Alhaitham Fluff - Blog Posts

Happy birthday Alhaitam. ✨️

This drawing is inspired by a work by @zhongrin , and I am publishing it taking advantage of the fact that it is his birthday.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

𝐝𝐫.𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ‧₊˚ part 2 | fluff

╰┈➤ fem reader. reader is alhaitham’s patient (this may be a bit self indulgent hehe). mild flirting. fluff. attempt at comedy, just a drabble ig, i love alhaitham fr— WAH a part 2 ?? masterlist

part 1 | part 2

Unknown Number: Hi. This is Dr. Alhaitham. I received your results. Are you available to come in tomorrow?

Your heart skips a full beat.

Wait. Wait.

You reread the message about eight times, thumb trembling over the screen.

Dr. Alhaitham. Dr. ALHAITHAM.

You never gave him your number. Not directly. The clinic must’ve had it on file from your intake paperwork. Still—why did he text? Shouldn’t it have been the nurse? Or the front desk?

Your brain spins in three different directions while your thumbs hesitate, hovering mid-air. What tone do you even take with a man who has seen your bloodwork and your undereye bags?

You: Hi… yes, I’m free. Is everything okay?

You don’t expect a reply right away, but the bubbles pop up almost instantly—like he was waiting. Watching the clock.

Dr. Alhaitham: I’d rather explain in person. It’s nothing urgent. I just… want to speak to you myself. Tomorrow at 10?

You stare. Blink. Re-read. “I just… want to speak to you myself.”

Butterflies launch a full-scale riot in your stomach. Your cheeks go hot. You’re squealing internally as your thumbs tap out a response that’s way too calm for how your heart is behaving.

You: Okay. I’ll be there. Also… is this your personal number?

A beat.

The kind of beat where you spiral. Where you consider throwing your phone across the room, just to escape the weight of your own message.

Your face is burning. Why did you ask that? Why did he use it?

The silence stretches until it starts to ache. And then—ping.

Dr. Alhaitham: Yes.

A full-body meltdown ensues.

You collapse back into the couch like a Victorian woman being told her corset’s been outlawed. He gave you his number. He texted you himself. He wants to talk to you personally.

Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.

The Next Morning…

You show up to the clinic early. Too early. You pretend you’re just organized, but really you’re anxiously clutching your water bottle like it’s a lifeline. You tried to look effortless—pulled-together, but not obvious. Cute, but not trying too hard. Just… normal. Which is laughable, considering the amount of time you spent choosing earrings.

The nurse checks you in with a kind smile. You sit in the waiting room, leg bouncing, rehearsing responses in your head.

Then he appears.

Alhaitham steps out from behind the frosted glass doors. Still in his lab coat, still maddeningly unreadable. But when his eyes find yours—there’s a flicker of something. Recognition. Warmth. Something quieter.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You could swear—swear—the corner of his mouth twitches, like it’s tempted by a smile.

You follow him in.

The exam room is quiet, neat, humming with soft fluorescent light. You take your seat. He opens your file, but doesn’t look at it. His eyes stay on you.

“I didn’t want to go through the receptionist this time,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought it might make you anxious.”

You blink. The words take a second to land. “Oh. That’s… kind of considerate.”

“Also,” he says, finally glancing down, “your iron levels are low. You’ll need supplements. I’ve written the prescription.”

He slides the slip across the desk like he’s handing you a secret. You take it carefully, like it might crumble.

Silence.

The kind that sits heavy. The kind that means something.

He closes the folder, slow and deliberate. Leans forward just slightly, elbows braced on the desk, fingers laced.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been feeling this way for a while.”

You look away, shoulders curling in slightly. “I didn’t want to be dramatic.”

“You said you were a Victorian woman,” he deadpans.

You smile despite yourself, soft and a little sheepish. “Okay, but that’s just my personality.”

He watches you. Sharp eyes, steady and assessing—but not unkind.

Then, gently: “I don’t think you’re dramatic.”

You suck in a breath, caught off guard.

“I think you’re… overwhelmed. Tired. Maybe not used to being taken seriously.”

Your throat tightens. You bite the inside of your cheek. Something inside you shifts.

“I just treat patients,” he says. “But… I remembered you. More than I expected.”

Your heart slams once, hard. “…Why?” you whisper.

He shrugs, gaze not quite meeting yours. “You made an impression.”

Your grip tightens on the paper in your lap.

And then—his voice drops lower: “If you feel dizzy again… or if anything gets worse—don’t wait. Just message me. Directly.”

You nod, silent.

And as you leave—hand curling around the doorknob, heart thudding in your chest like it’s trying to break free—his hand comes to rest gently on the small of your back.

Warm. Steady. Certain.

You freeze. Just for a breath. His palm lingers there like it belongs, grounding you in the quiet between heartbeats. You swear you feel the heat of it radiating through the fabric of your blouse, straight into your spine.

You try not to melt. Try not to show how much that simple touch undoes you.

Then, just as your breath begins to hitch, he leans in slightly. Not too close. Just enough that his voice slides in low, just above a whisper.

“Go home safely.”

His hand slips away—slowly, deliberately. The loss of contact is almost startling.

You turn, instinctive, eyes finding his.

And he’s already looking at you.

Not blankly. Not politely. No, his gaze is sharp and unreadable, steady and direct. There’s something in it—something knowing—that makes your breath catch and your fingers tighten around the cold metal of the doorknob.

You swallow hard.

You manage to nod. Maybe say “good bye.” You’re not sure. Your brain’s short-circuiting.

You take one step out.

Two.

You don’t even make it to the end of the hallway before your knees buckle slightly. Not enough to fall. Just enough to feel the ghost of his hand still lingering on your back.

11:41 p.m.

Your room is dim, bathed in the glow of your phone screen. You’re curled up in bed, overthinking the day in painful HD. You keep replaying every word. Every glance. Every almost-smile.

