"Everything's fine… right?"
I asked Hafiz from a little distance, trying to sound casual, though my heart felt anything but.
What could he possibly want to talk to me about that needed this kind of... tension?
What if Shanzay was splitting facts?
No, Iman. Don't spiral. It's probably just some random history question from the medieval chapter or something. Stop overthinking.
But his expression told a different story.
There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, like he was holding back something that had been weighing on him for too long. His posture was tense, but his gaze was fixed—focused entirely on me. And in that moment, everything around us blurred.
He took a small step closer, and I felt my breath hitch.
"Hafiz... you're acting weird," I muttered, half-laughing, trying to ease the sudden knot tightening in my chest.
He didn't laugh. Not even a smirk. Just a deep breath.
"I've been meaning to talk to you for a while," he said softly, voice low, almost like he was afraid of his own words.
I stood frozen, watching him—his lips parted slightly, his fingers twitching by his sides like he was working up the courage to touch the truth he had kept buried.
"I always thought, when I get a moment alone with you... I'll say it all. I'll just say it and be done." He gave a small, helpless chuckle, looking down at his feet for a second before meeting my eyes again. "But every time… something stops me."
I could feel my heart pounding louder now.
He looked so serious, so vulnerable. My usual snark, my smartass remarks—I couldn't summon any of them. I just stared.
Then, he inhaled deeply, like he was bracing for impact.
"Iman… you like to dance around the point, and honestly? So do I. But right now…"
He paused.
"…I don't want to beat around the bush."
My breath caught.
I stared at him, every muscle in my body suddenly too aware of the space between us—of how close he stood, of how the air around us shifted.
"When I saw you for the first time, really saw you," he said slowly, "it felt like something clicked. Like the noise in my head just… quieted."
What?
Wait—what is he saying?
He looked at me with that gaze again, that intense gaze that made me forget how to breathe.
"You felt like mine. Even when you weren't. Even when we barely talked. And that feeling—" he took another step closer, "—never left."
I didn't move. I couldn't.
My mind was frozen in that moment, trying to catch up, trying to process.
What is he saying?
Is this really happening?
I'd imagined confessions before. My mind had played a million 'what ifs' during quiet nights. But none of them felt like this. None of them made my skin feel like it was buzzing under his stare.
"When you talk," he whispered, shaking his head just slightly, "it's chaos. You never get to the point, you distract yourself, you joke… but even in that chaos, I could listen to you forever."
I was still silent. Something inside me twisted, something fragile, raw.
He smiled faintly, that soft boyish smile I wasn't ready for.
"The truth is… I suck at this. I don't know how to say the perfect thing at the perfect time. But I know how I feel."
He reached up, hesitating just slightly before brushing his knuckles near my wrist, not even touching, but the intention was clear.
"I've waited a long time to say it, Iman. And I don't want to hold it back anymore."
His voice dropped lower, steadier, almost a whisper now.
"I love you."