Savior Complex

"I never asked you to do anything!"

Hassan never imagined seven words could sting more than any insult he’d ever faced. His sharp, argumentative mind, always quick with a retort, went blank, and his world ground to a halt. He stared, desperate to catch her deep black eyes, but they refused to meet his, gazing somewhere he couldn’t follow.

In just five seconds, his life’s meaning had evaporated, leaving him sifting through memories. One hit him hard: a lone girl in a billowing abaya perched on a library table, four empty chairs, her silent crew in the stillness. Her eyes darted—laptop to notebook—frantic and lost. The library buzzed with pre-exam panic, students cramming last-minute facts, but she was a world apart. Hassan clocked her stress in a heartbeat. She needed help—he knew it the second he saw her.

He walked past, wrestling with himself—keep going or step in? Then he decided. “I’ll join you in a minute,” he tossed over his shoulder to a friend, grinning as he backpedaled toward her. “You okay?” he asked, leaning in.

“Huh?” Aleena’s eyes stayed locked on her screen. “Hmmm? Oh… Hassan?” Her voice wobbled, social anxiety bubbling up, and that tiny, flustered hitch lit something in him.

“Yeah. Studying alone, Aleena?”

“Oh… yup.” Her fingers fidgeted on the notebook’s edge. She was the girl who hugged the left end of the class bench, leaving the other three to crowd the far side—a habit carved over twenty years of keeping her own space. Someone breaking through that? She had no script for it. But Hassan did.

“Shall I help you with that? I’m good at it.” He flashed a wide, easy smile.

“Oh… yes.”

“Great.” He snagged the chair beside her and dropped into it.

“Umm… this topic…” She inched a centimeter away, pointing at her notebook with a shaky hand.

“Dynamic and static pointers? Yeah, it’s a mess—the professor barely touched it.” He grabbed her textbook, already open to the page. “Hang on, I’ll explain.”

“You studied it somewhere else?” A flicker of curiosity broke through her nerves.

“Yeah, you know I’m the programming guru.” He smirked, all swagger—though he’d never cracked this topic before. He didn’t study for his own exams, just skimmed enough to fake it. “Okay, so…” He slid closer, and this time, she didn’t pull back. Who knew this could ignite the best start of his life—and maybe the worst end?

***

“I wish you were a girl,” Aleena muttered, a teasing edge laced with something heavier—wistfulness, maybe regret. It wasn’t the first time Hassan had heard it. He glanced at the short girl beside him, a grin tugging at his lips. Rain pattered on the umbrella above them, a soft rhythm that pulled him closer to her, the sound drowning out everything but her voice.

“Why? Can’t we be friends if our genders don’t match?”

“No, it’s not that,” Aleena said, her voice softening. “I just want a girl friend. Someone to share my stories with, study with, and…” She trailed off, her eyes catching the calm, steady smile on Hassan’s face. It stopped her cold—his quiet warmth clashing with the ache she couldn’t name. Her tone faded, heavy like the clouds pressing down above. Silence wrapped around them, pierced only by the soft tap of their steps and the relentless drip of rain.

Hassan watched her, then said, “If me being a girl would ease your mind, if it’d let you feel happiness without guilt, I’d do it.” He caught her eyes flicker to his before darting away.

“Then become one. Stupid.” Her flustered snap, sharp yet soft, made him grin wider than ever—each shy jab from her just fueled his idiot smile more.

“Of course, Madam. For you, I’d do anything.”

“Yeah, you say that, then you just sleep. Go on, sleep right here—you love it so much.” She hadn’t forgotten those late-night calls he’d dozed off during, leaving her voice hanging in the dark.

“Well, I’d need my pillow then.” He leaned in, smug as ever, knowing the black mask hid her blush but not the way her shoulders tensed. He was the only one who knew her like this—every quirk, every crack in her serious shell—and he lived for making her smile.