You haven’t messaged him. Even though he told you to.

You want to. But courage, it turns out, is fictional after 10 p.m.

Then—your phone lights up.

Dr. Alhaitham: Are you awake?

You sit up so fast you almost concuss yourself on the headboard. Your heart stumbles. Hands fumble.

You: yes?

A pause.

Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry if this is strange. I just remembered something you said the other day.

Your pulse is in your ears. You clutch your phone like it might float away.

You: Which thing? (The Victorian woman part?)

A longer pause. Bubbles come and go.

Dr. Alhaitham: No. The part about collapsing into someone’s arms. You joked. But I keep thinking about it. Wondering if someone’s ever really done that for you.

The air leaves your lungs.

The world stills.

This isn’t a joke anymore.

You: No one ever has. Why?

A minute passes.

Then:

Dr. Alhaitham: Because I think you deserve to be caught. Even when you’re not falling.

You sit frozen in your bed, the blanket bunched around your waist, the silence loud in your ears. His words wrap around you like warmth. Like something you didn’t know you needed.

Then, another message:

Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry. That was unprofessional. Good night.

But you can’t stop staring at the one before it.

“Because I think you deserve to be caught.”

The School Auditorium – 10:07 AM

The lights are too bright. The hum of the overhead fluorescents buzzes against the high ceiling, competing with the chorus of second-graders who are very much not using their indoor voices. You’re wrangling your chaos crew down the aisle—two are arguing about who’s taller, one’s asking if astronauts eat soup, and another is trying to lick the back of their own nametag.

You’re functioning on three hours of sleep, a half-drunk coffee that went cold in your cup holder, and the sheer force of whatever maternal instinct allows a person to stop a glitter spill midair.

You don’t notice the man walking onto the stage at first. Not until the noise cuts.

The chatter dies so suddenly it’s eerie—twenty-five small heads pivoting in unison toward the front like a hive mind has seized them.

You look up.

And your brain short-circuits.

There, standing at the center of the stage, is a man. Clipboard in one hand. Other tucked neatly into the pocket of a lab coat. He’s tall—really tall—built like someone who definitely doesn’t trip over his own feet, and carrying himself with the kind of effortless confidence that makes you feel like you’ve shown up underdressed to your own job.

He’s calm. Polished. Crisp lines and clean edges. A quiet authority that makes even the most fidgety of your kids fall still.

Alhaitham.

Dr. Alhaitham.

Your doctor.

Your heart leaps to your throat and lodges there.

He scans the room slowly, methodically. Dispassionate and professional—until his eyes land on you.

And pause.

Just for a second.

But it’s enough. Your breath catches. Your stomach does a little somersault, unprompted.

You are suddenly painfully aware of the state you’re in: oversized cardigan, mystery glitter on your left sleeve, your hair pinned back with a pencil because someone borrowed your last claw clip. There’s a child gripping your leg like it’s the mast of a sinking ship.

He starts to speak—something about germs and handwashing and healthy habits—but you don’t really hear it. The children do. They’re captivated. Spellbound.

You’re just trying to remember how to breathe.

The talk ends after what feels like a hundred years but also three minutes. You start herding your class toward the exit, one hand on a shoulder, another plucking a crayon from someone’s mouth.

And then your phone buzzes.

You glance down.

Dr. Alhaitham : You didn’t tell me you were a teacher.

You stop mid-step. The world tilts slightly.

You read it again.

You: You didn’t tell me you do school tours.

The reply comes so fast you know he had the message half-written already.

Dr.Alhaitham : I don’t. I only agreed because the principal is a patient. Didn’t expect to see you. (Or twenty-five second graders clinging to your legs.)

A breath escapes you—half laugh, half disbelief. Your heart’s still racing, but it’s a little lighter now. Warmer.

You: Yeah well… you might have cracked the case. That’s why I was always sick. Kid germs are no joke.

You watch the typing bubble appear. Disappear. Appear again.

You can feel the deliberation behind it. He’s thinking. Rethinking. Overthinking. You know the feeling too well.

Then finally—

Dr. Alhaitham : I get it now. All the coughs. The dizziness. The stress. You were holding together an entire classroom by sheer willpower.

You stare at your screen, throat tightening.

Something about the way he says it. The way he sees it.

Then another ping.

Dr. Alhaitham : You’re… kind of incredible, you know. Even with stickers on your pants.

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound that leaves it. A sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

Because you look down—and yep. There they are.

Two sparkly dinosaur stickers on your thigh.

And suddenly, you don’t feel quite so exhausted anymore.

—usagii’s note

I wish alhaitham was real :(

𝐝𝐫.𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ‧₊˚ (fluff)

╰┈➤ fem reader. reader is haitham’s patient (this may be a bit self indulgent hehe). mild flirting. fluff. attempt at comedy, just a drabble ig, i love alhaitham fr— just wanted to write something small before disappearing again ehe. masterlist

The first time you met Dr. Alhaitham, he walked in like a problem you weren’t ready to solve.

The door eased open with a soft click, and you barely had a second to breathe before he stepped through. And just like that, every rational thought in your head short-circuited.

He was tall—so tall—and built like the universe had carefully balanced strength and elegance just for him. His white coat hung open, effortlessly draped over broad shoulders, the fabric swaying slightly with each step like it knew how lucky it was. Underneath, his black button up shirt fit too well and his tie perfectly in place.

But it was his face that hit the hardest.

Angular jaw. Perfectly cut cheekbones. Lips set in a neutral line that looked like they’d never curve into anything as mundane as a smile. His hair—a soft grey, slightly tousled like he'd run a hand through it absentmindedly—framed his face with just enough dishevelment to be maddening.

And then his eyes met yours.

