Talha walked through the quiet Sarajevo streets, the weight of the day still pressing on his chest. But his muscles were warm, loose. Training always did that—wrung the tension out until all that remained was stillness.
He crossed toward the corner food place where his younger brother usually waited. It was an unspoken rule between them—Tarik waited, Talha showed up, and they went home together. Tarik wasn’t allowed home without him.
Zmaj. The corner spot with greasy ćevapi, over-salted fries, and too many TVs mounted on the walls. The smell of fried meat and fresh somun wrapped around him as he stepped inside. The radio crackled with pre-game commentary, and he spotted them immediately in the corner booth—Tarik, Adem, and Amina.
She sat wedged between the boys, a science worksheet open in front of her, pen flicking in her fingers as she explained something to Tarik, who for once looked genuinely focused. Adem half-listened, his eyes bouncing between the worksheet and the muted soccer match above.
“It’s a simple concept,” Amina said. “Think of the nucleus like a sun. The electrons orbit it. Sun, planets. Center, orbit. You got this.”
Tarik scratched his chin, thoughtful. “So the electrons are like… fans at a stadium?”
Adem snorted. “What kind of stadium has fans circling in orbit? Maybe you’ll get it if she draws it in crayon.”
Amina smacked the back of his head. “You passed last semester Trig because of me. Show some gratitude.”
“I’m grateful,” Adem said, rubbing the spot. “Just not quiet about it.”
Talha lingered near the wall, watching them. Their rhythm was effortless—chaotic, loud, magnetic. And Amina? She fit right between them. Always helping. Always guiding. The voice of reason in their endless noise.
He’d told Tarik for years that Amina was the one. Smart, loyal, grounded. She matched Tarik’s wildness with calm, his carelessness with precision. But Tarik never listened. Said she was just a friend, like a sister. Said Talha was imagining things.
Talha knew better. It wasn’t imagination—it was inevitability. And if Tarik didn’t step up, some other guy would.
He finally slid into the booth across from them.
“How was leg day, old man?” Tarik asked.
“You’re lucky I came at all,” Talha said. “I barely made the walk. Almost left you here to test your survival instincts.”
“Bet you still had a better night than me,” Tarik said, nodding toward Amina. “She chucked a book at my head earlier.”
“From what I hear, the Begović women are their own brand of crazy,” Talha laughed.
Amina narrowed her eyes at both brothers. “Careful,” she said, wagging her pen. “Or I’ll stop helping you.”
“You wouldn’t,” Tarik smirked.
She smiled, then turned back to the worksheet.
The bell over the door chimed. A group of guys from Tarik and Adem’s team walked in.
“Hey, Amina,” one of them called, slapping Adem on the shoulder. “You coming to the game this weekend?”
Talha noticed how the guy leaned in—just a little too close—his eyes lingering on her.
“Of course,” she said with a soft smile. “You know I’m always there.”
That was true. Rain or shine, win or lose, she was on the sidelines. Usually with a thermos in her hand and a whistle in her mouth, yelling louder than half the fans.
The guy grinned. “Looking forward to it. Maybe we grab something after?”
Before she could speak, Tarik leaned in, eyes sharp. “She’s usually busy after games.”
“Yeah,” Adem added with a shrug. “Family stuff.”
The guy looked between them, then got the message. “Right. Cool. See you there.”
Talha laughed under his breath. “Why don’t you just put up a sign? ‘Territory claimed.’”
Tarik scowled after the boy. Amina rolled her eyes. “He was just being nice.”
“He was trying to score,” Adem muttered.
Talha studied her. She was flustered, fingers tugging at her sleeve, eyes down. She didn’t meet his gaze—until she did.
A glance. Quick. Curious.
Why do all girls like playing with fire?
Girls looked at him all the time. But only her eyes made his chest burn. She was so sweet. So innocent. If he gave in—if he let her have him—she wouldn’t even know what to do with someone like him.
Talha looked away before she caught him staring. Or worse—before the boys did.
“You guys ready for Saturday?” he asked, shifting the topic.
“Coach says if we win, we’re a lock for nationals,” Adem said.
“And Tarik doesn’t mess up,” Amina added with a smirk.
“I never mess up,” Tarik shot back. “You just show up and cheer when you’re supposed to.”
Amina kicked him lightly under the table. “As you wish.”
Talha chuckled, shaking his head. Watching them, he saw it again—the way she leaned in when Tarik spoke, the way Tarik always answered her first. It was all there. They just refused to see it.
Then she looked at him again. Brief. Intentional.
A little lamb tempted by Sarajevo’s big bad wolf.
Another guy from the team came over, this one more confident. He leaned on the table, grinning too wide.
“Amina, I have something for you,” he said, pulling a jersey from his duffel. “Thought you could…”
“Over my cold, dead body,” Tarik said, snatching the jersey and tossing it back across the room.
“You can ask Melisa,” Adem added. “Or literally anyone else.”
The guy hesitated. “Yeah... cool. My bad.”
Amina looked between them, exasperated. “You two are ridiculous.”
“You’re too nice,” Tarik said.
“You don’t even realize when someone’s flirting,” Adem added.
Talha watched her blink in genuine confusion. It was true—she never caught on. She thought people were just being kind. She didn’t understand how easily people were drawn to her.
She flushed, tugging a strand of hair beneath her hijab. “Whatever. Can we get back to helping Tarik before he fails science again?”
They laughed, and the moment passed. But not for Talha.
That look she’d given him. That heat in her cheeks.
She shouldn’t look at him like that.
He shouldn’t notice.
But he did.
And he knew—no matter how hard he tried—he’d always notice her.
She was young. Innocent.
And he was dark and so fucking damaged.
He thought of Imran. Of the conversation they’d had that morning.
Imran would kill him.
Tarik and Adem would help.
Tarik kicked his shin beneath the table. “You good?”
Talha nodded, voice low. “Yeah. Just thinking about the game.”
But it wasn’t the game. Not really.
It was her.
And those eyes that looked at him with a little too much interest.
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