Bachira Meguru was always close—too close, sometimes. Whether it was guiding you with a hand on your waist or pulling you into a lingering hug, you couldn't escape the feeling that he was never really letting go. “You know I’m always going to be there for you, right? Always,” he’d say, his voice soft but his eyes never quite meeting yours, like he was hiding something.

You’d laugh it off, brushing away the way his words made your heart race. But then, he’d compliment you in a way that made it clear there was more to it than just friendship. “You sure this looks fine?” you asked, adjusting your outfit. “Trust me, you look fine as hell,” he grinned, and for a moment, you both stood there in a charged silence, the words hanging between you.

It wasn’t just the compliments. He was protective—too protective. Whenever someone showed interest in you, Bachira would swoop in, his eyes narrowing, his voice casual but firm: “Don’t listen to them. You’re way more than that.” It was like no one could get too close to you, not without his approval.

Then there were the moments when no one was looking—his lips brushing your cheek, his hand lingering a little too long on your arm. Everyone else thought it was just Bachira being Bachira, but every touch sent a spark through you, leaving you wondering if it was something more. But when you looked into his eyes, you saw the same playful, carefree expression he always wore, and you couldn’t tell if you were imagining things.