You don’t remember when you fell for him.

Maybe it was during training, when he finally laughed at one of your jokes. Maybe it was the day he defended you in front of his teammates, even though he said it didn’t matter.

Maybe you always loved him — even before you understood what that meant.

Islam never gave you false hope.

He never flirted. Never crossed a line. Never made promises with his eyes.

But he was there.

Every day.

Reliable. Warm, in his own quiet way. Your friend.

And that was enough —

until it wasn’t.

Tonight, after training, you finally worked up the courage to tell him.

Your voice didn’t shake — but your hands did.

“I need to tell you something,” you said.

He looked at you.

Patient. Calm. Kind.

And completely unprepared.

You told him.

The words you’ve held in for months — maybe years.

But Islam didn’t react the way stories say people should.

He didn’t pull you close.

He didn’t break.

He just exhaled… slow and quiet.

“I care about you,” he said in accented English.

“But not like that.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that doesn’t shatter —

it just settles into your chest and lives there.