Epilogue — Still Whole
Epilogue — Still Whole
Six months later, nothing about Kira’s life looked like a before-and-after.
That was the first thing she noticed, standing in front of her mirror with Wen behind her, both of them adjusting a necklace clasp like it was a shared ritual. Yuxin was perched on the edge of the bed with her phone raised, trying to catch the light. Farah was in the doorway, already complaining about traffic. Aisyah was on the couch, tying her hair up with the practical focus of someone preparing for war.
Kira’s life still moved in a familiar formation.
Not because romance had failed to change her.
Because romance had never been allowed to replace what was already sacred.
“Turn your face slightly,” Yuxin instructed, as if she were directing a fashion shoot. “Yes. Perfect. Wow. You look like someone who has been loved correctly.”
Farah scoffed. “That’s not a real sentence.”
“It is now,” Yuxin said, triumphant.
Kira laughed, soft and unguarded. “You’re all insane.”
Aisyah stood, walked over, and fixed the strap of Kira’s dress with the tenderness of someone who didn’t announce affection but lived in it. “You look good,” she said simply. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she added, “Do you feel safe?”
The question had never been a test. It had always been a compass.
Kira didn’t hesitate.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
Wen’s fingers finished the clasp at the back of her neck. She didn’t say anything. She just pressed her palm briefly to Kira’s shoulder—warm, steady, present.
Kira swallowed the small tightness in her throat, the kind that showed up when love was quiet and reliable and somehow still surprising.
Outside, a car horn sounded once.
Farah rolled her eyes. “That’ll be Dan. He’s probably leaning out the window yelling ‘nation-building’ again.”
As if summoned by insult, Kira’s phone buzzed.
Dan: WE ARE OUTSIDE. WE HAVE ARRIVED. DO NOT MAKE ME COME UP.
Im: Please ignore him. We are sorry in advance.
Aleem: No rush. Take your time.
Kira smiled at that last message the way she always did: not like someone being rescued from loneliness, but like someone being met in the middle of a full life.
Downstairs, the sidewalks were bright with late afternoon sun. Dan was already out of the car, arms spread wide like a man greeting a stadium. Im was standing beside him with the expression of someone who had accepted his fate. Fiz leaned against the car with his arms crossed, looking unimpressed by the concept of excitement. Aaron was a few steps away, holding a small paper bag with careful hands, eyes on the street like he was cataloguing the movement of the world.
Aleem stood near the passenger side, jacket folded neatly over one arm, phone in the other. When he saw Kira emerge with her girls in a cluster, his posture didn’t change drastically.
He didn’t straighten like he needed to impress her.
He didn’t rush toward her like he needed to prove something.
His face simply softened.
That quiet shift was its own kind of intimacy.
Kira walked up to him and stopped at a comfortable distance.
He waited, as he always did.
Kira stepped closer and slipped her hand into his.
He laced their fingers gently, not gripping, not pulling—just holding as if their hands were a small, familiar home.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she replied.
Dan made a dramatic noise behind them. “Look at them. Look at this emotional stability. It’s disgusting.”
Farah shot him a glare. “You’re disgusting.”
Yuxin gasped. “Guys, please. This is a special day.”
Im sighed. “Every day is special to you.”
“It is,” Yuxin said, offended. “That’s the point.”
Aisyah muttered, “Alhamdulillah,” and the word slipped out with the ease of habit.
Alhamdulillah. Praise be to God.
Fiz glanced at her and nodded once, as if agreeing with the sentiment without needing a speech.
Aaron looked at Wen, then at Kira, then at Aleem. His expression remained neutral, but his voice was soft when he spoke.
“You’re still here,” he said to Aleem.
Aleem’s grip on Kira’s hand stayed gentle.
“Of course,” he replied.
Aaron nodded, satisfied, and turned back toward the car.
Kira exhaled slowly.
It still mattered—this quiet check. Not because anyone doubted Aleem’s affection. But because the proof of their relationship had never been in declarations. It had been in what didn’t disappear.
