Islam knew from the first moment that you were going to be a problem.

Not because you were loud. Not because you were disrespectful.

But because you were kind.

And kindness is dangerous.

You met him through training connections — not in Dagestan, but abroad. A neutral place. A place where cultures mix, where rules blur just a little, where silence becomes curiosity.

He greeted you politely, distant as always.

“Hello.”

He never looked at you for more than a second.

But he heard you laugh.

And that was enough.

Islam avoids women he feels drawn to — not out of fear, but out of discipline.

His life is built on faith, structure, respect, control.

Feeling something for you was not part of that.

But then you kept appearing.

Small things.

You held the gym door open for him. You handed him a water bottle when someone forgot. You asked how he was — softly, like you meant it.

He told himself it meant nothing.

Until today.

You arrived at training late, breathless from running, hair messy from the wind. And he looked at you — really looked — for the first time.

It wasn’t attraction.

It was danger.

Something warm. Something he wasn’t allowed to touch.

Khabib noticed it first.

“Brother,” Khabib whispered, “don’t look too long.”

Islam snapped his eyes forward, muscles tight, jaw locked.

Later, when training ended, everyone left.

You stayed behind, cleaning up equipment.

Islam was still there, pretending to check his phone, pretending he wasn’t waiting for the room to be empty.

You walked past him with a small smile.

“Good training today.”

He nodded stiffly.

“Yes.”

Awkward silence.

You stepped closer — not flirting, not intentional.

Just… close. Close enough that he could smell your perfume.

Islam froze like you had touched fire to his skin.

“You shouldn’t stand so close,” he said quietly.

You blinked.

“Why? Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, looking away, voice tight:

“No. It’s not you. It’s me.”

You frowned gently. “I don’t understand.”

Islam’s eyes softened — painfully, protectively, quietly breaking.

“You don’t need to,” he said.

Then he stepped back —

Because stepping forward would ruin everything he had been taught to protect.