it’s a weapon.”
“It is,” Faris replied calmly.
Jiawen’s laughter softened.
She took it, not to wipe tears, but to hold.
A soft fabric in her palm.
A reminder of steadiness.
She leaned her shoulder lightly against his arm for half a second.
Then she pulled away, because even on a balcony, her parents were inside.
Faris watched the night.
He thought of the reserved seat on the plane.
The word.
The gap.
How even when something was placed between them, they had found a way to meet halfway.
Door deal.
Jiawen’s voice softened.
“Today at the mosque,” she said.
Faris glanced at her.
“You looked… peaceful,” Jiawen murmured. “When you prayed.”
Faris blinked.
He hadn’t expected her to notice that.
“It helps,” he admitted.
Jiawen nodded slowly. “I like that you didn’t ask me to be anything. You just… let me see.”
Faris’s chest tightened.
“That’s the point,” he said quietly.
Jiawen turned to him.
Her eyes were warm.
Then she said, softly, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Faris held her gaze.
“So am I,” he replied.
Silence settled between them.
A comfortable one.
Until Faris’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
His stomach tightened.
He didn’t want to check.
But the vibration repeated.
Once.
Twice.
He reached for it.
Jiawen’s gaze sharpened.
Faris unlocked the screen.
Unknown number.
A message.
Tomorrow. Queensbay Mall. 5pm. Last chance. If you don’t come, I talk to your parents properly.
Faris felt cold spread beneath his ribs.
He turned the screen toward Jiawen.
Jiawen’s face went still.
Her fingers tightened around the handkerchief.
For a moment, she looked like the version of herself from months ago–the one who tried to laugh through betrayal.
Then her jaw set.
She exhaled.
“No,” she said.
Faris nodded.
“No,” he echoed.
Jiawen’s eyes flicked toward the living room window.
“My parents are already involved,” she said, voice low. “He can’t threaten that.”
Faris watched her.
Jiawen’s breath steadied.
Then she said, with calm clarity, “We don’t go. We screenshot. We tell my father. We keep record. If he shows up anywhere near the house, we call.”
Faris felt something loosen in his chest.
Door deal.
She was leading.
And she wasn’t shaking.
“Okay,” Faris said.
Jiawen looked at him.
Her voice softened slightly. “Are you okay?”
Faris paused.
Then he answered honestly.
“I’m angry,” he admitted.
Jiawen’s eyes widened a fraction.
Faris continued, voice low, controlled. “But I can be angry and still be proper.”
Jiawen’s mouth trembled into a smile, despite everything.
“You sound like a slogan,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “It’s true.”
Jiawen stared at the message again, then locked the phone.
She handed it back to Faris.
Then she pressed the handkerchief to her palm, grounding.
“We’ll handle,” she murmured.
Faris nodded.
“We’ll handle,” he replied.
Inside, the living room light spilled warm onto the balcony floor.
Jiawen’s parents’ voices drifted faintly–soft, domestic, unaware of the exact words that had just arrived.
Faris looked at Jiawen.
Her face was steady.
Not fearless.
But steady.
And in the heat of Penang, in the hum of the night, in the quiet space between a mosque visit and a threat disguised as “proper,” Faris understood something with sharp clarity.
Meeting halfway wasn’t just a romantic idea.
It was a strategy.
A discipline.
A way of keeping doors shut without letting fear live in the house.
Jiawen turned her head slightly.
“Tomorrow,” she said softly, “we tell my father.”
Faris nodded.
“Tomorrow,” he echoed.
Below them, motorbikes passed, their sounds fading into the night.
Above them, the sky was dark, heavy with humidity, sprinkled with faint stars that struggled to be seen.
Faris felt the weight of the message in his pocket.
Not because he believed Junhao had power.
But because Junhao was trying to take power anyway.
Faris looked at Jiawen again.
And he knew.
This was the moment where the past tried to demand a seat at their table.
They were going to reserve that seat for themselves.
Not by ignoring.
Not by running.
But by closing every door properly.