The Celebration That Isn’t Just a Celebration
The first sign that something was wrong was the subject line.
It sat in Jiawen’s inbox with the same polite punctuation Meridian Harbor Systems used when it wanted to sound neutral about something that wasn’t neutral at all.
Bank Compliance Workflow Rollout – Project Close-Out & Recognition Dinner (Mandatory Attendance)
Mandatory.
Recognition.
Dinner.
All words that could be good, and all words that could turn into theatre.
Jiawen stared at the email for a long moment, fingers resting on her keyboard without typing.
The office around her moved the way it always did on a weekday morning–fluorescent lights too white, the soft whir of air-conditioning trying to convince everyone that time was not passing, the muted chorus of Teams notifications and keyboard taps.
Somewhere down the aisle, someone laughed at something on their screen.
Jiawen didn’t laugh.
She read the email again.
Project close-out. Recognition dinner. Mandatory attendance.
In the same week as HR’s quarterly compliance follow-up.
In the same week as the steering committee’s final sign-off.
In the same week her parents were coming to Singapore because Faris’ mother had said, in a voice that sounded almost casual, Next time, bring your parents. We talk.
The universe did not believe in spacing out stress.
It stacked.
Faris’ chair rolled quietly beside her.
He didn’t sit too close–habit and policy had trained their bodies into careful angles–but his presence was enough to change her breathing.
“You saw?” he asked softly.
Jiawen turned her monitor slightly toward him.
Faris scanned the email.
His expression didn’t change much.
But Jiawen knew his tells.
The slight tightening of his jaw.
The way his gaze flicked to the word mandatory like he wanted to negotiate with it.
“Dinner,” Jiawen murmured.
Faris nodded once.
“Recognition dinner,” Jiawen repeated, voice dry.
Faris’s mouth twitched faintly.
“That’s supposed to be good,” he said.
Jiawen stared at him.
Faris added, quieter, “It means the project is done.”
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
Done.
The word didn’t feel like relief.
It felt like the removal of something that had kept her occupied.
When the work stopped, the rest of life had space to rush in.
She looked at her calendar.
The HR invite sat there like an eye.
Quarterly Compliance Check-in – Relationship Disclosure Follow-up
Same week.
Same building.
Different kind of scrutiny.
“Are you okay?” Faris asked.
Jiawen exhaled slowly.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
Faris didn’t move.
Jiawen rolled her eyes at herself.
“I’m… okay,” she corrected, softer. “Just… it feels like the universe is trying to make me attend all the meetings.”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “You’re already attending all the meetings.”
Jiawen glared. “Don’t remind me.”
Faris’s gaze warmed.
Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he said, “We plan.”
Jiawen’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t start,” she warned.
Faris blinked. “What?”
“You,” Jiawen whispered, “are about to turn my life into a tracker again.”
Faris opened his mouth to deny, then closed it.
A faint confession.
Jiawen sighed.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Plan. But door deal. You cannot bulldoze.”
Faris nodded immediately.
“Door deal,” he said.
The words sat between them, familiar now.
A silly phrase that had become a private oath.
Jiawen’s phone vibrated.
She froze.
Not because she thought it was Junhao.
That door had been shut.
Properly.
By her father.
With consequences.
But her body still reacted to vibrations like they meant danger.
She flipped the phone over without looking.
Faris watched her hand.
He didn’t comment.
He just shifted slightly, closer–not enough to be a spectacle, enough to be steady.
At 3:20, they went to the pantry.
Not because they needed coffee.
Because they needed their routine.
Micro-routine.
A small, controlled thing in a glass-walled world.
The pantry was bright, too cold, smelling faintly of instant coffee and reheated lunches. The refrigerator hummed like it had opinions.
Jiawen stood at the coffee machine, watching the stream fill her cup.
Faris leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
He looked at her with the calm focus he used on clients.
Except this was not a client.
This was the person he loved.
“Your parents’ flights,” Faris said quietly.
Jiawen blinked.
She had been trying not to think about it.
