Chapter 10 - What Wasn't Planned
Chapter 10: What Wasn’t Planned
It started with a laugh—and a spill.
Rafiq had come over briefly after work, dropping off a flash drive with photos from their last department lunch. He hadn’t planned to stay. In fact, he was already halfway through his polite goodbye when Meilin, barefoot in fuzzy socks, called out from the kitchen, “At least let me make you tea. You’ve earned that much for surviving three hours of bad lighting and worse posing.”
He hesitated—but the warmth in her voice, paired with the soft domesticity of her space, made it hard to say no. It wasn’t just about tea.
It was the way she moved barefoot without pretense, the faint scent of chrysanthemum in the air, the flicker of a quiet life she rarely let anyone glimpse.
And maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to see what it felt like to belong in that moment—if only for a while.
The flat smelled faintly of chrysanthemum and spice. Her playlist was low, something acoustic in Mandarin drifting in from the speakers. She handed him the cup with both hands, smiling without thinking.
It was simple. Domestic.
It felt dangerously like home.
And then she started gesturing mid-story, tea still in hand— They had only just settled with their cups when Meilin, mid-laugh and gesturing too dramatically while telling a story,
The tea sloshed.
Right onto Rafiq’s sleeve and a good portion of his shirt.
“Oh no—”
“It’s okay,” he said quickly, laughing as he stood. “My fault too. I should’ve ducked.”
Meilin grabbed tissues, blotting at the fabric while muttering apologies. “You can wash up here, if you want. I’ve got a robe in the cabinet—it’s clean. You can change while I try to dry that shirt.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, still grinning.
“Better than going home steeped in jasmine and shame.”
Rafiq disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Meilin half-laughing, half-embarrassed. She was still toweling off the chair when her phone buzzed.
From: Mama
Already downstairs. Coming up. Surprise.
Meilin froze.
The air in the room turned solid.
She darted to the door, fumbling with the lock on the gate just as her phone buzzed again:
“Door unlocked?”
The handle turned.
Before she could stop it, the door creaked open—and there stood her mother.
Meilin’s mouth opened. “Wait—”
At that exact moment, Rafiq emerged from the hallway, half-naked, wrapped in a bathrobe, running a towel through his damp hair. His bare chest was still glistening slightly from the shower.
He didn’t see her mother.
And then he slipped.
“Rafiq!”
Too late. His foot hit the edge of the rug and, with a flailing yelp, he toppled forward.
Right into Meilin.
She caught his shoulder out of instinct, but the momentum sent them both tumbling, her back hitting the floor with a soft thud as Rafiq landed above her, arms braced awkwardly to keep from fully crushing her.
His robe had shifted. Her glasses were askew. Their faces were inches apart.
And from the door, her mother stood frozen.
The bag of snacks tilted in her grip. Her expression was a perfect mixture of shock, maternal panic, and stunned disbelief.
“Meilin.”
Meilin’s eyes widened in horror. “It’s not what it looks like!”
Rafiq scrambled off her, holding the robe shut with one hand and trying not to trip over himself again. “Aunty—I swear—I slipped, just now, I—there was tea, and—”
Her mother stepped inside slowly, eyes shifting from the rumpled carpet to her flustered daughter, to the man now pressed against the wall like a very polite ghost.
“You brought a man over,” she said, tone flat, “and scalded him into your bathroom?”
Meilin’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
Her mother sighed and placed the snack bag on the table with the weariness of someone letting go of a larger metaphor. “Explain.”
Rafiq, red from ears to collarbone, stepped forward. “Selamat malam, Aunty.”
Her mother gave him a long look. “Selamat malam. You… like pineapple tarts?”
“Yes. Very much.”
Silence again. Then, to Meilin: “Is he… your friend?”
Meilin opened her mouth. Closed it. Then: “He’s my boyfriend.”
Rafiq turned to her, eyes wide. That hadn’t been discussed.
Her mother blinked. Her gaze shifted back to him, this time slower. “You’re… Muslim?”
“Yes, Aunty,” Rafiq replied gently.
Her mother’s face tightened—barely perceptible, but Meilin caught it. The silence that followed stretched longer, denser.
“You never mentioned that,” her mother said, her voice no longer flat, but weighted.
Meilin took a breath. “Because I knew you’d worry. And I wasn’t ready to talk about it until I was sure.”
Her mother looked at her—truly looked. “Are you?”
“I am,” Meilin said. “This isn’t sudden. It’s been building for a while. Quietly. Like the way I feel about him.”
