The air smelled of chlorine and fried food, the background a mix of laughter, splashing water, and excited squeals. Families bustled about, children ran with inflatable tubes, and you followed the crowd through the entrance of the water park, your hand tightly nestled in Adham’s large, warm grip.

Your khaki half-pants reached your knees, and your full-sleeve white sweater clung to your arms as the humid wind brushed over your skin. You didn’t think much of it. After all, you had no intention of getting into the water—just a little ankle-deep fun, maybe a lazy ride or two. You weren’t a water person.

Adham, towering beside you in a black T-shirt and loose swim shorts, had that usual serious look on his face—the one that kept strangers and relatives alike a few feet away from him. Except, when he looked down at you, it softened. Just a fraction. His long fingers rubbed circles over your knuckles as you bounced lightly beside him, your curls already frizzing up thanks to the moisture in the air.

His family had organized the outing, and now everyone was gathered around a shaded canopy beside the lazy river. Laughter floated around you as your brother-in-law splashed his kids and your sister-in-law offered everyone jaljeera.

You stepped a little into the shallow pool, giggling when the cold water touched your toes. It wasn’t long before a rogue splash from the nearby water slide caught you off-guard.

Your sweater darkened in a heartbeat, turning translucent and clinging to your figure like second skin. You froze. The chill hit you last—after the eyes. Not yours, but his.

Adham’s jaw clenched.

The smile you had turned to flash at him faltered when you saw the storm brewing in those angular, blue eyes. He didn’t say a word. Just walked toward you, eyes scanning every nearby man like he was a surgeon preparing to cut them open.

One hand landed possessively on your back, the other tugging at the hem of your sweater to cover the slight curve of your waist and the way your bra showed faintly beneath the soaked fabric. He muttered something under his breath, not meant for anyone but himself.

“Adham?” you asked softly, confused.

He looked down at you, lips tight. “Why did you wear this?” he asked sharply, his voice low but clipped. “Why this color? Why this fit?”

You blinked, your ears burning. “I thought… it’s a sweater, I didn’t think it would—”

“It’s white,” he snapped quietly, nostrils flaring. “And skin-tight when wet. Look at you.”

You tried to pull your arms over your chest subtly, suddenly aware of the stares around you that he’d already noticed long before you did.

“You look like a damn nymph,” he muttered, tugging the sweater down again with a scowl and shielding you with his body. “Why would you wear something like this?”

Your lip wobbled slightly. “I didn’t think anyone would—”

“Of course they would,” he interrupted. “You’re beautiful. You’re… mine.”

His voice lowered as he leaned closer to your ear, his breath warm despite his anger. “I don’t like them looking at you.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your wrist and gently—yet firmly—led you away from the pool area. You didn’t resist, glancing back at your in-laws who were pretending not to notice the scene.

Adham led you to a small changing stall behind the slides. He opened his bag and pulled out a large, loose, black shirt—his.

“Change into this,” he said, handing it over. “Now.”

You looked down at the shirt, soft cotton, smelling faintly of him. “But I’ll look silly—”

“I don’t care,” he growled. “You’re not going back out there in that.”

Your lips twitched. His jaw was tight, but his fingers brushed your damp curls with surprising tenderness. He wasn’t angry at you. He was furious for you. For the eyes that lingered too long. For the heads that turned. For the fact that you hadn’t noticed how utterly desirable you looked when drenched.

You held his shirt to your chest and gave him a sheepish look. “...It’s really big.”

“Good,” he said. “I want it to be.”