“They confirmed,” she replied. “Friday night. They’re staying at a hotel near Bugis because my mother said she doesn’t want to ‘disturb’ us.”
Faris’s mouth tightened slightly.
“They can stay with my family,” he said.
Jiawen snorted. “Your mother will faint.”
Faris’s eyes narrowed. “She won’t faint.”
“She will faint emotionally,” Jiawen corrected.
Faris exhaled.
“Okay,” he said. “We meet them first. Then we bring them to my house.”
Jiawen’s eyes widened slightly.
“Just like that?”
Faris nodded.
Jiawen sipped her coffee and tried to imagine it.
Her parents in Faris’ living room.
His mother with her measured gaze.
Farah with her bright mouth.
Faris’ father quiet and observant.
It would be like two worlds sitting at the same table.
Reserved seats.
Assigned politeness.
Unspoken tests.
Jiawen exhaled.
“Okay,” she murmured.
Faris watched her.
“Scared?” he asked.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched. “Obviously.”
Faris nodded.
Then, softer, “Me too.”
Jiawen blinked.
Faris rarely said that.
He rarely admitted fear without dressing it up as planning.
It made her chest warm.
Jiawen leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice.
“Door deal,” she reminded him.
Faris nodded.
“Door deal,” he echoed.
Then Jiawen’s eyes narrowed, suspicious.
“And the dinner,” she said.
Faris blinked. “What dinner?”
“The recognition dinner,” Jiawen said, voice dry. “Why do I feel like you know something?”
Faris’s expression stayed calm.
Too calm.
Jiawen narrowed her eyes harder.
Faris lifted his cup and took a slow sip.
Jiawen stared at him.
“Faris,” she warned softly.
Faris lowered the cup.
“I don’t know anything,” he said.
Jiawen’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s a lie.”
Faris’s mouth twitched.
“It’s not a lie,” he insisted.
Jiawen leaned closer. “You have the tone of a man who is lying.”
Faris exhaled.
He looked away as if studying the coffee machine.
Jiawen watched him, amused and irritated at the same time.
“Okay,” she said, leaning back. “Fine. Be secretive.”
Faris’s eyes flicked to her.
Jiawen smiled sweetly. “I will be secretive too.”
Faris’s brows knit. “About what?”
Jiawen’s smile widened. “I don’t know. I’ll find something.”
Faris stared.
Jiawen sipped her coffee like she had won.
HR’s meeting room was too clean.
The kind of clean that made Jiawen feel like her breathing had to be controlled.
The glass walls reflected light in a way that made everything look slightly sterile. A bowl of wrapped mints sat on the table like a peace offering.
Faris arrived five minutes early.
Jiawen arrived exactly on time.
They sat side by side, but not touching.
Across from them was Ms. Low from HR, calm and professional, with a laptop open and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Thank you for coming,” Ms. Low began.
Faris nodded. Jiawen nodded.
“This is our quarterly compliance follow-up regarding your disclosed relationship,” Ms. Low said, tone neutral.
Jiawen resisted the urge to laugh.
Relationship as a quarterly risk.
She clasped her hands under the table.
Ms. Low continued, “We just want to confirm that the safeguards we discussed are implemented and effective. This is not punitive. It’s standard.”
Standard.
Jiawen swallowed.
Faris spoke first.
“We’ve implemented the seat reshuffle, the reporting chain separation, and the review-chain adjustments,” he said calmly. “We maintain professional boundaries during work hours. We avoid direct involvement in each other’s appraisal content.”
Ms. Low nodded.
Jiawen added, carefully, “And for the bank rollout, my role is documented and the stakeholder comms protocol is auditable. It’s not informal.”
Ms. Low’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Good,” she said.
Then she looked at Jiawen.
“How has the arrangement felt for you?” Ms. Low asked.
The question was phrased politely.
But it carried weight.
Jiawen inhaled.
She could play safe.
She could say fine.
But she was done being reduced.