Cool, turquoise irises - pupils rimmed with amber. Focused. Sharp. Like a lens sliding into place. He looked at you—not through you, not past you, but at you—and your brain promptly melted into static.

You forgot how to sit properly.

You shifted on the exam table and winced at the ridiculously loud crinkle of the paper beneath you. Great. Smooth. Very dignified.

He glanced down at his tablet. “Name?”

You mumbled it. Or at least, you think you did. Your mouth moved, and he didn’t ask again, so that was something.

His gaze flicked up again, this time assessing. “Hm.”

Just hm.

You wanted to die. Or be swallowed whole by the earth. Or maybe just crawl under the table and never come out again.

He walked closer, writing a few things down, entirely unfazed. His presence filled the room with a kind of quiet intensity, like a thunderstorm just waiting to happen. He asked clinical questions in a deep, calm voice that was way too smooth for your current state of mind.

When he stepped beside you and reached for your wrist, you nearly levitated off the table.

His fingers were precise, cool, steady as they pressed against your skin. Meanwhile, you were vibrating at a frequency only small rodents could hear.

“Pulse is elevated,” he said absently, glancing at the numbers. “Unusual.”

You cleared your throat. “I’m—uh. Just—nervous.”

“I assumed,” he replied, flatly. “Though I haven’t done anything yet.”

Oh my god.

Was that deadpan sarcasm? Was that dry humour? From him?

Your face burned. You could feel the flush rising like a tidal wave, heat crawling up your neck and settling in your ears.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you again. Not with empathy. Not with judgment. Just that same unreadable curiosity, like you were a particularly odd research sample.

“Try to relax. You're only making it worse.”

You let out a high-pitched laugh that did not help your case.

He returned to his notes without another word, cool and methodical as he moved through the rest of the exam. Every brush of contact was maddening. He was so calm, so put-together, while you were over here trying not to pass out from sheer mortification.

Finally, he stepped back and moved to the door.

He paused there, one hand on the handle.

“You should drink more water,” he said, still not looking back. “And maybe avoid overly stimulating environments.”

Then, after a beat—so soft you almost missed it:

“Charismatic doctors included.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

You sat there, frozen, heart racing like you'd just run a marathon on zero sleep and five cups of coffee.

You buried your burning face in your hands.

You were so, so doomed.

The second time you met Dr. Alhaitham, you told yourself it was just a check-up. Just routine. Just to confirm you’re healthy. That’s all.

You definitely didn’t fix your hair twice in the waiting room. Or rehearse what you’d say if he asked anything personal. Or almost chicken out at the front desk.

And then… there he is again.

Same white coat. Same unreadable face. Clipboard in hand. He doesn’t smile. He nods. That’s it. Like you’re a piece of data.

“Still having the same symptoms?” he asks, setting his pen against paper, eyes flicking up for half a second.

“No,” you say too quickly. “I mean—yes. I mean—sort of?” You feel the shame rise like steam in your face. Be normal, you beg yourself silently. Be a normal human.

His brow furrows. “That’s… not very clear.” He’s not being rude. He’s just direct. His voice is so flat, so serious, it makes you squirm.

You try to say something coherent while he approaches with the stethoscope. And then it happens again—he touches your wrist to take your pulse.

Immediate panic.

He blinks. “Still elevated.”

“It’s warm in here,” you blurt.

He tilts his head slightly. “It’s… twenty-two degrees Celsius.”

You die. Right there. He probably thinks you’re about to pass out. Or lying. Or both. Meanwhile, he’s moving through the appointment like you’re not experiencing a romantic crisis every time he breathes near you.

“You’re giggling,” he says, suddenly.

You freeze. “I’m—not!”

He looks up. That same unreadable stare. “You are. It’s fine. Some patients get nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you say way too fast, your voice a squeak now.

He just nods again. “Hmm.”

Hmm.

That’s it. You’re never recovering from this.

Then, as he’s about to leave, he pauses. Flips through his notes.

“You drink enough water now?” he asks without looking at you.

Your stomach flips. He remembered.

You nod.

“Good,” he says. Still serious. Still calm. Still a walking paradox of soft hands and distant eyes. “You seem better. Maybe next time, you won’t giggle.”

And then he leaves.

And you sit there.

Absolutely gone.

The third time you met Dr. Alhaitham, you weren’t supposed to be here. You just needed toothpaste. That’s all. One boring little errand.

You’re in your softest hoodie, your least presentable state, and you’re standing in the pharmacy aisle, zoning out while debating between two brands of lip balm—because clearly, your life is thrilling.

And then, you hear it. That voice. Calm, low, quiet—but unmistakable.

“Excuse me.”

You turn.

It’s him.

Your doctor. In a black button-up and fitted trousers. No white coat. No clipboard. No clinical detachment to protect you.

Just… him. Hair slightly tousled. Glasses pushed up on his nose. Holding a box of vitamins like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You nearly drop your chapstick.

“Oh,” you say. Too loudly. Too high-pitched. “Hi.”

His eyes land on you, calm as ever, and he nods like it’s perfectly normal that the man you’ve been lowkey fantasizing about is now standing three feet away by the travel-size shampoo.

“I remember you,” he says, flatly. Not unkind. Just observant.

You nearly ascend. “Uh—yeah. I’m… still hydrated.”

A pause. The corner of his mouth twitches. Twitches.

“That’s good,” he says, and somehow it sounds like a compliment.

You just stare. Like an idiot. Because he’s wearing a real person outfit. And his sleeves are rolled up. And his forearms exist. And he’s not doing anything wrong, but you’re actively malfunctioning.

He glances down at the item in his hand, then holds it up. “Do you know if these actually help? I’ve read mixed studies on the absorption rate.”

He’s asking you. For an opinion. On vitamins. And you’re trying to remember how to form a sentence.

“I—I mean, I just… get the gummies,” you say.