Her mother’s gaze shifted again to Rafiq, who stood still, composed despite the awkwardness of the situation. He wasn’t trying to convince her, Meilin realized. He was just… present. Willing.
Her mother folded her arms. “It’s not just about him. You know that. Religion… it changes a lot. Family. Traditions. Marriage. It’s not a small step.”
“I know,” Meilin replied, her voice soft but unwavering. “That’s why I’m not rushing. But I’ve been learning. Asking questions. And I’ve seen how he lives his faith—not with force, but with kindness. That’s what drew me closer. Not pressure. Just… space to understand.”
Silence again. The kind that usually came before storms. But this time, it settled more gently.
Her mother’s eyes lingered on Meilin’s. “You really love him?”
“I do.”
“And you’re really thinking about embracing Islam?”
“I’m not just thinking about it,” Meilin said quietly. “I’m planning to.”
Her mother’s breath caught—but she didn’t interrupt this time. Instead, she stepped back slightly, the lines on her face less etched with judgment now, and more with the quiet grief of letting go.
She looked again at Rafiq. “You’ll take care of her?”
“With everything I have,” he said simply.
Her mother didn’t smile. But her shoulders eased.
Then, at last, she nodded. “Next time,” she muttered, “just make sure he wears pants first.”
Dinner was quiet at first. Rafiq had changed into his freshly dried shirt, Meilin set the table, and her mother, still visibly guarded, sat across from them. Yet slowly, as the food passed and stories were shared, something softened.
She listened as Rafiq spoke about his work, about the small manufacturing projects he handled and how he approached each one like a puzzle. He talked about his team, how he stayed late sometimes to help junior engineers, how he always brought extra food on shift when someone forgot theirs. He didn’t brag. He just… shared.
And Meilin’s mother listened.
By the time dessert was finished, she had asked him questions—serious ones—about his upbringing, his values, how his family viewed interfaith relationships. Rafiq answered honestly. Respectfully.
Then she leaned forward slightly, folding her hands together. “So,” she asked, “how did the two of you meet?”
Rafiq glanced at Meilin, whose eyes instantly widened. “You don’t have to—” she began, but Rafiq had already smiled.
“We met during the company’s Dinner and Dance performance. We were both assigned to sing together. I’d noticed her before at events, but that was the first time I actually heard her voice.”
He paused, tone softening with memory. “She sang this old Mandarin ballad. Soulful, clear. It was the kind of voice that makes a room go quiet. I think… I fell a little in love right there.”
Meilin groaned, hiding her face behind her hands. “Why would you say that—”
But her mother, to Meilin’s horror, was smiling.
“Of course you sang,” she said, amused. “You’ve been humming since you were five. Remember the church Christmas performance? You cried because they gave the solo to someone else.”
“Mama!”
Rafiq chuckled, clearly delighted.
Her mother turned to him. “She doesn’t show off. But music’s always been part of her. I’m not surprised that’s what brought you two together.”
Meilin peeked through her fingers, still blushing furiously. But beneath it, she smiled too.
Later, after laughter had softened the edges of earlier tension and the remnants of dinner had quieted into a warm lull, Meilin began clearing the dishes. Her mother lingered at the table, watching them for a moment before rising with quiet resolve.
She approached Rafiq at the sink, where he had rolled up his sleeves and was methodically drying each dish Meilin passed him. Her footsteps were slow, deliberate, not out of suspicion now—but contemplation.
All throughout dinner, she had been watching. Not judging, not yet approving, but studying. Every quiet glance Rafiq gave her daughter. Every thoughtful pause before he spoke. Every detail he remembered about Meilin—not because it was convenient, but because he had genuinely paid attention.
And then there was the way Meilin looked at him. Unaware of herself. A little embarrassed. But happy.
It struck her, then, how rare that was.
Her daughter had always been self-sufficient—cautious, emotionally reserved. She’d seen Meilin thrive on solitude and silence, never one to bring people home, never one to explain herself when something went wrong. But tonight, she had seen a version of Meilin that felt new.
Lighter. Open.
There was a kind of stillness in the way Rafiq moved beside her. A patience she hadn’t expected. And it made her feel something she didn’t yet have words for.
So instead, she stood beside him.
And this time, her mother didn’t watch from afar.
“Rafiq,” she said, voice quieter now, not confrontational—just… worn.
He turned, still drying the plate in his hands. “Yes, Aunty?”
She stood beside him for a long moment before speaking.
“I’ve seen my daughter brave through a lot. Quietly. On her own.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “She’s always been careful about who she lets close. So I have to ask—why her?”