“It was difficult at first,” Jiawen said honestly. “Because the seat reshuffle felt like punishment for… being visible.”
Ms. Low’s expression stayed neutral.
Jiawen continued, voice calm, “But we adapted. We use micro-routines. And professionally, it’s actually helped. I’m forced to own my work without relying on proximity.”
Faris’s gaze flicked to her.
Not surprise.
Pride.
Ms. Low nodded slowly.
“And in terms of perceptions of favouritism?” Ms. Low asked.
Faris answered, “We can’t control gossip. But we ensure there’s no truth to it. We’re transparent. Any decisions go through proper channels.”
Proper channels.
Jiawen resisted the urge to grin.
Faris would always sound like a policy document.
Ms. Low typed something.
Then she looked up.
“One more thing,” she said. “As you move forward, please note that escalation pathways remain available if you face harassment or workplace conflict related to this arrangement.”
Jiawen’s stomach tightened.
Not because of the words.
Because of the quiet recognition: HR knew the workplace could be cruel.
Faris’s jaw tightened slightly.
“We’re aware,” he said.
Ms. Low smiled politely.
“Alright,” she said. “From our side, safeguards are in place, and we’re satisfied. We’ll continue to check in quarterly as per policy.”
Quarterly.
Jiawen nodded.
As they stood to leave, Ms. Low added casually, “And congratulations in advance on your project close-out. I saw the note.”
Jiawen blinked.
Faris’s expression remained controlled.
But Jiawen caught the slight flicker in his eyes.
He definitely knew something.
Outside the meeting room, Jiawen exhaled hard.
“That was… fine,” she said.
Faris nodded. “It was fine.”
Jiawen turned to him. “You’re lying again.”
Faris blinked. “About what?”
“About being fine,” Jiawen said. “You look like you want to fight someone.”
Faris exhaled slowly.
“I don’t like them making you feel audited,” he admitted quietly.
Jiawen’s chest warmed.
She bumped her shoulder lightly against his–tiny, quick, in the corridor where no one cared.
“I’m okay,” she murmured.
Faris’s gaze held hers.
“I know,” he replied.
Then, softer, “But I still don’t like it.”
Jiawen smiled faintly.
“You’re very stubborn,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
Jiawen laughed softly.
Then she narrowed her eyes again.
“And you still haven’t told me what you know about the dinner,” she said.
Faris’s face went blank.
“Jiawen,” he warned.
Jiawen smiled sweetly.
“Okay lah,” she said. “I’ll find out.”
Faris’s jaw tightened as if he already knew she would.
The steering committee close-out was scheduled for Thursday.
The big room.
The expensive coffee.
The stakeholders who spoke in sentences that sounded polite but carried knives.
Jiawen had been in that room before.
As the “optional” person.
As the junior.
As the one who had to prove she wasn’t a shadow.
Today, she walked in with her laptop under her arm and her chin lifted.
Faris stood near the head of the table, calm, professional, the lead.
He didn’t look at her too much.
But when she took her seat, he glanced up.
A small nod.
Door deal.
You have your chair.
The meeting began.
The bank compliance director spoke first, voice smooth.
“Congratulations,” he said. “We’ve reached go-live, stabilized, and now we’re closing. We want to acknowledge the team.”
Jiawen’s stomach tightened.
Recognition always sounded good.
But recognition in corporate environments could be political.
It could be selective.
It could be a weapon.
The director continued, “We had a few hiccups early on, but overall, the audit trail is intact and the comms protocol was… impressive.”
His gaze slid toward Jiawen.
Jiawen felt her heartbeat thud.
The director nodded at her.
“Ms. Chong,” he said.
Jiawen sat up straight.
“Yes,” she replied.
“I want to commend the way you structured the comms logs,” he said. “It was traceable, transparent. It reduced risk.”
Jiawen’s mouth went dry.
She forced herself to stay calm.
“Thank you,” she said. “It was a team effort.”
The director smiled slightly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But the proposal and implementation were yours.”
Across the table, another stakeholder nodded.
