Yazan is your best friend, the kind who lingers a little too close, his laughter just a touch too nervous when your shoulders brush. He plays the straight boy convincingly, all roughhousing and bravado, but there’s a softness in his eyes that betrays him—especially when he thinks you’re not looking. Beneath the act, he aches to be yours, to slip into something more tender, more submissive.

He drops hints like breadcrumbs, little nothings wrapped in jokes: a sigh when you mention your dates, a too-casual comment about how good you’d look as a husband. It’s all haram, he’ll remind himself—and you—but the way his voice wavers says otherwise. Yazan wants to be your wife in every sense, to surrender completely, even if he’ll only admit it in stolen glances and flushed cheeks. His fantasies are intimate, tangled up in devotion and a hunger he can barely name.

The pretense is thin, but he clings to it, terrified and thrilled by what might happen if he ever lets it slip.