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⚠️ Trigger Warning: This chapter includes mentions of suicide, self-harm, and drug use.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3indssAmaa
Please take care while reading.
We were halfway to Marindvor when Imran said, "So. How'd the meeting go?"
I didn't answer at first. Just stared out the window, watching Sarajevo shift past us—steel and stone and memory.
"I take it you didn't charm the room?" he added.
"I got through it," I said.
"That bad?"
I exhaled. "Let's just say your sister didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat."
Imran laughed. "She gave you the look, didn't she?"
"She gave me about four of them."
"Which one hurt the most?"
"The one where she ordered me to rework her shipment sequence and have it live by Friday—then told me to draft a backup schedule by Thursday, like I hadn't already rewritten half her ops plan in my head."
He winced. "Oof. Classic Lamija. Efficient and mildly terrifying."
"She gave Emir my slot."
Imran blinked. "Emir?"
I nodded, jaw tight. "Client-facing work. She threw me under Jasmina like I needed onboarding."
I leaned back, the frustration creeping up again. "I've worked beside you for years, Imran. Quietly. Cleanly. I know the company inside out—the systems, the shortcuts, the politics. And she handed me off like I was still figuring out how the printer works."
"She's testing you."
"I'm better than Emir."
That shut him up.
Even Imran didn't have a comeback for that.
I shook my head. "She's your sister. I get it—she's brilliant. Sharp as hell. But she's not the only one in the room who knows what they're doing. I've earned my seat. I'm not a rookie."
Imran gave a low laugh.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSasF5RYbvR
"You think Lamija cares what seat you've earned? She won't let you keep it warm unless you're fighting to hold it—every day. She's the same with me. Makes me earn every inch she gives. It's infuriating... and somehow, it still feels like winning."
Imran paused, then smirked. "But hey—Jasmina's nice."
I gave him a look. "She's too nice. And she flirts."
He tilted his head. "And that's a problem?"
"After the way your sister looked at me?" I muttered. "I don't have the bandwidth for... soft confusion. Not when she's in the room setting things on fire."
Imran burst out laughing. "My sweet little sister has had you wrapped around her finger since day one."
I snorted. "There's nothing sweet about Lamija."
"Really?" he grinned. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like she had you flirting for your life."
"She demoted me. In front of the team."
"So naturally, your response was to look her dead in the eye and say, 'If you want me to stay, just say so.'"
"I was trying to claim some ground," I muttered.
"You claimed something alright. She's going to set you on fire by Thursday."
I gave him a dry look. "I didn't even say it that dramatically."
"You didn't have to. The way you said it? Half the room stopped breathing."
I rubbed a hand over my jaw.
"And then," Imran continued gleefully, "you dropped the Emir line like it was nothing. 'The spot beside you isn't his'? That's not just claiming ground, Ayub. That's kicking in the damn door."
I didn't answer.
Mostly because he wasn't wrong.
It hadn't even been a full day, and I was already off balance.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ84EzAU08UY
Trying to keep up.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhCaOZzA6UN
Trying not to look too hard.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAEjIB8q2Fa
Trying not to want what I couldn't afford to chase.
I let the silence stretch between us after that—let it settle, heavy and unspoken.
A few minutes later, Imran turned the wheel sharply, pulling us off the main road.
We rolled to a stop outside a chain-link fence.
Marindvor.
Imran killed the engine. "Alright. Back to business."
I stepped out and looked around—old warehouse, cracked cement, steel framing still strong.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7MQzXu96gF
The bones of something that could become more.
"This is it?" I asked.
"Used to be a textile spot."
"So what are we doing here?"
Imran crossed his arms, eyes scanning the lot. "We're going to turn it into a gym."
I blinked. "For who?"
"For Talha."
That stopped me cold.
"He's not going to leave the docks on his own. He'll break himself before he ever asks for help. But if we build this—if it feels like an investment, not a handout—he might take it."
I turned slowly, letting the space sink in again. "How'd you get Husein to sign off?"
"I didn't," Imran said.
I looked at him.
"Lamija and I bought it."
That surprised me more than it should have.
"Together?"
He nodded. "Off the books. Babo doesn't know—and he can't, Ayub. We've been watching this lot for months. As soon as the lease expired, we moved."
"She went in on it?" I said before I could stop myself.
"Of course," Imran said. "She'd fight a bear for him."
And she has. Over and over again.
Every time Talha got into trouble, every time Husein threatened to fire him or keep him away from the house, Lamija pushed back hard.
She defended him—at the dinner table, in front of friends, family, the board, and her father.
No one stood firm against Husein.
But his daughter did.
For Talha.
Like he was blood.
That was the thing.
Talha wasn't blood. Neither was I.
We were the boys Husein let into the house—me because I was Ibrahim's son, and Talha because the Begović children brought him home. Pulled up a seat for him like he'd always had one.
One came with silence.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkPM5QXKK7E
The other with bruises and defiance.
One followed the rules.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbnfgrxHapY
The other broke them.
And somehow, the one who broke things was the one Lamija fought hardest to protect.
She never looked at me like that.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgqBeEC7hjL
Never needed to.
I wasn't the risk. I was the one who made sure the rules worked.
Imran was quiet beside me for a beat too long.
Then he said, "While I was in Vienna last week, they ran drug tests at the docks."
I turned to him, pulse ticking up.
"Talha failed," he said. "Oxy. No prescription on file."
My stomach dropped. "Ya Rabbi. Does Husine know?"