A woman from compliance added, “I liked that you didn’t over-engineer. It was simple and auditable.”
Jiawen felt something in her chest loosen.
Auditable.
The word that had once sounded like scrutiny now sounded like respect.
Faris remained still.
But Jiawen could feel his pride like warmth beside her even without him touching her.
The meeting moved on.
Numbers.
Post-mortems.
Lessons learned.
Then the director said, “And as per tradition, we’re hosting a close-out dinner.”
Jiawen’s stomach tightened again.
“Mandatory attendance,” the director added with a smile, as if acknowledging the email.
A few people chuckled.
The director continued, “We want the core team there. And we’ve invited key stakeholders. We also want to invite families. It’s been a heavy project. People should see what you’ve sacrificed.”
Families.
Jiawen’s heart thudded.
Faris’s jaw tightened slightly.
Not fear.
Calculation.
This was the piece he hadn’t told her.
The director looked at Faris.
“Faris,” he said, “you’re bringing family, right?”
Faris nodded calmly. “Yes.”
Jiawen turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing.
Faris did not look at her.
He was refusing to be implicated.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched.
Fine.
She would play along.
The director looked at Jiawen.
“And you, Ms. Chong?”
Jiawen swallowed.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “My parents are visiting Singapore this weekend. They can attend.”
The words left her mouth before she fully processed them.
Her parents.
At a work dinner.
With Faris.
With stakeholders.
With colleagues.
With his family.
This wasn’t just a celebration.
This was a collision.
The director smiled. “Excellent. See you all Friday night.”
Friday.
The same night her parents landed.
Jiawen felt her blood drain.
Faris finally glanced at her.
A small look.
It wasn’t apology.
It was a question.
Are you okay?
Jiawen forced a smile.
Door deal.
She would not shrink.
But she wanted to strangle him.
In the pantry at 3:20, Jiawen confronted him.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But with the kind of soft voice that was more dangerous than shouting.
“So,” Jiawen said, stirring her coffee with too much force, “you forgot to mention families are invited.”
Faris leaned against the counter, looking annoyingly calm.
“I didn’t forget,” he said.
Jiawen’s eyes narrowed. “Then you hid.”
Faris exhaled slowly.
“I wanted to tell you,” he said.
“When?” Jiawen asked sweetly. “After my parents sit at the table?”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
He opened his mouth.
Then he closed it.
He looked like he was choosing honesty.
“I didn’t want to stress you before Penang,” he admitted.
Jiawen stared at him.
Her anger softened into something else.
Not forgiveness.
But understanding.
Because Faris always did that.
He tried to carry weight alone.
Even when she had asked him not to.
Door deal.
Jiawen exhaled.
“Okay,” she said, calmer. “But next time, you tell me. You cannot protect me by withholding.”
Faris nodded immediately.
“Yes,” he said.
Jiawen narrowed her eyes. “Yes what? Yes you tell?”
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes. I tell.”
Jiawen sipped her coffee.
Then she asked, quietly, “Why families?”
Faris hesitated.
Then he said, “The director wants to show appreciation. Also… it’s a bank. They like visibility. They like optics.”
Optics.
The word tasted like bitterness.
Jiawen exhaled.
“My parents are landing Friday night,” she said.
Faris nodded. “I know.”
Jiawen glared. “Of course you know.”
Faris’s eyes warmed faintly.
“I planned,” he admitted.
Jiawen’s eyes narrowed. “You planned what?”
Faris’s jaw tightened.
He looked away.
Jiawen leaned closer.
“Faris.”
Faris exhaled.
“I planned logistics,” he said. “Pick up. Dinner timing. Transport. I don’t want them to feel… lost.”
Jiawen’s chest warmed.
Her anger softened further.
“Okay,” she murmured.
Then, because she couldn’t resist, she added, “You’re like Grab, but handsome.”
Faris stared.
“That’s worse than HR,” he muttered.
Jiawen grinned.
Faris sighed.
Then he looked at her.
