32. defined

I submitted my portfolio on a Thursday.

The moment I hit "submit," a mix of relief and panic settled in my chest. It was out of my hands now-all the sketches, the paintings, the hours spent hunched over my work, second-guessing every detail.

I closed my laptop and leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly. Hamzah, who had been watching me from across the room, smirked.

"See? That wasn't so bad," he said, tossing a grape into his mouth from the fruit bowl on the coffee table.

"You weren't the one doing it," I muttered, rubbing my eyes.

He grinned and stretched, pushing off the couch and walking over to me. "Well, since that's done, you know what that means."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

His hands landed on my waist, tugging me up to my feet. "It's celebration time. I promised you a date, and I'm a man of my word."

I groaned. "Can't we just order takeout and watch a movie?"

"Nope," he said smugly. "Get dressed. We're going out."

***

I didn't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

Hamzah had taken me to a rooftop restaurant, tucked between the high-rises of downtown Toronto. The view was breathtaking-city lights stretching endlessly, casting a golden glow over everything. The air was crisp, but there were heaters placed around the patio, keeping us warm.

"This is... nice," I admitted as we settled into our seats.

Hamzah smirked. "You sound surprised."

I lifted a shoulder. "You don't really strike me as the 'rooftop dinner' type."

"Yeah, well," he said, picking up the menu, "you've been working your ass off for months. I figured you deserved something special."

Something warm unfurled in my chest.

The night was easy, effortless. Between bites of food and stolen sips from each other's drinks, we talked about everything and nothing-our childhood, our worst high school experiences, the stupid things we did as kids.

"You know," I mused, playing with my straw, "if someone told middle school me that we'd end up here, I wouldn't have believed them."

Hamzah grinned. "You mean because you thought I was an annoying little shit?"

I laughed. "You were an annoying little shit."

"And now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes. "You're slightly less annoying."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "You're lucky I like you."

I didn't think I'd ever get used to the way he looked at me-like he was memorizing every detail, like I was something worth keeping.

After dinner, we walked through the city, the streets buzzing with life. It was late, but Toronto never really slept.

At some point, Hamzah grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers like it was second nature.

"You know," he said casually, "we never actually made this official."

I blinked up at him. "What?"

He shrugged. "We just... started being together. But we never really said anything about it."

I tilted my head. "Are you saying you want to define the relationship?"

He scoffed. "Don't make it weird, bro."

I laughed. "Alright, fine. Let's define it. What are we, Hamzah?"

He stopped walking and turned to me, his expression softer now. "We're together. Yeah?"

I swallowed, suddenly feeling very aware of how close we were. "Yeah."

His lips quirked. "Good."

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed me-slow, warm, like he had all the time in the world. The city buzzed around us, but in that moment, it was just us.

When we pulled away, I grinned. "So... you're my boyfriend now?"

Hamzah groaned. "You're making it weird again."

I laughed, tugging him forward as we continued down the street. "Too late. You're stuck with me now."

And honestly? That thought didn't scare me at all.