He actually blinks. “Gummies?”

You nod. “They’re easier to… chew?”

Another pause. And then, a quiet, rare sound: a soft huff of amusement. You don’t even think it’s a laugh. But it’s close enough to make your chest burst like a firework.

“You’re different outside the clinic,” he says simply.

You panic. “Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Just… surprising.”

Your heartbeat is in your ears.

You manage a half-smile. “You’re different too.”

He tilts his head. “How so?”

“You… have forearms.”

His eyebrows go up. You want to eat the floor.

“I mean—not that I think about your forearms—I just—”

He’s watching you. Quiet. Sharp. Then he says, very calmly:

“You’re blushing again.”

You wish for lightning to strike you on the spot. He adjusts the box in his hand like this is all very standard and unremarkable.

And then, as casually as anything:

“I’ll remember the gummies next time.”

And he walks away.

Leaving you standing there like a disaster in a hoodie, holding two kinds of lip balm and a pounding heart.

The fouth time you met Dr. Alhaitham, the waiting room is cold again, or maybe you’re just more sensitive today. You clutch your jacket tighter, feeling that weird mix of dizzy and tired that’s been creeping up for days. You told yourself it was nothing—just stress, maybe. But now you’re here again.

The nurse calls your name, and your heart skips. Because you already know who’s going to be behind that door.

You step into the exam room and sit down, and sure enough—there he is. Doctor Serious. Doctor Calm. Doctor devastating.

Except this time, his eyes linger longer when he sees you.

“You don’t look well,” he says immediately.

You blink. “Gee, thanks.” why do you think I am here ? well it is also to stare at your gorgeous face but I am not going to disclose that to you.

His brow lifts. You didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. But your voice is quieter than usual, and your usual panic feels dulled by how out-of-it you feel. He steps closer, watching you carefully.

“Dizzy spells?” he asks, sitting down across from you. “Headaches?”

You nod. “Yeah. And I feel kinda tired all the time. Like… weirdly tired.”

He watches you. Really watches you. “Have you been eating regularly?”

You hesitate. “Um. I mean. Mostly. Maybe not perfectly.”

“Have you fainted?”

“No,” you say. “I just… feel like a dying Victorian woman sometimes.”

That earns a real reaction: a soft exhale, not quite a laugh—but the closest you’ve ever gotten. He looks at you again, like he’s trying to read through your jokes.

“Victorian woman,” he echoes.

You shrug weakly. “I’d look really cute collapsing into someone’s arms.”

His lips twitch. “Let’s avoid collapsing for now.”

He runs a few tests, checking your pulse again—so gently—and this time when your heart spikes, he doesn’t even comment on it. He just looks at you, a bit more quietly than usual.

“Your iron might be low,” he says. “Have you been on your period recently?”

You blink. “Why would you—how’d you—?”

“You’ve been here before,” he says simply. “You were flushed and talkative. Now you’re pale and slow to respond.”

You stare. “So you… remember me that well?”

He doesn’t answer. Just writes something into his file.

And then, suddenly, he says:

“You were at the pharmacy the other day.”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah.”

“I bought the gummies,” he says.

You blink. “Did they change your life?”

“Not yet,” he murmurs, writing something down. Then: “I don’t usually see patients outside the clinic.”

You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but his voice is… softer.

“I just mean,” he says slowly, “you’re different. Less anxious today. Or maybe just tired.”

He looks up, and for the first time, there’s something like concern in his eyes.

“I want you to get a blood test,” he says. “I’ll write a referral.”

You nod, barely processing, because all you can focus on is the way he’s not looking at you like you’re a puzzle anymore. He’s looking at you like he actually… cares - well he is a doctor it is his job to treat you, his patient and to care for you as his patient.

And when you stand up to leave, a little wobbly on your feet, he places a hand gently—so gently—at your elbow.

“Careful,” he says. “You’re still a little pale.”

You look up at him.

“Will you be there when I collapse dramatically?” you ask, trying to joke through the fog in your head.

He doesn’t smile. But his voice is quieter than ever when he replies:

“Always.”

And then he lets go.

part 2

usagii's note ‧₊˚

welp, ill write another part tmr when i come back from college, ugh i love haitham, i wish he was real ssksjkjskjs

♡...in which alhaitham is your childhood friend.

♡...warnings : fluff and slight angst.

♡...note: i wrote this half asleep but i really wanted to write this idea <3

word count: 6.7k

The classroom was stifling, filled with the low hum of students reciting their lessons, but Alhaitham sat in the back, his head resting on his hand, eyes half-lidded in boredom. The teacher had given up on him for the day, again. He’d finished the exercises in a fraction of the time it took everyone else, leaving the teacher visibly frustrated. "Alhaitham," she had sighed, exasperated. "If you’re not going to participate at the same pace as the class, you can go sit outside."

So there he was—sitting on the bench outside the classroom, staring at the dust swirling in the hot afternoon air. He didn’t understand why his abilities seemed to be such a burden. His grandmother always told him that being different was a gift, but it didn’t feel that way when his intelligence only isolated him from everyone else.

He wondered if being "gifted" was just another way of saying you didn’t belong.

Just as he was sinking further into his thoughts, the door of the neighboring classroom burst open with a sharp clang. You stomped out, your brows furrowed in frustration, clutching a worn sketchbook in your hands. The teacher had kicked you out for the third time that week, irritated by your constant drawing during lessons. You hadn’t even been trying to hide it.

You glanced around, noticing the boy sitting alone on the bench, and without hesitation, made your way over and plopped down beside him, the wooden seat creaking slightly under your weight. For a moment, you just stared ahead, still fuming from the unfairness of it all.

After a moment, you turned to look at him. “Why did you get kicked out?”