“Are you okay with your parents attending?” he asked.
Jiawen swallowed.
She thought of her mother.
Proud, practical.
She thought of her father.
Quiet, final.
She thought of them sitting in a room full of corporate strangers.
She thought of Faris’ mother.
Measured.
She thought of Farah.
Chaotic.
She thought of Reza.
Nosy.
She exhaled.
“I’m not comfortable,” she admitted. “But I can do uncomfortable.”
Faris’s gaze softened.
“Door deal,” he murmured.
Jiawen nodded.
“Door deal,” she echoed.
Friday arrived too quickly.
The office moved with the energy of endings.
People smiled more.
People breathed more.
People joked about finally sleeping.
Jiawen sat at her desk and watched the bank director’s assistant walk past carrying gift bags.
Recognition.
She had always thought recognition would feel like relief.
Instead, it felt like exposure.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her mother.
Landing soon. Don’t worry. We can take taxi.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She typed quickly.
No, Ma. Faris will pick you up. He already planned. Just tell me when you collect luggage.
Her mother replied almost immediately.
He is very efficient.
Jiawen’s mouth twitched.
Her mother had only met him in Penang.
And yet, she already had a label.
Efficient.
Prepared.
Steady.
Handkerchief man.
Jiawen’s phone buzzed again.
Her father.
We will follow. Tell Faris thank you. Don’t trouble.
Jiawen swallowed.
She replied.
Okay, Pa. See you soon.
Across the aisle, Reza appeared like he smelled something.
“Eh,” Reza said, leaning on Jiawen’s desk with a grin. “Tonight dinner ah? Got family also right?”
Jiawen stared. “How you know got family?”
Reza grinned wider. “Because I have ears.”
Jiawen narrowed her eyes. “Your ears are too free.”
Reza laughed. “I’m just excited. Bank paying, you know? Good food. Maybe steak.”
Jiawen deadpanned. “You think bank will pay steak for you?”
Reza shrugged. “Maybe. I’m very valuable.”
Jiawen’s smile softened.
Despite everything, Reza’s nonsense grounded her.
It reminded her that this was still just life.
Just a dinner.
Not a tribunal.
Then Reza leaned closer and lowered his voice dramatically.
“I heard the table reserved,” he whispered.
Jiawen blinked.
“What?”
Reza wiggled his eyebrows. “Reserved. Like VIP.”
Jiawen’s stomach tightened.
Reserved.
The word.
The motif.
She glanced toward Faris’ desk.
Faris was looking at his screen, expression neutral.
Too neutral.
Jiawen’s eyes narrowed.
Reza laughed softly at her expression.
“Wah,” he whispered. “Your face. Very drama.”
Jiawen hissed, “Go away.”
Reza strolled off happily, humming.
Jiawen turned back to her screen.
She tried to work.
But the word reserved kept appearing behind her eyes.
The restaurant was in the city.
Not a hawker centre.
Not casual.
A polished place with warm lighting and smooth wood surfaces, the kind of place banks chose when they wanted to look generous without looking messy.
A private room had been booked.
When Jiawen arrived with her parents, she felt the air change the moment she stepped inside.
The staff greeted them politely.
Jiawen’s mother looked around with wide eyes, impressed.
Jiawen’s father’s expression stayed calm.
Faris walked slightly ahead, speaking to the staff with quiet confidence.
Jiawen watched him.
He looked like he belonged anywhere.
Her mother leaned close and whispered, “He is very… presentable.”
Jiawen hissed, “Ma.”
Her mother smiled smugly.
They reached the private room.
The door opened.
And Jiawen’s stomach dropped.
Because the room was not just filled with colleagues.
It was filled with worlds.
Faris’ parents were there.
His mother in a simple baju kurung, composed.
His father in a collared shirt, calm.
Farah beside them, smiling brightly.
Amira from work sitting near the front, waving at Jiawen with a grin.
Reza already inside, eyes glittering like he had been waiting for this moment.
The bank director speaking to Faris near the head of the table.
