Third person POV:
She left the nurse's office. The anger hadn't gone, it had only strengthened against Hamza.
She walked into English class, without saying a word.
She walked past Hamza and her seat. She asked the girl behind her to swap seats for today. The girl listened, obeying Nusaybah without any objections. Nusaybah's gaze was cold, her brown eyes seemed darker in the light and the usual specs of gold that flickered were gone.
Hamza caught her eye once across the room. She looked straight through him.
Her phone buzzed during the lesson.
Hamza: "Can we talk? Please?"
She set it face‑down on her desk.
He called. Twice.
She was furious and she needed space. She needed to calm down her emotions and gather her thoughts.
The next morning, she stayed home. She didn't even tell Tanisha why. She spent the whole day taking care of Zayan.
By the next morning, the school was buzzing. It was always buzzing with gossip and laughter. But, this time it was different.
Everyone was not just talking about the match. They were talking about Nusaybah.
"She ran straight onto the pitch," a year‑ten boy whispered near the lockers.
"Yeah, for that year nine lad," his best mate responded.
"Maybe they're, like… dating?" a girl asked.
"Isn't she in year ten though?" responded another.
"She shoved Hamza! Did you see?" asked a girl.
"She completely ignored him. I thought they were friends," said another.
Tanisha sat at their usual table, spinning a pen in her fingers, brows knitted in deep thought.
"Sabah wouldn't…" she started, her voice faltering near the end. "She wouldn't date a year nine."
Amir raised his eyebrows. "You saw her though. She bolted onto the pitch. I've never seen her like that."
"Maybe he's, like, some secret boyfriend she never told me about?" Tanisha wondered aloud.
Amir gave a low whistle. "Hamza's not gonna like that."
Outside the classroom, Hamza stood pretending to scroll on his phone. The screen was blank.
He leaned against the wall, his jaw tight.
She likes him, he thought, the idea sour in his mouth. Why else would she care so much? She ran so fast, he didn't even see her coming. Why would she like him? He was taller, older and smarter. Did she go for younger guys?
He replayed the tackle over and over, how rough he'd gone in, how she'd shoved past him like he was nothing. He was in the wrong, he knew that. He was just overwhelmed with so much jealousy, when she kept cheering for him. When he looked at the stands during the game, she was not looking at him. Instead, she was looking at the slimy boy.
Hamza looked at the clock. It was half past eight.
There was no sight of Nusaybah. He entered the classroom, looking around, just in case he missed her walking in.
She wasn't there.
"Where's Sabah?" Tanisha asked when Hamza walked into the classroom.
Hamza's brow furrowed in surprise "She didn't text you?"
"No. I thought she was with you-" said Tanisha in confusion.
"Me?" Hamza cut in.
Amir raised his eyebrows. "She's avoiding you, mate."
Throughout the day, whispers swirled again.
"She didn't come in?"
"Maybe she's off with that year nine."
"Or maybe she's just embarrassed."
"Hamza looked furious yesterday…"
Hamza couldn't focus. He barely heard the teacher, barely completed the work he was supposed to in class.
By lunch, the tightness in his chest wouldn't let up, and he did something he'd never done before. He walked to his Mr Shane's classroom during lunch.
"Sir," Hamza said, lingering as Mr Shane's Year 9 geography class filed out. "Do you know why Nusaybah isn't in?"
Hamza got a lot of curious looks, and pointed fingers as the class slowly left.
Mr Shane adjusted his glasses. "She's sick, Hamza. Nothing serious, I'm sure."
Sick.
Hamza nodded, murmured a thanks, but as he left the room, guilt clawed at him. He couldn't just leave it.
Hamza's POV
By the afternoon, he'd made up his mind. He cornered Amir and Tanisha by the lockers.
"I'm going to her house," he said flatly.
Tanisha blinked. "You can't just—"
"She's not answering me. I… I need to apologise. Are you coming or not?"
They came. Of course they did.
The three of them walked to her street after school, Hamza rehearsing a hundred apologies in his head. His stomach twisted as Tanisha knocked on the door.
When Nusaybah opened it, her expression hardened instantly. "What are you doing here?"
"Sabah, please-" Tanisha began.
"I don't want to talk," Nusaybah said quickly, but then her gaze flicked to Hamza. She stepped back just enough to let them in. "Make it quick."
Hamza stood in her living room, hands in his pockets, heart hammering.
"I'm sorry," he said, the words spilling out. "For the match. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to hurt him - whoever he is- I just… went in too hard. I swear, I didn't know you cared about him."
Nusaybah folded her arms, saying nothing, lips pressed tight.
And then, a voice drifted from the hallway.
"Sabah, where's the charger? My phone's dead."
Hamza turned.
A boy stepped into view:a year nine football jersey half‑tucked into his joggers.
Zayan.
The world seemed to pause.
Zayan froze. "Uh… hi?"
Hamza's mind clicked the pieces together in an instant.
Brother.
Not a boyfriend.
Her brother.
Nusaybah gave him a sharp look. "I'll get it. Wait there."
She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Hamza standing there stunned, relief and guilt crashing over him.
The room went quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge.
Zayan leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. His eyes narrowed on Hamza.
"You're the one who tackled me," Zayan said flatly.
Hamza cleared his throat. "Yeah. And… I'm sorry. I didn't know you were"
"Her brother," Zayan finished for him. "Yeah. I figured."
Hamza shifted awkwardly, unable to come out with words.
But Zayan straightened his shoulders, his voice dropped lower. "Listen. I don't care if you're some Year 10 football star. Don't hurt my sister."
Hamza blinked. "What?"
"You heard me," Zayan said. "You hurt me on that pitch, fine, accidents happen. I can't force you to stay away from my sister though I want to, but don't hurt her."
Hamza swallowed hard, caught off guard by the Zayan's bluntness.
"I… I won't," Hamza said quietly, meaning it more than Zayan could know.
Zayan held his gaze for another second, then stepped back as Nusaybah returned with the charger and a plate of snacks.
"Here," she said, setting them on the table. "Don't make a mess."
Hamza watched her move around the room, relief still coursing through him even as Zayan's words echoed in his head.
She wasn't speaking to him yet, not really.
But for the first time since that match, he felt as if he had the chance to fix things.