Aleena was wired for modesty, raised to keep boys at arm’s length. Call it conservative or old-fashioned, it was her line in the sand. But then Hassan happened, crashing through her rules and her family’s expectations like a storm she couldn’t outrun. She’d always believed happiness came with a catch—joy today, sorrow tomorrow. Full, unshaded happiness? She’d never touched it. Hassan saw that, and it drove him. He didn’t just want her love; he wanted her to love life, to feel whole, and he’d never stop trying.

“Can I tell you something?” The rain slowed, drops thinning to a faint patter, then stopped. Hassan’s voice broke the quiet.

“Hmmm?” Aleena’s curiosity perked up, her head tilting slightly.

“I don’t remember the last time I slept comfortably. Insomnia’s been my shadow since I was a kid—any sound wakes me.” He looked down, scuffing his shoe against the wet pavement. “My dad’s death… it dulled everything. I don’t feel anger, sorrow—nothing—most days.” His voice dipped, raw and unguarded.

Aleena turned to him, a warm smile softening her face. He met her gaze. “Your voice,” he said, “it’s my lullaby. I feel… safe with you.” She’d sparked something in him—color in a gray world, a flicker of joy he’d forgotten. To her, she might just be there, but to him, she was the pulse pulling him back to life.

“Aleena, you’re my everything.” The words hung simple and heavy, all he needed to say.

“Umm…” A shadow loomed behind them, sharp and sudden, cutting through the moment. They both flinched.

“Oh, Hania,” Aleena said, exhaling. Hania ignored Hassan’s annoyed glare, her focus locked on Aleena.

“Sorry to interrupt—can I borrow her for a sec?” Before Hassan could answer, Hania tugged Aleena aside. He didn’t strain to hear, didn’t need to. Aleena’s face—tightening, then slumping—told him everything: Hania wanted something, probably work she’d dump on her. Hassan shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the wet ground, the ache from earlier creeping back.

***

High-beam headlights sliced through the dark, empty college road Hassan loved, fading into the night. Two figures walked under the dim streetlights—Hassan and Asad—Hassan’s voice buzzing like the hum of the campus at dusk. “Can you believe it? How shameless are they? I was an idiot to think I could make her more social. Just because she can’t say no doesn’t mean they should pile their assignments on her.” His hands slashed the air, ranting about the girl he loved being used—and how it gnawed at him.

“And she annoys me most of all. Why can’t she just say no? Why’s she so scared of what people think?”

Asad trailed beside him, tossing out a soft “Hmmm” or “Yeah,” his head tilted, lost in thought. Hassan caught the glint in his friend’s eye—the rare sign Asad had seen something he hadn’t. He stopped, grinning despite himself. “What?”

“Nothing…” Asad paused, then looked at him. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want saving.” The words hit like a stone, sinking deep. Hassan knew it—had always known it. Aleena’s battles were hers to fight, no matter how much he ached to shield her. Her happiness had to come from within, not from him forcing it.

“So, a savior complex?” Hassan half-laughed, piecing it together.

Asad sighed, a worn smile tugging at his lips as he clapped Hassan’s back. “Let her figure it out, man.” Maybe he should’ve listened.

***

“Yeah, I can’t join today,” Hassan said over the phone, voice clipped. A new semester was kicking off, and he was stuck in Lahore, delayed by a family emergency. “Just make sure you tell everyone I’m your lab partner. Don’t let them talk you into switching.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” Aleena replied, a little rushed. “Just be on time tomorrow. Class is starting—talk later?”

“Yeah, take care.”

“You too.”

The call was cut off. Hassan had drilled it into her—don’t let them persuade you—but a knot twisted in his gut. Something felt off, and he itched to get back to college fast. His instincts were right: the worst was already unfolding.

In the lab, a sea of students buzzed around Aleena, their chatter drowning out the instructor’s drone. She squinted at the board, lost, her fingers hovering over her notebook. Hania, perched nearby, caught her frown. “Having trouble?”

“Oh… yeah,” Aleena admitted, voice small.

Hania slid the lab notebook from her hands without a word, scribbling notes and filling in blanks. Aleena watched Hania’s pen dance across the page, a quiet awe settling in—someone stepping in, no questions asked.