And in the centre of it all–right at the focal point of the room–a long table.
With name cards.
A seating chart.
Two seats in the centre.
A small tag on them.
RESERVED.
Jiawen’s breath caught.
Her parents paused behind her.
Her mother whispered, “Reserved for who?”
Jiawen didn’t answer.
Because her eyes were locked on the two seats.
And then–like the room sensed her attention–Faris turned.
He saw her.
His expression didn’t change dramatically.
But Jiawen saw the shift.
A softness.
A steadiness.
And something else.
Nervousness.
It struck her suddenly.
Faris was nervous.
Faris who handled steering committees.
Faris who handled HR audits.
Faris who handled Penang aunties.
Nervous.
Jiawen’s stomach flipped.
Not fear.
A different kind of dread.
The kind that came when you realised something was about to happen and you didn’t know if you were ready for your face to be seen.
Faris walked toward her.
He greeted her parents first.
“Uncle,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “Auntie. Welcome.”
Jiawen’s father nodded. “Thank you.”
Jiawen’s mother smiled widely. “Hello, Faris. Wah, so nice place.”
Faris’s mother stepped forward, gaze calm.
“Hello,” she said, addressing Jiawen’s parents.
Jiawen’s mother smiled politely. “Hello.”
Jiawen’s father nodded.
The air tightened.
Not hostile.
Just… watchful.
Jiawen felt like she was standing between two glass walls.
Door deal.
Meet halfway.
She inhaled.
Then she did what she always did when tension became too thick.
She made it human.
“Ma,” Jiawen whispered to her mother, “don’t look too excited. Later they think you came for free food.”
Her mother gasped. “Of course I came for free food.”
Jiawen choked.
Farah, overhearing, laughed loudly.
Faris’ mother’s mouth twitched.
Faris’ father let out a quiet chuckle.
Jiawen’s father’s lips pressed together, fighting a smile.
The room loosened by half a degree.
Jiawen exhaled.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was possible.
Then Reza approached like a shark.
“Wah,” Reza said loudly, “Auntie, Uncle! Welcome to Singapore!”
Jiawen’s mother blinked. “Who is this?”
Reza grinned. “I’m Reza. I’m Faris’ colleague. Also Jiawen’s colleague. Also professional gossip.”
Jiawen hissed, “Reza!”
Reza laughed. “Kidding! I’m joking.”
Jiawen’s mother laughed anyway. “Okay, okay.”
Reza beamed.
Then Amira waved from her seat.
“Jiawen!” she called. “Come, come. Sit here!”
Jiawen’s stomach tightened again.
Where would she sit?
She looked at the seating chart.
Name cards.
Tables.
And the two seats in the centre.
Reserved.
Jiawen’s name.
Faris’ name.
Side by side.
In front of everyone.
Colleagues.
Stakeholders.
Friends.
Family.
Witnesses.
Her heartbeat thudded.
She turned to Faris slowly.
“What is this?” she whispered.
Faris’s eyes held hers.
He didn’t answer immediately.
He lifted his hand slightly.
Not touching.
Asking.
Jiawen’s breath caught.
She slid her fingers into his palm.
Faris’s hand closed around hers once.
Then he let go.
Door deal.
No performance.
But no hiding either.
“It’s just dinner,” Faris murmured.
Jiawen stared.
“That’s a lie,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched.
He leaned closer, voice lower.
“Trust me,” he said.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
She wanted to demand answers.
But she looked at her parents.
Her mother’s eager smile.
Her father’s calm watchfulness.
Then she looked at Faris’ mother.
Measured.
Careful.
Not cruel.
Then she looked at Faris.
Steady.
Nervous.
Human.
Jiawen exhaled.
“Door deal,” she whispered.
Faris’s gaze softened.
“Door deal,” he echoed.
He gestured toward the reserved seats.
Jiawen walked.
She sat.
Faris sat beside her.
For the first time in months, they sat together in a room full of people without pretending it was an accident.