Rafiq took a breath, eyes resting on the plate for a second longer than needed.
“Because she’s honest,” he said slowly. “Because she carries herself with so much grace it makes you want to do better just to deserve her company. Because with her, I don’t feel like I have to prove anything. I just… want to keep showing up.”
She didn’t respond right away.
“She acts strong,” her mother said. “Always has. But I can tell—this time, it’s different. She’s soft around you. That scares me.”
“I understand,” Rafiq said. “But I won’t mistake that softness for weakness. I see how strong she is, and I want to protect that, not control it.”
Her mother studied him again. This time, not as an examiner—but as a mother weighing fear against the hope of letting go.
“She’ll need someone steady,” she murmured. “Someone who won’t run when things get hard. Especially when… faith complicates things.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But I’m not walking away. Not ever.”
She exhaled.
Then quietly handed him another plate. “Good. Then dry this one too. I’ll stay for breakfast tomorrow.”
Meilin turned, startled. “You’re staying over?”
Her mother sat back down on the couch. “I want to see how this continues.”
And with that, the house shifted—not loudly, not dramatically.
But with quiet acceptance.
Something real had been seen.
And somehow, it felt like the beginning of something they no longer had to protect in secret.
—
That night, after Rafiq had thanked them both and stepped into the quiet of the corridor, Meilin and her mother lay side by side in bed, the ceiling fan humming softly above them.
It had been years since they’d shared a bed like this—years since it had felt necessary. But tonight, neither spoke for a while, letting the room settle.
Then her mother broke the silence.
“So,” she said, voice light but unmistakably curious, “you’re dating a younger man.”
Meilin turned her head slightly. “You’re really going to start with that?”
“Just an observation.” Her mother grinned in the dark. “He’s what, four years younger?”
“Six.”
A dramatic pause. “Six?”
Meilin groaned. “Yes, Mama. Six.”
Her mother chuckled, clearly delighted. “And when did you become the type to fall for young, handsome engineers with shy smiles and surprisingly good manners?”
“I didn’t plan it,” Meilin mumbled into her pillow.
Her mother’s tone softened. “He seems mature. But don’t younger men tend to be… harder to deal with?”
“Rafiq’s not like that,” Meilin said quietly. “He listens. He’s patient. He makes me feel like I can just be… me. No act.”
Then her mother asked, more thoughtfully, “Do your colleagues know?”
Meilin pulled the blanket down just enough to peek out. “Some of them. The ones close to us probably suspect. We’ve been careful.”
Her mother hummed. “Is that hard? Hiding something like that?”
“Sometimes,” Meilin admitted. “But it’s also kind of ours. I don’t want it to become office gossip. Or something people make assumptions about.”
“Because he’s younger?”
“Because he’s younger. Because he’s Muslim. Because people always think they know the whole story when they’ve only seen the edges.”
Her mother nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”
She fell quiet for a beat, then added, “But love… love should make you feel seen. Not hidden.”
Meilin turned toward her. “With him, I feel both safe and seen. Even if the world hasn’t caught up yet.”
Her mother didn’t reply right away.
When she did, it was quiet. “Then that’s enough for now.”
There was a pause. Then, teasingly—
“And he’s got quite the body, that one. I saw the robe situation. You didn’t tell me your boyfriend has abs.”
Meilin nearly leapt out of bed. “Mama!”
Her mother burst out laughing. “What? I’m just saying! That kind of thing would’ve made my day.”
“Mama, go to sleep.”
“I’m proud of you, that’s all.”
“Sleep!”
But even as Meilin pulled the blanket over her head, red as a tomato, she couldn’t help the quiet smile tugging at her lips.
Her mother just kept laughing in the dark, delighted by her daughter’s flustered silence.
—
Later, when the room had quieted and her mother’s breathing deepened into sleep, Meilin lay awake.
The ceiling fan spun gently above, casting slow-moving shadows across the walls. Her body was still, but her thoughts drifted—backward and forward.
She thought of Rafiq’s voice in the kitchen, calm and steady. She thought of her mother’s gaze softening. She thought of the moment they all sat around the table—not perfectly, but together.
She hadn’t expected the day to unfold the way it did. And yet, it felt strangely right. As if all the pieces that had been floating, uncertain and unspoken, had gently started to land.
Maybe it would be hard. Maybe people would judge. Maybe faith and family and differences would rise again like questions waiting for answers.
But tonight, she saw what it could look like to hold it all gently.
To love, not in defiance, but in quiet courage.
And as her eyes began to close, one thought rested at the edge of sleep:
This might not be easy. But it just might be worth everything.