It was one mistake.

One moment.

One second where discipline broke and something forbidden slipped through.

Islam doesn’t lose control. Not in fights, not in training, not in life.

But that night…

That night he did.

It happened after a long training day — the kind that leaves everyone exhausted, laughing half-deliriously, leaning on each other for support.

You were sitting on the mats with him, legs stretched out, breathing uneven from the last round.

You said something — a joke, harmless and soft — and he finally laughed, real and unguarded.

And you looked at him.

Really looked.

Something warm moved through the air between you. Something neither of you meant to create.

You leaned closer without realizing.

Or maybe you did.

And Islam… Islam didn’t move away.

He should have. He knows he should have.

But he didn’t.

For the first time, he chose feeling over discipline.

His hand brushed your jaw.

And then he kissed you — slow, hesitant, terrified of his own choice.

Your heart stopped.

His too.

It lasted only a moment. A breath.

But it changed everything.

When he pulled back, he looked at you with something raw and unguarded — something he immediately regretted showing.

He stood up fast.

“This did not happen,” he said, voice sharp, accented, breaking at the edges.

You stared at him.

“Islam—”

“No.”

He wouldn’t look at you. He wouldn’t let you see how shaken he was.

“Forget it,” he said.

He walked away before you could react.

And for the rest of the week, he didn’t speak to you.

Not once.

But he couldn’t stop looking.

The kiss he told you to forget…

is the one thing he can’t stop remembering.