The reserved sign sat near their name cards like a quiet statement.
Not assigned.
Chosen.
Jiawen’s hands trembled slightly under the table.
Faris’s elbow brushed hers.
A silent anchor.
The dinner began.
Speeches.
Toast.
The bank director praising the team.
Jiawen smiling politely, trying to focus on words instead of the feeling that she was sitting at the centre of a stage.
Her mother whispered occasionally, asking what certain corporate phrases meant.
Her father listened quietly.
Faris’ mother watched Jiawen’s parents with careful eyes.
Farah whispered jokes into Jiawen’s ear when she walked past, like a friend Jiawen hadn’t asked for but somehow didn’t mind.
Reza kept grinning too much.
Everything felt too coordinated.
Too… planned.
Jiawen’s suspicion sharpened.
At one point, the bank director raised his glass again.
“And finally,” he said, “I want to highlight one person who stepped into visibility under pressure.”
Jiawen’s stomach tightened.
The director’s gaze moved to her.
“Ms. Chong,” he said.
The room turned.
Jiawen felt heat rise to her cheeks.
The director continued, “You were initially marked optional in the planning phase. Not because you weren’t competent, but because we didn’t realise the value you would bring. You proved us wrong. You earned your seat.”
Earned your seat.
The phrase landed like a punch.
Jiawen’s breath caught.
She forced herself to stand.
She bowed her head slightly.
“Thank you,” she said, voice steady. “It was a team effort, and I’m grateful for the trust.”
The director nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Now enjoy dinner. Properly.”
The word made Reza choke on his drink.
Jiawen sat down quickly, heart pounding.
Her mother leaned close and whispered, “Wah, you so good.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Her father’s hand tapped her shoulder once–small, proud.
Faris’s gaze held hers.
Pride.
Warmth.
And still that nervousness.
Jiawen’s suspicion returned.
After the main course, the staff cleared plates.
Dessert arrived.
A small cake.
Not a huge one.
But enough.
The bank director clapped his hands.
“Okay,” he said. “Before we end, we have one more small celebration. Faris insisted.”
Jiawen’s stomach dropped.
Faris insisted.
The room turned.
Faris stood.
Jiawen’s heart thudded.
This was it.
Whatever it was.
Faris cleared his throat.
He didn’t smile widely.
He didn’t try to make it funny.
He looked down at the table for a second, as if grounding himself.
Then he reached into his pocket.
Jiawen’s breath stopped.
Not because she saw a ring.
Because she saw the handkerchief.
Folded neatly.
White.
The small square of comfort that had followed them from an orchestra hall to Penang corridors to balconies.
Faris held it for a second.
Then he looked at Jiawen.
The room was quiet.
Not awkward.
Anticipatory.
Jiawen felt her hands tremble.
Faris’s voice was calm.
But Jiawen heard the slight strain under it.
“This project,” Faris began, “taught me a lot about process.”
Reza snorted softly.
Faris ignored him.
“It taught me about risk, optics, and accountability,” Faris continued. “It also taught me that some things are worth being visible for.”
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Faris’s gaze didn’t leave her.
He didn’t look at the director.
He didn’t look at the room.
He looked at her.
Jiawen’s chest tightened.
Her ears rang slightly.
Faris unfolded the handkerchief.
Inside it was not fully visible from Jiawen’s angle.
But she saw a small box shape.
Her breath caught.
Her mother gasped softly beside her.
Her father went very still.
Faris’ mother’s gaze sharpened.
Farah’s smile widened like she had known.
Jiawen stared at the handkerchief.
Her vision blurred slightly.
Not tears yet.
Shock.
Faris’s voice softened.
“Jiawen,” he said.
Hearing her name in that room made her feel exposed and cherished at the same time.
Faris continued, “When we started, we were two seats apart. Then we moved closer. And the world kept trying to place us, split us, audit us.”
Jiawen’s breath shook.
Faris’s gaze stayed steady.
“But you kept showing up,” he said. “You kept earning your chair. You kept meeting me halfway.”