Alhaitham blinked, a bit startled by your directness. He hadn’t expected you to speak to him, let alone with that bluntness. “I… finished the work too fast,” he said simply, unsure if that was a reason worth mentioning.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Really? They kicked you out for being smart?”

He shrugged. “They said I wasn’t participating properly.”

“That’s stupid,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “I got kicked out for drawing again.” You lifted your sketchbook slightly, showing him the half-finished sketch of a bird you’d been working on when the teacher had confiscated it. “Apparently, art doesn’t count as learning.”

Alhaitham looked at the sketch, noting how detailed it was for someone your age. “It’s good.”

You gave him a sideways glance, surprised. Most of the other kids didn’t understand your drawing, let alone compliment it. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Thanks, I guess. Still doesn’t stop them from kicking me out.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. You both sat there, two kids thrown out of their classrooms because being "different" was seen as wrong. You could feel the unfairness of it sitting heavy in the air between you—your art, his intelligence. It was as if neither of you fit the mold they wanted you to.

After a while, the sound of the school bell signaled the end of the day. Children began pouring out of the classrooms, their excited voices filling the courtyard as they were met by their parents. You stood up, stretching your legs, but as you glanced toward the gate, you noticed Alhaitham was still sitting there, waiting for someone.

A group of boys stood nearby, whispering to each other and shooting glances his way. You watched as one of them called out, "Where’s your mum, genius? Oh wait, you don’t have one, right? Just your grandma."

Alhaitham’s face remained expressionless, though you could see the slight tension in his shoulders. He didn’t react. He never did. But the words still stung.

Before you could think, you reached into your bag and grabbed the first thing your hand touched—a small peach from lunch. Without hesitating, you hurled it at the group. The peach hit one of the boys square in the back, and he whirled around, startled.

"Who—?!" He stopped short when he saw you standing there, glaring at him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and quickly walked away with the rest of his group, muttering under his breath.

You turned back to Alhaitham, who was now staring at you, wide-eyed. “Why did you do that?”

“Why not?” you replied with a shrug. “They were being jerks.”

He blinked, as if trying to make sense of what had just happened. He was used to dealing with things on his own—being the “genius,” the one “born different” like his parents, had always meant walking his own path. The idea that someone else would stand up for him… was new.

“I’ll walk with you,” you said, offering your hand. “My dad’s busy, so I usually walk home alone anyway.”

Hesitantly, Alhaitham reached out and took your hand. The warmth of your fingers wrapping around his felt strange but comforting. He couldn’t quite place the feeling—it wasn’t something he was used to. Yet as you started walking together, a small part of him began to feel like maybe, just maybe, being different wasn’t so bad after all.

The walk to Alhaitham’s house was quiet, the sun casting long shadows across the dusty streets of Sumeru City. You kept your hand in his, feeling the slight stiffness in his grip as if he didn’t quite know how to hold it, but you didn’t mind. It was strange, but in a nice way, walking with someone who didn’t rush to fill the silence with useless chatter.

As you neared his house, you saw it was nestled between a few others, slightly older but well-kept. The door was painted a deep green, vines climbing up the side of the building, the vibrant leaves glowing under the afternoon light. You stopped just short of the steps leading up to the front door.

“This is your place?” you asked, glancing up at the house.

Alhaitham nodded. “Yes. My grandmother lives here.”

Before either of you could say more, the door creaked open, and an older woman stepped out. She was small and frail-looking, but her eyes were sharp and bright, filled with a wisdom that seemed to stretch back through the ages. Her grey hair was pinned up neatly, and she wore simple, well-tailored clothes, the kind you’d imagine a scholar might wear. You noticed the subtle ink stains on her sleeves—she clearly spent her time among books.

“There you are, Alhaitham,” she said with a warm smile, her voice soft but firm. Then, her gaze flickered over to you, and her smile grew wider. “And who is this?”

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling a little out of place, but you met her gaze. “I… I’m a friend. I walked him home.”

Alhaitham’s grandmother studied you for a moment, her sharp eyes assessing but not unkind. She nodded approvingly. “Thank you for looking after him.” Then she turned back to Alhaitham. “You should introduce your friend properly, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham blinked, as if the concept of introductions had momentarily escaped him. “This is… um…”

“Y/N,” you filled in, smiling a little at his awkwardness.

“Y/N,” he repeated, glancing at you for a second before turning back to his grandmother.

His grandmother nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Alhaitham’s is welcome here.”

The word "friend" hung in the air for a moment, and you could see the faintest flicker of surprise cross Alhaitham’s face. Perhaps the idea of having a friend was still something new for him. You remembered the way the other kids treated him—the way they treated both of you, really. Being different in Sumeru wasn’t something to be celebrated, not when it came to talents that set you apart from the ordinary.

“I didn’t do much,” you said modestly, shrugging. “Just made sure no one bothered him.”

Alhaitham’s grandmother smiled knowingly. “That’s more than enough.”

For a brief moment, you felt a warmth from her that reminded you of your own dad, who, despite being so busy, cared deeply for you. It was strange to think that the boy who seemed so alone at school had this calm, intelligent woman guiding him through life. You wondered what it was like to grow up in a family of scholars, with everyone expecting greatness from you before you even had a chance to discover it for yourself.

“Would you like to stay for some tea, Y/N?” his grandmother offered kindly.

Before you could answer, Alhaitham spoke up. “She should probably get home. Her dad is busy, and she usually walks alone.”

You looked at him, a little surprised that he remembered. But his grandmother’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she nodded. “Of course. Another time, perhaps. You’re welcome anytime.”

You smiled, appreciating the gesture, but you did have to get back. “Thanks, maybe another day.”

As you turned to leave, Alhaitham’s grandmother’s voice followed you. “Remember, Y/N. Being different is a gift. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

You glanced back at her, those words lingering in the air. They seemed to hold more weight coming from someone who clearly understood what it meant to stand apart from the world’s expectations. You gave a small nod before heading back down the street, your heart feeling a little lighter than it had before.