That day felt like a dream she’d replayed a hundred times—a friend, the kind she’d craved forever. Hania listened as Aleena spilled stories she’d never dared share with Hassan, her words tumbling out like they’d been waiting years for an audience. For once, Aleena felt seen, not just useful, and Hania’s easy nods made her feel like she mattered.

“Hania!?” Hassan’s voice cracked with frustration. “I told you not to pair up with anyone, and you picked Hania? The worst possible choice?” He fought to keep his tone steady, to not let the anger spill over, but it leaked through anyway, sharp and raw.

“She’s not like that,” Aleena shot back, her words quick, earnest. “She’s sweet, really nice. Yesterday, she did all the work—wouldn’t even let me touch it. She helped me.” She pushed, desperate to convince him, and though she wasn’t lying, Hassan’s gut twisted. Hania doing everything solo? That wasn’t generosity—it was off. He’d seen her type before, and it didn’t match the selfless act Aleena saw.

Hassan clenched his jaw. He had no proof, just patterns—hints of manipulation he’d clocked since day one. He despised gossip, hated badmouthing without evidence, but Hania set off every alarm he had. She was a schemer, and Aleena—gullible, trusting Aleena—was walking right into it. His intuition never lied, and he’d loathed Hania from the start for reasons he couldn’t always name. Deep down, though, he knew what Aleena craved: a group of friends where she wouldn’t be fodder for whispers, a shield from the gossip that trailed them when it was just the two of them. “Listen,” he said, low and firm, “I can’t prove it yet. But you’ve got to trust me.”

“Okay, why not just meet her?” Aleena’s voice spiked with panic. “We can sit together, figure things out. How about rules? We’ll split the work so no one’s stuck doing it all.” Her hands fidgeted as she scrambled for a fix, anything to ease the clash.

Hassan hated it—the idea of sitting with Hania, playing nice. But he swallowed it. It was the only way to keep an eye on her, to shield Aleena without bulldozing her choices. “Fine,” he relented, “let’s meet in the library once I’m there.” He needed evidence, something solid to show Aleena who Hania really was. He wanted her to have friends, to bloom, but not like this—not with someone who’d use her. Torn between guarding her and letting her stumble, he settled on watching, waiting.

***

In the quiet library, Hassan sat alone, sipping a drink he’d grabbed from the café. From his spot, he could see the entrance and the table where he’d first met her—the memory now a dull ache. The door swung open, and the two girls he’d been waiting for stepped in. Aleena, her flowing abaya catching the light, glanced his way. Before he could lift a hand or crack a smile, Hania tugged her sharply to the side. His grin faded as they veered to a two-person table, far from him. His chest sank—he’d seen this coming, but it still hit hard.

He pulled out his phone, dialed her. Call rejected. He texted: “Where are you going?”

Her reply buzzed back: “She’s not comfortable sitting with a guy.” A flimsy excuse, and he knew it was bullshit. Hania’s doing. Jaw tight, he grabbed a chair, dragged it over with a scrape, and planted it beside them. “So,” he said, voice taut but controlled, “what’s the update on the lab today?”

“We’ll share the report once it’s done,” Hania replied, her tone clipped, dismissive. It was all Hassan needed to snap inside—We’ll share? Like I’m not part of this?

“Everyone works together in this group,” he said, staring her down, his face hard.

“We’re not working on that right now.” Hania flicked her hand, a clear get lost.

“Hassan, I’ll text you later,” Aleena cut in, her voice soft but firm.

He froze, unsure what had shifted, but the direction was clear. Defeated, he stood, hauled his chair back to his table, and slumped into it. He waited, staring at them, anger simmering. Five minutes, then ten—he couldn’t take it. He marched back, planting both hands on their table in front of Hania.

“Aleena’s gullible, but I’m not,” he said, his voice low, a quiet fury threading through it. “I know what you are.” He didn’t want a fight, just to shield her. Anger wasn’t his default—never for himself—but Hania? He saw her game. She wanted him gone, to peel away Aleena’s shield and keep her under thumb.

