When Misunderstanding Comes
Chapter 9 – When Misunderstanding Comes
The misunderstanding wasn’t explosive.
It didn’t arrive with raised voices or accusations.
It arrived the way most real misunderstandings did–quietly, in the gap between intention and perception.
A week after Wen’s fever broke, Kira finally agreed to a dinner with Aleem.
Not a group gathering. Not coffee with people floating in and out.
Dinner.
A deliberate space.
Aleem suggested a small place tucked along a side street–warm lights, low music, a menu that didn’t try too hard.
Kira arrived on time.
She always did.
She sat at their table, placed her phone face down, and exhaled.
She was not nervous.
But she was… attentive.
The restaurant’s windows reflected the street outside in soft, shifting shapes. Cars passing. People walking. A city moving.
Kira watched the door.
Ten minutes.
Then fifteen.
Her phone buzzed.
Aleem: Sorry. Running late. Give me a bit.
Kira read it once.
She typed back.
Kira: Okay.
No punctuation beyond that.
No softness added.
She didn’t intend it to sound cold.
She simply didn’t want to perform comfort she didn’t feel.
Twenty minutes.
The waiter came by.
“Would you like to order first?”
Kira smiled politely. “I’ll wait.”
Her chest stayed calm, but something small tightened beneath it.
Not anger.
A familiar old instinct.
Being kept waiting.
It wasn’t trauma. It wasn’t drama.
It was a pattern she’d learned to dislike–people treating her time like it was flexible because she didn’t complain.
Her phone buzzed again.
Aleem: I’m on the way. Traffic.
Kira stared at the message.
Traffic was real.
She knew.
But her mind still offered a quiet question.
If it mattered, would he have left earlier?
She hated that thought.
She didn’t want to be someone who tested people.
But she also didn’t want to be someone who swallowed irritation until it turned into something sharp.
She looked at the reflections in the window–herself sitting alone at a table meant for two.
She did not feel lonely.
She felt… inconvenienced.
And oddly, that made it harder.
Because it meant the feeling was real, not exaggerated by desperation.
When Aleem finally arrived, he did not slide into the seat like nothing happened.
He paused.
He looked at her.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.
His voice was quiet, controlled, sincere.
Kira nodded once.
“It’s okay,” she replied.
It was the polite answer.
Not the honest one.
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
“It’s not,” he said.
Kira blinked.
He didn’t explain himself as if he was defending.
He simply continued.
“I should have planned better. I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
Kira’s chest loosened slightly.
Not because it fixed everything.
Because it acknowledged reality.
She didn’t have to perform forgiveness to keep the peace.
Aleem set his phone down, face up this time, then pushed it away.
Not as a statement.
As a choice.
“I got held up at work,” he said. “Then the traffic got worse. But the truth is–I should’ve told you earlier that I might be late. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Kira’s mouth curved faintly.
“That’s… ironic,” she said.
Aleem nodded, accepting it.
“I know.”
Kira exhaled slowly.
She did not want to punish him.
She did not want to minimise herself.
So she chose the only thing that felt clean.
“I don’t like waiting,” she said.
Her voice wasn’t harsh.
It was plain.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
“Okay,” he said.
Not defensive.
Not wounded.
Just: heard.
Kira continued, carefully.
“It’s not about you being late once. It’s about… the assumption that my time can stretch.”
Aleem nodded again.
“I understand,” he said.
He hesitated, then added, “Thank you for telling me.”
Kira stared at him.
People didn’t usually thank you for honesty.
They usually punished you for it.
Her throat tightened.
She looked down at the table–at the cutlery set for two, untouched.
Aleem’s hand rested beside his plate, open, still.
He didn’t reach for her.
He waited.
Space.
Again.
Kira felt something soften deeper.
Not because he was perfect.
Because he repaired.
The rest of the dinner was not ruined.
It became, strangely, better.
Because something real had entered the space.
They spoke with a quiet honesty that didn’t require performance.
When Kira talked about Wen, Aleem listened without interrupting.
When Aleem talked about Aaron’s father, Kira didn’t offer false reassurance.
She asked practical questions.
“How is he eating?”
“Is he sleeping?”
Aleem’s shoulders eased each time.
Halfway through the meal, the waiter returned with a small dessert they hadn’t ordered.
“Compliments of the house,” he said.
Kira glanced at Aleem.
Aleem blinked, surprised.
“I didn’t–” he began.
Kira’s lips curved.
“I know,” she said.
They both laughed softly.
A shared moment.
Not romantic because it was scripted.
Romantic because it was natural.
Later, as they stood outside the restaurant, the night air cool against their skin, Kira adjusted her bag strap and glanced at him.
Aleem was watching her with an expression that wasn’t intense.
Just steady.
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to be easy,” he said.
Kira blinked.
He continued, voice quiet.
“I like you when you’re calm. But I also want you to be honest when you’re not.”
Kira’s breath caught slightly.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it was rare.
She looked at him, then away.
“I’m not used to that,” she admitted.
Aleem nodded.
“I can learn,” he said.
He didn’t say: I’ll change everything.
He didn’t say: I’ll never be late again.
He said something smaller.
Something real.
I can learn.
Kira’s chest warmed.
Her hand lifted slightly, hesitant.
Aleem watched her, still not reaching first.
Kira touched his wrist lightly.
Not holding.
Just contact.
Then she let her hand slide down until their fingers met.
Aleem’s grip stayed soft.
He didn’t pull her closer.
He simply walked with her.
“Aku mahu faham, bukan menang.”
I want to understand, not win.
They reached the corner where their paths separated.
Kira paused.
Aleem paused too.
No one rushed to fill the moment.
Kira stepped forward and rested her forehead lightly against his shoulder.
A small gesture.
A private one.
Aleem stayed very still, as if holding space for something fragile.
Kira exhaled.
“I’m okay now,” she murmured.
Aleem’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Thank you,” he said.
Kira pulled back.
They didn’t kiss.
They didn’t need to.
She smiled once.
Then she turned and walked home.
And she felt, in her chest, not the thrill of being chased.
But the quiet safety of being met.