Alhaitham stood by the door with his grandmother, watching you disappear into the distance. He didn’t understand this feeling yet, the warmth that seemed to fill his chest whenever you were near. But as he closed the door behind him, something told him that you, too, understood what it was like to be set apart, and maybe—just maybe—that made all the difference.

As the years passed, you and Alhaitham became inseparable, though your bond grew in a way that remained largely unspoken. You had both found comfort in each other's presence—two children who had been marked as "different," yet somehow understood that being different wasn’t a burden but a quiet kind of strength.

Your days were often spent together, even when words weren’t necessary. You’d sit under the same large tree after school, you with your sketchbook and he with a book in hand, both of you immersed in your worlds but connected by the mere fact that you didn’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Alhaitham would read with a quiet intensity, his mind clearly miles ahead of his peers, while you sketched your surroundings—people, birds, the intricate patterns of the leaves dancing in the wind.

Despite his aloof nature, Alhaitham slowly began to appreciate your presence. You weren’t like the others, the ones who either sought to belittle him or use him for his intellect. You never asked him to explain the things he knew, never prodded him with questions about why he was so smart, why he didn’t fit in. You simply let him be.

Sometimes, in rare moments, he would glance up from his book to watch you sketch. You never noticed, or if you did, you never said anything. You’d often mutter to yourself as you drew, deep in concentration, criticizing a line here or pondering aloud whether to add more shading there. And though Alhaitham never admitted it, he found your artistic process fascinating in its own right. You had a way of seeing the world in shapes, light, and shadow, the same way he saw it in logic and reason.

By the time you were both teenagers, your friendship had solidified into something unshakable, though neither of you had ever put a label on it. You had both grown—Alhaitham into the quiet, intellectual type that the Akademiya would undoubtedly be drawn to, and you into a more expressive, artistic soul whose talent had only grown more refined. Though your interests differed, your paths always seemed to align.

It was during your early teenage years that Alhaitham began to take his studies more seriously. His grandmother, always supportive of his brilliance, had begun preparing him for the Akademiya. His natural intellect and analytical prowess were already far beyond what most of the instructors at the school could teach him, and the Akademiya was the logical next step.

The day he told you about his future plans, you were sitting together in your usual spot under the tree, your sketchbook open on your lap as you worked on yet another drawing of the city skyline. Alhaitham was quieter than usual, lost in thought, and it didn’t take long for you to notice.

“What’s on your mind, Haitham?” you asked, using the nickname you’d given him long ago. He only allowed you to call him that—anyone else who tried would be met with a cold stare.

He closed his book and looked at you, his gaze steady. “My grandmother wants me to enroll at the Akademiya.”

You paused mid-sketch, your pencil hovering over the page as you processed his words. You’d known this day would come eventually—he was too brilliant not to go—but the idea of him being at the Akademiya, immersed in a world of scholars and intellects, somehow felt distant and cold. A part of you worried that it would change things between you.

“You knew this would happen, right?” he continued, watching your reaction carefully. “I’ve always planned on going.”

You nodded slowly, putting your pencil down. “Yeah, I knew. It’s just… the Akademiya. It’s different. You’ll be surrounded by people who are just like you.”

He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Smart people,” you replied with a shrug, trying to keep your voice light, though the worry lingered at the edge of your thoughts. “People who are probably going to understand you in ways I never will.”

Alhaitham was silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving yours. Then, in his usual straightforward manner, he said, “That’s not true. They might understand my knowledge, but they don’t know me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. Alhaitham was never one to speak about emotions or anything too personal. Yet, the weight of his statement hung in the air between you, and you realized what he meant. It wasn’t just about being smart; it was about the connection the two of you shared—something that went beyond words or intellect.

You smiled softly, feeling a little foolish for doubting. “I guess you’re right.”

He looked at you for a long moment before turning his attention back to his book. “Besides, the Akademiya is just another place to learn. It doesn’t change anything.”

And, in typical Alhaitham fashion, that was the end of that conversation.

The day he was officially accepted into the Akademiya was a quiet one. There were no grand celebrations, no overly emotional goodbyes. His grandmother congratulated him with her usual calm pride, and you… you simply met him under the tree like always.

But something was different. You both knew it, even if neither of you said it out loud.

You handed him a sketch that day, one you’d been working on for a while in secret. It was a detailed drawing of the two of you sitting under the tree, books and sketchpads scattered around, just like the countless afternoons you’d spent together. It was your way of capturing the moment, freezing it in time before things inevitably changed.

Alhaitham took the sketch, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper as he studied it. “You drew this?”

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “Yeah. I figured you should have something to remind you of home.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he folded the sketch carefully and slipped it into the front cover of his book—a quiet but significant gesture.

“Thanks,” he said simply, but you knew, in his own way, that he meant it.

---

The Akademiya was everything you had imagined it would be—prestigious, rigorous, and filled with students who were just as sharp and talented as Alhaitham. He fit in seamlessly, his intellect quickly earning him a place among the top scholars.

Yet, despite the demands of his studies, Alhaitham never drifted away from you. He still came back to Sumeru City often, and when he did, the two of you would slip right back into your old routine—sitting under the tree, you with your sketchbook and he with his books.

There were times when you visited him at the Akademiya, too. The towering buildings of the institution intimidated you at first, but you quickly found that, with Alhaitham by your side, you had nothing to fear. He introduced you to the library, showing you sections filled with texts that most people your age wouldn’t have even heard of, let alone understood. You watched him interact with the other students—aloof, confident, and always in control.

Despite his growing reputation as a brilliant but somewhat detached scholar, you saw the parts of him that others didn’t. The way his eyes would soften slightly when he spoke about his grandmother, the way he’d listen carefully when you talked about your latest artistic project, even if it wasn’t something he fully understood.