Door deal.
Jiawen’s throat tightened.
Faris lowered himself slowly.
Not to kneel dramatically.
Just enough.
A controlled movement.
He opened the box.
The ring caught the warm light.
Jiawen’s breath broke.
Her mother’s hand flew to her mouth.
Her father’s eyes darkened with emotion he didn’t show easily.
Faris’ mother’s expression tightened–shock, then something like acceptance.
The bank director’s eyebrows lifted.
Reza looked like he was about to faint from joy.
Faris looked up at Jiawen.
His voice was quiet.
But it filled the room.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
The question landed.
Not as a performance.
As a decision.
Jiawen couldn’t speak.
Her chest hurt.
The room blurred.
She stared at Faris.
At his eyes.
At the handkerchief.
At the ring.
At the reserved sign near their seats.
Two seats.
Reserved.
Not by the world.
By them.
Jiawen’s hands trembled.
Her mother whispered, “Say yes.”
Jiawen let out a wet laugh.
She finally found her voice.
“Yes,” she breathed.
The room erupted.
Applause.
Laughter.
Farah squealing.
Reza shouting something incoherent.
The bank director clapping with amused approval.
Jiawen’s father standing and placing a hand on Faris’ shoulder.
Not as a threat.
As blessing.
Faris’s eyes shone.
He slid the ring onto Jiawen’s finger carefully, hands steady despite everything.
Jiawen stared at the ring like it wasn’t real.
Then she laughed again, tears finally spilling.
Faris lifted the handkerchief and dabbed her cheek gently.
Not wiping her away.
Just catching her.
The same gesture.
Now in front of witnesses.
Properly.
Jiawen looked at him through tears.
“You liar,” she whispered.
Faris’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
Jiawen laughed, then pulled him into a hug.
The room cheered louder.
Faris held her carefully.
Not possessive.
Steady.
Jiawen felt her mother hug her from the side.
Her father’s hand pressed her shoulder.
Faris’ mother approached slowly.
Jiawen’s breath caught.
Faris’ mother looked at Jiawen.
Then at the ring.
Then at Faris.
Her eyes softened slightly.
“Okay,” she said.
The smallest word.
The biggest permission.
Jiawen’s tears spilled harder.
Faris’ mother reached out and touched Jiawen’s arm lightly.
Not dramatic.
But real.
“Take care,” she said quietly.
Jiawen nodded through tears.
“I will,” she whispered.
Faris’ father smiled gently.
Farah wiped her own eyes dramatically, sniffing loudly.
“This is so romantic,” Farah declared. “My brother finally not boring.”
Faris groaned.
Jiawen laughed through tears.
Reza bounded forward.
“I knew!” he shouted.
Jiawen glared at him. “You knew what?”
Reza grinned. “I knew something! I don’t know details but I sensed.”
Jiawen rolled her eyes.
Then she looked down at her ring again.
The warm light caught the metal.
The weight on her finger was small.
But it felt like a whole future.
Faris leaned close.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
Jiawen let out a breathy laugh.
“No,” she whispered back. “But yes.”
Faris’s eyes softened.
“Door deal,” he murmured.
Jiawen nodded, tears still on her cheeks.
“Door deal,” she echoed.
Outside the private room, the city moved.
Traffic.
Lights.
People living lives that didn’t know how hard it was to reach this kind of moment.
Inside, Jiawen sat at a reserved seat with a ring on her finger, her parents beside her, Faris’ family across, colleagues laughing, stakeholders clapping.
The world had watched them.
Audited them.
Placed them.
And still, they had chosen.
Jiawen looked at Faris.
His eyes were bright.
For the first time in months, his nervousness was gone.
Replaced by something steadier.
Relief.
Joy.
A decision made loud enough that no past could pretend it still belonged.
Jiawen lifted her hand slightly, staring at the ring.
Faris took her hand under the table.
Not hidden.
Not whispered.
Just held.
Two seats.
Reserved.
And now, finally, properly chosen.