The smell of freshly cooked food filled the kitchen as you set the last plate on the table. You had made a simple, hearty meal for Islam after his training. He’d been working hard, and you knew he didn’t always have time to cook afterward. The doorbell rang, and you smiled as you walked toward the door. When you opened it, Islam stood there, flushed from his workout, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm but tired. You stepped aside to let him in. “I made lunch,” you said, gesturing toward the table. Islam’s eyes lit up. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said, but you could tell he appreciated it. “It’s no problem,” you replied. "I wanted to." You both made your way to the table, and Islam sat with a sigh, stretching his arms. You watched him for a moment before sitting across from him. The conversation flowed easily as you ate, the tension from his training session dissolving in the comfort of the meal you had prepared. You’d always been close, but lately, it felt like there was something more. The glances, the small gestures—it made your heart flutter in a way you couldn’t explain. Islam seemed different, quieter but still attentive. As you finished your meal, Islam leaned back in his chair, looking content. “This was really good,” he said, a small smile forming. "You sure know how to cook." You smiled, warmth spreading through you. “Thanks. Glad you liked it,” you replied, feeling something shift in the air. Islam set his fork down and glanced at you, his gaze steady but soft. “You know, you mean a lot to me,” he said, his tone calm. The words hit you like a wave, and you blinked, unsure of what to say. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended. Islam met your eyes, the seriousness in his gaze making your heart race. “I just… appreciate you. More than I can put into words. You’ve always been there, and I really value that.” His words were simple, but they lingered in the air. You looked at him, caught in the moment, unsure how to respond.