#bigank

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you had only been friends with her for a couple of weeks—but she already had many ways of making you feel comfortable around her.

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which was pretty much how you ended up trailing behind her—up the steps to her parents’ house.

both you guys had your hands full..

—of groceries.

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the front door happened to open before she could even pull her keys out.. and suddenly, a “man” stepped out…

he was shirtless..

you couldn’t help but take a good look at his physique,

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It was honestly a crazy one…

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he was broad shouldered, and decently tall.. like he went out and put in work every chance he got,

but… you didn’t want to be weird.. so you just shook the thought and focused your gaze elsewhere…

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“khabib?” she looked up at the opened door with a grin.

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“great…. can you help us, please…?” she asked, relieved that it was him that was on the other side.

he glanced at her first.. then at you..

just a quick, unreadable look.. before taking the bags out of her hands and offering to take yours as well…

like it was nothing.

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“salam.” he said, his voice was steady—greeting you, with his hand out, signaling for you to hand the bags over.....

“salam…” you returned, looking him the the eyes.. bowing a little as you handed them over..

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he didn’t linger…

instead… he just turned away and carried the groceries inside.

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but you noticed the way he moved…

he was quiet..

but..

it was like he had this sort of confidence—like he was used to being in control of every space he walked into.

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your friend didn’t think twice about it, she was already kicking her shoes off and telling you that you could do the same if you wanted, making her way over to the couch.

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so… you kicked off your shoes and followed her,

but you realized that your eyes sort of drifted towards the kitchen, where this… “khabib” was…

unloading the bags himself without paying attention to anyone...

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it wasn’t much. just a first impression…

but somehow it stayed with you…

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well, you had been there for a while now.. and she noticed that it was getting warmer than usual in the living room, and you found out that somehow the air conditioner had temporarily stopped...

she then glanced toward the corner of the room where the window was.

“____, do you think you could you open that window for me? sorry, It gets kind of hot in here,” she asked, turning her back as she continued to watch television.

“yeah, of course..”

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you didn’t mind… it was just a window…

so you walked over and tried to lift it, but.. you noticed that it didn’t budge,

no matter how hard you tried...

you even tried to open it another way—by putting your shoulder into it,

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but it was still…. stuck…

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so, now a slight frown started to appear on your face as you tried and tried again, with your fingers slipping on its worn out wooden frame..

every time...

you didn’t want to tell her that you were too weak to open a damn window.. so, you just stood there.. looking dumb..

trying to think of other ways to try and open it…

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then, you heard faint footsteps behind you… steady,

quiet.

and before you could even ask her for help,

khabib stepped forward and without a word, he placed one hand firmly on the frame, leaned in, and gave a strong push.

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the window slid open smoothly, with some dust flying off into the air.

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“it’s kind of old...” he said simply, looking you in the eyes again for a brief second before turning away.

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you honestly couldn’t help but watch him for a moment…

the easy confidence in the way he moved…

and, the quiet strength that seemed….

natural.

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you swallowed…. trying to shake off the sudden “flutter” in your chest..

you had no idea what it was..

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your friend looked over in your direction from the couch and yelled out,

“oh, thanks khabib!”

when she realized that he had to help..

all khabib did was give a small nod in reply before heading off to the other room.

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over the next few months, your visits to her house became a routine.

sometimes she’d invite you for dinner,

sometimes you’d tag along on some errands,

and sometimes you ended up there just because it felt..,

easier…

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It got to the point where you’d stay over when it was late or… when you had plans with her the next day, you’d crash in her room.

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khabib was never the main focus of those visits,

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but he was always just…

there…

passing through the hallways..

outside training with his group—

and when you and your friend would approach the house, he’d just silently watch you walk past.... and you’d notice it sometimes too.

other times he would just be there, and you’d be watching him from the window.….

working on his car.…

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you noticed that he didn’t talk much…

but it was just the small things stood out..

it was how he would hold the door a little longer than necessary when you were behind him….

how he would move a chair out of your way without saying a word…

how when you would stay over for dinner, and you finished eating.. he would take your dirty plate and put it in the sink…

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just all of it..

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but, you knew none of it was enough to mean anything on its own.

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on one of those mornings that you decided to crash at her place.., you woke up earlier than usual.

she was still asleep, with her blanket pulled over her head,

so, you decided that you’d try and wake her up.

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she finally rolled out of bed, and the two of you made your way to the kitchen for some breakfast….

and, admittedly.. you were still a little sleepy, so when you reached for the oatmeal container she told you to grab from the cabinet, it slipped from your hands…

and now, somehow a handful of oats ended up scattered across the counter and also down on the floor.

“ah… damn it…! sorry,” you blurted, already rushing to crouch down—to try to pick it up with your hands.

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but before you could get far, a shadow moved into your vision.

khabib stepped beside you, taking the container from the floor, setting it on the counter.

“I’ll get the vacuum,” he said, basically like it was already decided.

“It’s fine, khabib. I can clean it, trust me..”

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“well…. It’s my house anyway.” he shrugged, already walking away.

you stood there, kneeling on the tile, feeling oddly useless as he returned a moment later with the vacuum.

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he made quick work of the mess, moving with the same quiet, steady efficiency you’d noticed before.

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another morning, you decided that you had to use the bathroom... you didn’t think anyone would be awake because it was so early..

so you slipped out of her large bed and made your way over…

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on your way back, you passed through the kitchen and stopped in the hallway.

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and somehow khabib was there…

standing by the counter, pouring his coffee into a mug… he was in a plain black t-shirt, his focus was completely on what he was doing.

so, when he looked up and saw you staring at him.. his expression flickered… just a hint of surprise, like he hadn’t even realized you were there,

let alone stayed the night.

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then, almost immediately, the ‘surprise’ started to turn into the smallest smile, as he shook his head to himself.

no words came after that…

that was it..

he just turned back to his coffee as if nothing had happened.

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by now.. months had passed, it was now winter. surprisingly—your friendship with her only grew…

there was a night that the cold crept up into her room.. and no matter how many blankets you piled on, you both couldn’t seem to get warm.

with a groan, she hopped up and said,

“I think we have a little heater somewhere in the attic.

hold on, let me ask khabib.. I thought I already did...”

and then she left the room..

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you stayed curled under her blanket, until the door creaked open again. but it wasn’t your friend that was carrying the heater..

it was…

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khabib.

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he walked in quietly, and sat it down by the outlet near your side of the bed—his presence filled the small room instantly

“I told her earlier that I’d bring it,” he said simply.. crouching down to plug it in.

the heater clicked on as he adjusted the dials, he tested the heater with his hand like he’d done it a million times for her before.

but when he glanced up..

his eyes met yours….

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and for a moment…

neither of you looked away..

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“better….?” he asked, with his voice low.

you nodded, feeling the warm air hit you.

maybe you nodded a bit too quickly.

“yeah…. thank you...”

you saw something tug at the corner of his mouth… not quite a smile, but close. he then got up, straightened himself, and then walked over to the door.

your friend’s voice called out faintly from down the hallway, but he didn’t leave right away.

he lingered just a second longer, looking back… his eyes brushing over you…

sort of like he was trying to memorize the sight of something,

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and then he left..

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and when she came back,

you noticed that….maybe the heater wasn’t the only thing that was keeping you warm that night,

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