The Gym Partner
"Hadia joins a women's-only gym to lose weight for her sister's wedding, but trainer Usman—hired for a special mixed-class—makes her heart race faster than any treadmill."
The Gym Partner
"I need to lose twenty pounds by April."
Hadia didn't know why she was confessing this to the trainer at her new gym, except that he'd asked why she joined and she was too exhausted from the treadmill to lie.
Usman—broad, bearded, and unfairly attractive in his gym polo—raised an eyebrow. "Why April?"
"My sister's wedding. She's put me in the ugliest lengha and I'm not walking down the aisle looking like a stuffed paratha."
He laughed—not at her, but like she'd genuinely surprised him. "First of all, there's nothing wrong with parathas. Second, you don't need to lose weight. You need to get stronger."
"Same thing."
"Not remotely." He gestured to the weights area. "Give me six weeks. I'll prove it."
The training was brutal. Usman pushed her harder than she'd ever been pushed, but always with encouragement.
"Five more reps. You've got this."
"I'm dying."
"Nahin. You're just meeting the version of yourself who's been hiding." His hand steadied her grip. "Breathe. Again."
Somewhere between deadlifts and dinner prep discussions, they became friends. Hadia found herself looking forward to their sessions more than anything else in her week.
"Your form is getting excellent," Usman said after her fourth week. "How do you feel?"
"Like I could throw my sister into the sun."
"Wedding stress?"
"She called me the 'fat sister' at a dress fitting. In front of the designer." Hadia blinked back tears. "I know I'm—I know I'm not thin. But I didn't need her to announce it."
Usman's jaw tightened. "That's cruel."
"It's honest."
"No, it's cruelty dressed as honesty. There's a difference." He moved closer. "Hadia, you're one of the hardest working people I've trained. Your body is strong, capable, beautiful. Your sister's insecurity isn't your problem."
"You think I'm beautiful?"
The word hung between them.
"I think," he said slowly, "that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met. And I've been trying very hard not to say that because you're my client."
"What if I don't want to be your client anymore?"
His breath caught. "Then I'd say we should have dinner. And continue this conversation somewhere without gym equipment."
Dinner became dessert at her flat.
Dessert became Usman pressing her against her kitchen counter, kissing her like she was air he needed to breathe.
"You're sure?" he asked, hands bracketing her hips. "I meant what I said. You're beautiful. Every curve. Every—"
"Usman." She pulled his face down. "Chup and kiss me."
He did.
His hands explored her body with the same attention he brought to training—thorough, patient, finding every sensitive spot. When he unhooked her bra, his groan was reverent.
"Subhanallah," he breathed. "Perfect."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He kissed down her stomach, over every stretch mark. "Perfect for me."
When his mouth found her core, Hadia cried out. Usman worked her with devastating skill, bringing her to the edge and back until she was begging.
"Please, I need—"
"Tell me what you need."
"You. Inside me. Ab."
He surged up, positioning himself, and slid inside with a groan that echoed her own. The rhythm was slow at first, then building—like reps, she thought wildly, each one bringing her closer to something incredible.
"Meri jaan," Usman gasped. "So beautiful when you come. I want to see it."
She shattered, and he caught every cry with his kiss before following her over.
"My sister is going to have a fit," Hadia said later. "The fat sister bringing the hot trainer to the wedding."
"Good." Usman pulled her closer. "Let her fit. You're going to walk in looking incredible because you feel incredible. That's what matters."
"You're coming to the wedding?"
"If you'll have me." His eyes were serious. "Hadia, I'm not interested in casual. I want the whole thing. Weddings, family dinners, aunties asking when we're getting married."
"We just started dating."
"Then let's keep dating. Until you're ready for more." He kissed her forehead. "I'm patient. I told you—I'm in this for the long game."
At the wedding, Hadia walked down the aisle in her ugly lengha, feeling beautiful for the first time in years. Usman's eyes never left her.
The sister's jealousy was palpable. The aunties' approval was instant—"Such a handsome boy! And a professional!"
Their own wedding happened eight months later. Hadia wore whatever she wanted.
And looked stunning.