“Hassan, please go,” Aleena said, standing, her eyes pleading.

“Aleena, I’m just trying to protect you.” His words hung, desperate, but they’d already backfired.

Silenced by her earlier sting—“I never asked you to do anything!”—he couldn’t respond. His chest tightened, and he stumbled back a step. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice trembling. “Yeah, you never asked.”

He knew he’d overstepped—speaking for her, pushing when she hadn’t wanted it, had only made a mess. But her rejection cut deeper than regret: Doesn’t she trust me at all? Helping was his lifeline, his worth—saving Aleena had given him purpose. Without that, who was he?

He sucked in a jagged breath, shoving the hurt down. His gaze flicked to her—those deep black eyes still evading his—then dropped. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, barely audible, and turned, slipping out of the library. The door clicked shut as he stepped into the garden out front, the cool air doing nothing to calm him.

Hania watched him go, then slid closer to Aleena. She’d heard it all, and maybe she knew exactly what Aleena craved—a friend, a safe haven from whispers and expectations. Hania leaned in, voice gentle, playing the part Aleena had dreamed of, the friend she’d never had.

***

The lab room thrummed with chaos, students darting between stations, voices overlapping as they wrestled with the task at hand.

“You get it?” one asked.

“Nope, not a clue,” another shot back.

“He didn’t even explain it properly.”

“Right?”

“Let’s ask him again.”

Amid the frantic buzz, Hassan stood out—still, stern-faced, his laptop cradled under his arm as he strode to the instructor. The code he’d written ran flawlessly, clean and sharp, ticking every box of best practices.

“Looks solid. Great work, Hassan,” the instructor said, pride lighting his face. But Hassan’s expression didn’t budge—no smile, just a tight nod.

“Can I go now?” His voice was clipped, half his focus drifting to the two girls behind him. Hania scrolled lazily through her phone while Aleena, small and hunched, chipped away at the task alone.

The instructor frowned. “You know working solo impacts your grade, right? Teamwork’s part of the deal here.” He’d bent rules letting Hassan go it alone, but there were limits.

“Yes, sir, I know,” Hassan replied, forcing a thin smile. He snapped his laptop shut, stuffed it into his bag, and turned to leave. Then he paused. Two guys nearby hunched over their screen, muttering and scratching their heads, lost in the same mess he’d just aced. He’d meant to ditch it all—walk out, done—but that old itch to help tugged at him.

“All you have to do is pu—” he started, leaning in.

“No, no, it’s fine,” one cut him off, waving a hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Oh. Okay.” Hassan straightened, hesitating. “Text me if you need anything.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

After a gym session, Hassan trudged back to the hostel and stepped into the shower. He stood there, letting the water drum against his head, a rare moment to quiet the storm in his mind. A loud thud jolted him—footsteps, four or five sets, stomping through the room beyond. He’s brought them again? He sighed. Typical hostel nonsense—not worth getting worked up over.

He stepped out, toweling his hair, dressed in a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Voices filtered through the wall, tossing around a familiar name.

“Yeah, she’s so cute,” one guy said. Hassan rolled his eyes. These idiots had two modes: drooling over girls or whining that girls didn’t want them. Their odds with anyone—let alone her—were as dim as their brains. He despised this, the endless chatter about people like they were trophies.

“Not cuter than her friend, though. What’s her name?”

“Hania?”

“Yeah, she’s hot. Did you see that black dress she had on?”

The room went quiet as Hassan walked in, their eyes flicking to him, then away. Akmal, the least juvenile of the bunch, broke the hush. “Hania’s a bitch, though, you know.”

“Yeah, look what she did to Hassan,” another chimed in.

Hassan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know what half-baked story they’d latched onto, and he didn’t care. Trying to score points by trashing her? Cute. “Don’t badmouth people,” he said, voice flat. He grabbed his bag from the corner—his only reason for coming in—and headed for the door. Hania grated on him, sure, but this? Guys leering and tearing girls down? That hit a nerve deeper than she ever could.