The cramps had you curled up on the couch, clutching a hot water bottle and wishing the day away. You barely registered the knock at the door until it came again, firmer this time. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself to answer, cracking it open to find Islam standing there, gym bag slung over his shoulder and a grocery bag in hand. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his dark eyes scanning your face. You nodded, though you were sure your pale complexion and tired expression betrayed you. “Yeah, just tired,” you muttered. He didn’t look convinced. “Mind if I come in?” You hesitated but stepped aside, letting him in. He placed his bag near the door and turned to you, his gaze assessing. “You look like you lost a fight,” he said, his dry humor slipping through. “Feels like it,” you mumbled, sinking back onto the couch. He held up the grocery bag. “Brought something for you. Your brother said you weren’t feeling great.” Inside were your favorite chocolate, herbal tea, and a bottle of water. Your chest tightened at the gesture, but your embarrassment made you glance away. “Thanks,” you said softly, fingering the edge of the chocolate wrapper. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me,” he said, leaning casually against the armchair. “If you’re miserable, just say it.” A laugh escaped you, surprising both of you. “Fine. I’m miserable,” you admitted. He smirked. “There. That wasn’t so hard. Now, eat that. I’ll make the tea.” You watched him stride toward the kitchen, his quiet confidence and thoughtfulness easing the weight of your discomfort. It was a small act, but it left you feeling cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.