I had been scribbling some notes, my pen hovering over the page, when I felt him leaning just slightly closer. Ahad. His presence seemed… heavier than usual, pressing in a way that made the air thicken, like the room had shrunk around him. I kept my eyes on the paper, pretending to concentrate, though my heart refused to cooperate.
He didn't say anything at first. Just leaned, still, letting the silence stretch, thick and uneven, like some invisible string tugging between us. I could feel the tension, raw and fragile, and my fingers trembled a little as I gripped my pen.
Finally, he cleared his throat. Low. Almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of the storm I couldn't yet see.
"Iman…" His voice made me glance up. He wasn't looking at my notes. He was looking at me, eyes darkened with something I couldn't immediately place. Concern? Frustration? Longing? My stomach twisted at the intensity of it.
"Ahad?" I asked softly, unsure if speaking would shatter the moment—or make it worse.
He laughed, short and sharp, but there was no real amusement in it. "I… I saw you with Ali," he said carefully, as if the words themselves might fracture. His hands flexed, clenching the edge of the desk. "The hug."
I immediately felt the blush rise to my cheeks. My chest felt too small for the sudden thud of my heart. "Ah… it's… he's my cousin," I said quickly, almost defensively. "Just… family."
"I know that," he said, his voice dropping lower, softer, almost desperate. "I'm not… upset about that. I'm not—" He stopped, exhaling sharply, like he'd caught himself mid-thought. Then, almost in frustration, he leaned a little closer. "I'm… I'm upset at… at me."
My eyes widened a little, and my pen trembled in my hand. "You… what?"
"I'm upset at me for… feeling… for feeling… like this," he muttered, voice shaking just enough to make my heart clench. "For… for being strange… for being… affected… by you. By what… happens… when… when someone else touches you."
My chest tightened. His words weren't accusations, weren't anger—but they carried the weight of… everything unsaid. My stomach fluttered in a chaotic dance, half excitement, half fear. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't storming. He wasn't pushing me away. He was… struggling, softly, with the part of himself he couldn't control.
I swallowed hard. "Ahad… it's okay," I whispered, barely audible. "I… it's nothing. It's… just Ali. He's—he's family. Really, that's all."
"I know," he said again, quieter this time. "I… I don't have a problem with it." He paused, hands tightening into fists on the edge of the desk. His jaw was tense, his eyes distant. "It's… I'm… strange. Because it's you. It's you I… can't stop… thinking about."
I nearly dropped my pen. My head swirled, heart hammering. Did he just…? No. Not out loud. Not exactly. But the words, the hesitation, the desperate stutter of him trying to contain himself—they said it all.
I couldn't look away. Couldn't stop the rush of warmth that crept up my spine, the quickening of my pulse, the quiet flutter in my chest that screamed of something… finally breaking free.
"Ahad…" I said softly, moving my hand slightly, hesitating just at the edge of reaching for him. "Are… you saying…" My voice trailed, unsure, careful.
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I swear I saw the weight of every unsaid word, every feeling bottled up for years, reflected in his dark eyes. He smiled, small, almost bitter, shaking his head slightly. "I… I don't… I can't say it. Not yet. Not… properly."
I felt a small shiver run down my spine. The closeness, the rawness, the vulnerability in his expression… it was intoxicating. I wanted to tell him… something. Anything. But my mouth went dry, and I settled for a breathless nod.
"I… I get it," I whispered. "I… I understand."
I moved my chair towards the desk,away from him.But,something pulled me back,something strong .Our eyes met .His hand still on the arm of the chair.
His smile faltered, a small, frustrated laugh escaping. "You do?" he asked, incredulous, disbelief threading through his tone. "You… you get it? You… see me… like this?…"
I nodded again, almost painfully slow, my heart daring to hope. "Yes… I… I know it's… complicated."
He shook his head, exhaling sharply, letting the tension leave his shoulders in a slow, shaky sigh. "Complicated…" He repeated the word, almost to himself. Then, softly, almost in desperation, he leaned closer. "I… I can't fight it. I… don't want to fight it. But I… I don't know… what this is yet. I… I don't… believe in… it, not like this. But… I feel… like I'm falling… into something. Into you."
My chest swelled, my stomach fluttered uncontrollably, and I felt a strange, dizzying combination of elation and fear. Finally. Finally, the words—or the closest to them—were here. But with it came the shadow of uncertainty. Of friendship, of childhood bonds… of everything we might lose.
"I… Ahad…" I started, voice soft, trembling, but he shook his head gently, a sad, frustrated smile tugging at his lips.
"Don't," he whispered, almost laughing quietly in disbelief. "Don't say it yet. Not… now." He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes catching mine, earnest and raw. "Just… know. I… I can't help how I feel. That's all. I… I…"
He laughed again, short, soft, almost absurd in the tension of it, shaking his head as if the very idea was too much, too heavy. And I… I couldn't stop the smile creeping onto my own face. The rush of hope, of possibility, of something finally moving forward between us, overtook the fear a little.
I bit my lip, hands fidgeting in my lap, trying not to reach out, trying not to let him see how wildly my heart had begun to betray me. This… this was progress. But it was fragile. Tentative. And I knew, somewhere deep, that every beat of my heart could shatter our friendship if I misstepped.
He sighed, and stood finally, reaching for his bag. My stomach sank a little at the thought of him leaving, but I didn't move. I didn't want to ruin the delicate tension.
As he paused at the door, dark eyes meeting mine one last time, he smiled—frustrated, incredulous, tired, and so, so alive.
"The love… I don't believe in," he said, voice low, almost a whisper, "I… guess I'm falling into it."
And then he left.
I was left sitting there, chest heaving, notes forgotten, heart pounding like it wanted to leap from my chest. His words echoed, lingering in the warmth of the room, in the spaces he had touched and left behind, a quiet trail of raw, undeniable truth.
I let out a shaky breath and pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the strange fluttering warmth that had taken root there. My eyes traced the doorway, where he had just stood, and I felt… both hope and fear intertwine.
Finally, softly, almost to myself, I whispered, "Ahad… finally… you're going somewhere. But… please… don't break us."
And somewhere deep inside, I knew this was the beginning. The beginning of something new, something terrifying and beautiful. Something that would change everything.