And though neither of you ever said it out loud, you both knew that your bond, forged in childhood and strengthened over the years, was something rare—something that no amount of Akademiya knowledge or scholarly prestige could replace.

---

The inevitable question of the future loomed over you. Alhaitham’s place at the Akademiya was secure, his path clear. You, on the other hand, weren’t quite sure where you fit into the grand scheme of things. Your art had grown more refined, your talent undeniable, but the world didn’t seem to value creativity in the same way it did intellect.

One afternoon, while sitting under the tree, you voiced your concerns aloud for the first time. “Do you ever wonder if we’re supposed to fit into certain roles?” you asked, absentmindedly sketching the edge of a leaf.

Alhaitham glanced up from his book, his brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You sighed, leaning back against the tree trunk. “I mean… you’re destined for the Akademiya. You always have been. But me? I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful as he considered your words. “You’re an artist. That’s where you belong.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if the world doesn’t need art?”

Alhaitham’s gaze softened in a way that was rare for him, and he set his book aside. “The world doesn’t need most things. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t important.”

You looked at him, surprised by the quiet conviction in his words.

“I’ve seen the way you look at the world,” he continued, his voice steady. “You see things in a way that most people don’t. That’s your gift. Just because it doesn’t fit into the Akademiya’s way of thinking doesn’t mean it’s any less valuable.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, the kind of reassurance you hadn’t even known you needed.

For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so lost. And as you looked at Alhaitham, sitting there beside you, you realized that no matter where life took you, this bond, this friendship, would remain

As the years passed, your bond with Alhaitham deepened. He wasn’t the most expressive or emotional person, but you learned to read the subtle ways in which he showed that he cared. The moments you shared were often quiet, filled with comfortable silences as you both worked on your individual projects—Alhaitham with his studies and you with your sketches, which had become more intricate and beautiful as you grew older.

He had introduced you to books that went beyond the curriculum, texts from the Akademiya that challenged your thinking, and though you weren't academically inclined, you appreciated the way Alhaitham's mind worked. In turn, you’d share your art with him—showing him your latest sketches and projects, which ranged from detailed drawings of nature to abstract depictions of your thoughts and feelings. He didn’t always understand your creative process, but he admired your skill, especially the passion behind every line and stroke. The two of you complemented each other in ways that neither of you had ever expected.

When you weren’t drawing, you were often with him, exploring the libraries of Sumeru City, wandering through its bustling markets, or simply sitting by the riverbank, enjoying the quiet moments together. Alhaitham had never been one for grand gestures or declarations, but you’d caught the way his gaze lingered on you sometimes—soft, thoughtful, as though he was memorizing every detail of your face.

By the time you were both teenagers, it was clear to everyone around you that your relationship had evolved into something more. Even if neither of you had admitted it out loud, the unspoken connection between you grew stronger with each passing day.

That connection was precisely what was on Alhaitham’s mind as he paced outside his house, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He had spent weeks thinking about it, planning it, and today—today was finally the day. He was going to confess his feelings to you. He had never been one for sentimentality, but after years of friendship, study sessions, and quiet moments spent together, it had become undeniable. You were important to him, in ways that transcended logic and reason.

He had rehearsed the words in his head a hundred times, though they never sounded quite right. Still, Alhaitham was determined to tell you—today.

But as he made his way to your house, hoping to catch you before your evening sketching session by the river, a feeling of unease settled in his chest. The atmosphere around your home seemed different, more tense. When he arrived, he found you outside, sitting on the front steps with your sketchbook resting on your knees, but there was something off about your expression. You weren’t drawing, just staring at the ground, as if lost in thought.

“Y/N,” he called out, and you looked up, your eyes clouded with something he couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Alhaitham.” Your voice was soft, and he immediately knew something was wrong.

He approached slowly, sitting down beside you on the steps, waiting for you to speak. You had always been the more expressive one, able to put emotions into words while he struggled with them, so he waited.

“My dad’s leaving for Liyue,” you said quietly after a long pause.

Alhaitham’s brow furrowed. “For how long?”

“Two weeks. Business trip.” You bit your lip, your fingers tightening around the edges of your sketchbook. “I’m going with him.”

He blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected that. “You’re going with him?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, staring down at your sketchbook. “He asked me to come along. Said it’d be a good experience for me. I’m leaving today.”

Alhaitham felt a jolt of surprise. You were leaving today? He had been so focused on confessing his feelings that he hadn’t anticipated the possibility of you not being around.

The news hit him harder than he expected. He had wanted to tell you everything, wanted to finally put his feelings into words, but now… it didn’t feel like the right time. How could he confess now, only for you to leave? And what if something changed while you were away?

For the first time in his life, Alhaitham hesitated.

“Well… I suppose I can tell you when you come back,” he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You turned to him, frowning. “Tell me what?”

He paused for a moment, meeting your gaze, but then shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s nothing. It can wait. I’ll tell you when you return.”

You stared at him for a moment longer, as if trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying, but eventually, you nodded. “Alright… I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a strange weight between you now, something unsaid that lingered in the air. You both stood up, and for a brief moment, you hesitated before stepping closer to him. You weren’t the kind to hug often, but in that moment, it felt right. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly.

“I’ll miss you,” you said quietly, your voice muffled against his chest.

Alhaitham froze for a second, caught off guard by the hug, but then his arms slowly came around you, holding you in return. The warmth of your embrace filled the emptiness he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.

“I’ll miss you too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

When you pulled away, you gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You grabbed your bag from the steps and slung it over your shoulder, then turned toward the path that led to the main road, where your father was waiting with the carriage.

“I’ll see you in two weeks, Alhaitham,” you called out, waving as you started walking away.