They went to the same park where they’d once taken those “nation-building photos,” because Dan loved continuity like it was a cinematic universe. They set up blankets in overlapping layers. Yuxin had brought strawberries again, because she believed in tradition. Wen had brought an umbrella, because she believed in reality. Aisyah produced wet wipes as if she had been assigned the role by the universe itself. Fiz laid out protein snacks with priest-like seriousness. Im poured drinks into cups that Dan was not allowed to choose.
Farah watched all of it with a look that said: Yes, this is ridiculous. Yes, this is my family.
Kira sat cross-legged on the blanket, leaning back on her hands, watching the group move.
Dan was trying to convince Farah to join a photo. Farah refused out loud and then stood anyway. Yuxin adjusted everyone’s sleeves like she was styling a magazine cover. Aisyah checked that Wen was drinking enough water. Im asked Aaron a question that didn’t demand an answer but offered space for one. Fiz kept handing Aleem a protein bar like it was a love language. Wen watched quietly, eyes soft, attention wide.
Aleem sat beside Kira, their shoulders occasionally brushing when they shifted. He didn’t wrap an arm around her to show ownership. He didn’t make their closeness performative. He simply stayed near, the way you stayed near something you liked.
At one point, Kira felt Aleem’s phone buzz against his thigh.
He didn’t reach for it.
Kira’s phone buzzed too—likely another message from Yuxin’s extended family chat, or a work notification she would answer later.
She didn’t reach for it either.
Their silence wasn’t an avoidance.
It was a choice.
Presence as intimacy.
Kira turned her head slightly and looked at him.
Aleem met her gaze and smiled faintly, like he understood what she was measuring.
Not the romance.
The peace.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Kira nodded. “Yeah.”
Then, after a pause, she added, “I like this.”
Aleem’s thumb brushed her knuckle once—gentle, unhurried.
“Me too,” he said.
Kira leaned her head against his shoulder the way she had learned she could—without fear of being swallowed, without fear of becoming someone smaller.
Aleem waited a beat, as he always did, then rested his hand at her upper back.
Not pulling.
Just placing.
A boundary of warmth.
Kira’s body softened into it.
And she realised something that felt almost embarrassingly simple:
This wasn’t a romance that demanded her world.
It was a romance that respected it.
Later, as the sun began to soften and people started packing up, Kira stood near the pond again. The water reflected the sky like a quiet mirror. Her reflection appeared first, then the shapes behind her—Wen folding the blanket edges neatly, Aisyah chasing Dan away from the snacks, Yuxin laughing, Farah pointing at something with exaggerated annoyance, Im carrying cups, Fiz hoisting the cooler, Aaron guiding the group toward the path.
Lives.
Moving.
Whole.
Aleem walked up beside her, not too close.
He didn’t need to invade the quiet.
He simply joined it.
Kira’s fingers brushed his.
He looked at her hand, then at her face.
Kira nodded once.
He laced their fingers again, gentle and familiar.
Kira watched their reflection in the pond—two people standing side by side, not fused, not consumed.
Just together.
She breathed out.
“You know what’s funny?” she murmured.
Aleem’s voice stayed quiet. “What?”
Kira’s eyes stayed on the water. “This is the first relationship I’ve had where I don’t feel like I’m losing anything.”
Aleem didn’t respond too quickly.
He didn’t rush to reassure her as if the statement were fragile.
He just nodded.
“Good,” he said softly. “Because you shouldn’t.”
Kira’s chest tightened slightly.
Not sadness.
Relief.
She squeezed his hand once.
Aleem squeezed back, gentle.
Behind them, Dan shouted, “OI! COME ON! WE’RE LEAVING!”
Farah shouted back, “Stop shouting like you’re summoning wildlife!”
Yuxin laughed so hard she nearly dropped the strawberries.
Aisyah muttered another soft “Alhamdulillah” like a closing prayer.
Im sighed with the fond exhaustion of someone who loved people too much.
Fiz said, “Dan, lower your voice.”
Aaron said nothing, but his mouth curved slightly, as if this too was a kind of peace.
Kira turned away from the pond.
She looked at Aleem.
He looked back.
No fireworks.
No desperation.
Just the calm certainty that their love would keep choosing the same thing, over and over:
A life wide enough to breathe in.
A love gentle enough to stay.
Whole.
Together.
And still, unmistakably, themselves.