"No," Imran said. "Lamija handled it before it got to him. Called the family doctor. Got the script backdated and pushed through the system."
"She covered it?"
"She said Talha told her it was for pain. Ribs. Shoulders. Whatever he bruised last time."
I let that sit for a moment.
"He lie?" I asked.
Imran didn't answer right away. "Probably. Or maybe not. The problem is, he lies so much I don't think he even knows where the truth starts."
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Lamija believed him enough to make the call. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she just didn't want Babo to get involved."
I nodded slowly, the weight of it pressing down between us.
We both knew what Talha was like when he was cornered.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4uXqONQXQT
And what he was like when he was unraveling.
One made him dangerous.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZDQt6Irqv8
The other made him reckless.
Neither version ended well.
"You think this gym fixes that?"
Imran paused. For once, no joke followed. Just a flicker of something tired around his eyes.
"If this gym doesn't work—if Talha spirals again—I won't forgive myself."
I didn't say anything. Just nodded.
The last time Talha spiraled, he was fourteen. He'd been a ticking time bomb for weeks—fighting at school, coming home wired with anger... and then silence. Days of it. He shut down on us completely.
Then came the call.
He was in the hospital.
There were ligature marks around his throat. He stuttered when he spoke. He still has that stutter, ten years later.
His parents told everyone he tried to hang himself. Wrapped a belt around the shower rod in their bathroom.
After that, he tried to push us all away. Shut down every attempt to reach him. But Imran and Lamija held on. Didn't let him disappear. They pulled him back slowly, inch by inch.
I don't think he's forgiven himself for the first time either.
That was the thing about Imran—when he said it like that, you understood he meant every word. No armor. Just truth.
And this gym? It wasn't just a project.
It was a second chance.
"I think it gives him a choice," Imran said. "Something that's his. Legal."
"You want me to handle the plans?"
"You're the only one we trust to make it real."
The words landed harder than they should have.
Because it wasn't just about trust.
It was about what came next—about who got to build something that mattered, and who was expected to quietly make it happen behind the scenes.
That had always been the rhythm: Imran in the meetings, me with the numbers. His name on the contract, mine buried in the system.
I never resented it—not really.
It worked. It was clean. Simple.
But Lamija didn't work like that.
She didn't let people disappear behind stronger voices. She didn't let anyone coast—especially not someone she thought could be more.
And part of me knew... she wouldn't let me do that again.
Even if I wanted to.
I took another long look at the space. The sun had started to drop just enough to cast long shadows across the cracked cement. In the quiet, I could almost hear the echo of what this place could become.
Heavy bags. Sparring gloves. Chalk dust. Laughter. Sweat. Order.
Not the chaos of the docks.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmKPnbKY0Lp
Not the dark corners Talha disappeared into.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2qJSziJZ7v
Not the bruises he brushed off with half a joke and a shoulder roll.
I pictured him walking through those doors.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlEllOVKqAt
Saying nothing.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGYvUTG9kuq
Just looking.
I imagined the way his jaw would tighten when he realized this wasn't a rescue—it was a responsibility.
"He won't say thank you," I muttered.
Imran grinned. "Wouldn't know what to do with it if he did."
The wind shifted slightly, carrying the smell of distant street vendors. A reminder that the world kept moving even when people like Talha stood still.
"You're serious about this?" I asked.
Imran gave me a sidelong glance. "Deadly. This isn't charity, Ayub. It's strategy. He's family. And if we want him to survive the long game, we can't keep letting him play short rounds."
I nodded, slowly.
We circled the building, checking structural support and listing potential redesigns. Imran rattled off budget constraints and contractor names, but my mind was already racing with blueprints and schedules, sourcing materials that wouldn't eat half the cost.
Eventually, we found a spot near the back loading bay and sat on the edge of the concrete dock, legs stretched out, sweat sticking to the backs of our shirts.
"You ever think about what happens if it doesn't work?" I asked.
Imran didn't hesitate. "Then we try something else. We keep trying until it does."
I looked over at him. "You always make it sound simple."
"It's not," he said. "But we've been complicating things for so long, sometimes simple is the only way forward."
We were quiet for a while.
Then he said, "You really think she was too hard on you?"
I blinked. "Lamija?"
"Yeah."
I paused. "No. She was right to test me. I just wasn't ready."
"You think you will be?"
I gave him a long look. "She doesn't want someone ready. She wants someone already winning."
Imran smirked. "That might be the real test."
"Maybe."
"You want her?" he asked, casual.
I didn't answer. I didn't have to.
He grinned. "Then don't flinch next time."
I stood, brushing cement dust off my pants. "You coming?"
"In a minute."
I left him there, letting the weight of it all sit on his shoulders.
And as I walked back toward the car, I realized something: I wanted to build this gym for Talha—but I also wanted Lamija to see it.
See me.
Not the shadow behind Imran. Not the quiet one trailing their victories.
But the one who could build something that mattered.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnOod2MKtbJ
Something even she couldn't ignore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It's Monday.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡclFD7CxtgB
Ayub's trying to survive his first day under Lamija's command, Talha's fighting ghosts no one can name, and Imran is holding too much without ever putting it down.
This chapter carries a lot.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQJpzYRfdqS
Grief that lingers. Loyalty that hurts.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEWnjmD0Eh7
And the kind of love that tries—over and over—to save someone who won't let you in.
Thanks for being here. Be gentle with yourself. And with the ones who go quiet.
-Ash&Olive
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjo4HpU3F8X
