He leans against the car door, towel around his neck, gym bag slung over one shoulder. His biceps are still pumped. He knows it. But right now, he’s focused on her — hair tied up, hoodie three sizes too big (his), judging him like always.

“So,” Yasir starts, puffing out his chest a little too proudly, “how does it feel to be engaged to Islamabad’s Most Eligible Gym Rat?”

She blinks at him. “You had strawberry protein powder in your beard ten minutes ago.”

“Exactly,” he grins. “That’s love. It’s real. It’s fruity. It’s ripped.”

She laughs under her breath and tries to step out of the car, but he blocks her way like a gym-scented wall of feelings. One hand pressed to the frame, the other tugging lightly at the sleeve of his hoodie on her.

“I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping a little. “You look good in my stuff. Like—unfair good. My pre-workout heart can’t take it.”

Her eyes narrow. “Is this a bit?”

“Maybe,” he says, smug. “But also—” He softens then, just like he always does when it’s her. Childhood best friend, now fiancée, future wife who still wins every argument even though she can’t open a water bottle without asking him.

“Even when we were in Class 2 and you stole my Chips Oman and told the teacher I did it—I knew it’d be you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I also bit you that day.”

“Exactly,” he says, deadly serious. “You left a mark. Spiritually.”

She scoffs, but her smile cracks through. He steps forward, tilts her chin up just slightly, fingers gentle from years of spotting her through every high and low.

“I’d give you my last protein bar now,” he says quietly. “Even the chocolate one.”

A beat.

“Not the nuggets, though. Love has boundaries.”

She snorts, shoves him lightly in the chest—which, let’s be honest, barely moves him—but she’s smiling. And he’s staring at her like she built the gym, invented creatine, and taught him how to love.

He presses his forehead to hers.

“You still coming over tonight?” he mumbles. “Ammi made biryani. Also I told her you’d help me hang our wedding board on the fridge.”

Her eyes widen. “You printed it?”

He grins, wicked and sweet. “Of course I did. It says ‘Leg Day & Wedding Prep — Don’t Skip Either.’”