He stood there, watching you go, the words he hadn’t said still lodged in his throat. He would wait until you came back, he told himself. He could wait. Two weeks wasn’t so long. You’d return, and then he’d tell you everything.

But as he watched you disappear down the road, a strange feeling gnawed at the back of his mind—a nagging sense that something wasn’t quite right. What he didn’t know, what neither of you knew, was that your trip to Liyue would be far longer than either of you had anticipated.

When you left Sumeru all those years ago, Alhaitham didn’t think much of the two-week trip. He expected you to return soon, and he had held onto the hope of confessing his feelings as soon as you were back. But when days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, the reality of your absence began to weigh on him.

You’d left your art behind, your sketchbook sitting on the desk where you used to draw, pages half-filled with ideas and fragments of your mind. Alhaitham found himself flipping through it occasionally, his fingers brushing over the pages. He was never one to dwell on emotions or let them consume him, but the emptiness left by your sudden departure was hard to ignore. He missed the way you’d ramble about your latest ideas, missed watching you sketch with that focused look in your eyes.

At first, he buried himself in his studies. He was, after all, a logical person—someone who sought knowledge above all else. He excelled in every subject, his intellect sharp and precise, gaining recognition at the Akademiya for his dedication and brilliance. By the time he was twenty Alhaitham was already on the path to becoming one of the most esteemed scholars in Sumeru. He should’ve felt fulfilled by his success—his life was progressing exactly as he had planned.

But there was always that lingering emptiness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was missing.

Even as the years passed, the absence of your presence in his life was a constant. He heard little of your whereabouts, and whenever he saw your old sketchbook on the shelf, he was reminded of the quiet moments you used to share. He often wondered what had happened to you. Why had you stayed away so long? What had kept you from coming back?

Ten years later, at twenty-seven, Alhaitham had become a well-respected scribe. He had moved out of his childhood home and had his own home whom he shared with Kaveh, who was—unfortunately for Alhaitham—an incredibly vocal and emotional roommate. They often found themselves at the local café, Kaveh talking about the latest architectural projects or complaining about his own work, while Alhaitham kept his nose buried in a book, barely paying attention to Kaveh’s ramblings.

Alhaitham’s mind barely registered Kaveh’s endless chatter as he focused on his book. He wasn’t one to let distractions pull him away, but the familiar sound of the Traveler’s voice reached his ears. His brows furrowed in mild curiosity, and his gaze flickered toward the café’s entrance.

The Traveler stood there, Paimon floating beside them, talking animatedly. But his eyes weren’t drawn to them. Instead, they were pulled to the figure standing beside the Traveler—a woman dressed in elegant Liyuean attire, her silhouette framed by the café's warm light. At first, he didn’t recognize her, his mind struggling to place the image with his memories.

But then, like a flash of clarity, it hit him.

It was you.

Alhaitham froze, his heart skipping a beat as he stared at you. You had changed so much over the years, your teenage softness replaced by the refined elegance of a grown woman. Your Liyuean clothes—a long, flowing dress in shades of deep red and gold with intricate patterns—hugged your form with a grace that seemed to suit you perfectly. A simple but delicate hairpin glinted in your hair, securing it neatly behind your head. The outfit made you look almost regal, exuding the kind of maturity that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen you.

You turned slightly, laughing at something the Traveler said, and in that moment, your eyes met his.

For a second, time seemed to stop. The café’s noise, Kaveh’s voice, everything faded into the background as your gaze locked onto his. Your smile faltered, and the laughter that had just been on your lips disappeared as your eyes widened in shock.

You hadn’t expected to see him. Not here, not so soon. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room as you tried to process the reality of seeing Alhaitham again after all these years.

For a moment, you were the teenager you had been, standing in front of him all over again. Memories of Sumeru, of your days spent sketching beside him, of the time you had shared, all came rushing back with a force that left you breathless. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed him—until now.

He had changed, too. The boy you once knew had grown into a man. He was taller, broader, his physique more defined, and there was an air of quiet strength about him that hadn’t been there before. His grey-green eyes, always sharp and thoughtful, were now piercing as they looked at you, a mix of shock and disbelief swimming in them.

Paimon was the first to break the silence, her eyes lighting up in recognition. “Oh, Alhaitham!” she called, waving at him enthusiastically. “It’s you!”

The Traveler followed Paimon’s lead, giving a small wave. “Alhaitham, it’s been a while.”

But you were still frozen, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out. Slowly, you made your way over to his table, your legs moving almost on autopilot. The closer you got, the more real it felt, and the butterflies in your stomach twisted into a knot.

You stopped just in front of him, staring at him for a long moment before a smile—a hesitant, almost disbelieving smile—began to form on your lips.

“Alhaitham…” you said, your voice soft, as if testing the name. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

He blinked, still processing your presence, before his features shifted into something unreadable. “You’re back,” he finally said, his tone calm, though there was a slight tension in his voice.

“I’m back,” you confirmed, though the words felt heavy, as if there was so much more behind them. Your gaze swept over him again, taking in the changes, before you let out a soft chuckle. “You’ve… gotten bigger. Stronger. I guess you could protect me now, huh?”

The teasing tone in your voice brought a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. But it was fleeting.

“I suppose so,” he replied, though his eyes never left yours, searching for something. The quiet between you felt charged, as if the years apart had left too many things unspoken.

You shifted slightly, trying to ground yourself in the moment, your hand brushing the fabric of your Liyuean dress. “I never thought I’d see you again, at least not so soon.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “What happened? Why didn’t you come back?”

Your smile faltered, the weight of your answer settling over you. You let out a small sigh, lowering your gaze for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “It’s… a long story,” you said softly. “My dad got stuck in Liyue. He… ran into some debt, and things got complicated. We ended up staying there much longer than we expected.”

Alhaitham’s brows knitted together in concern, but he remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

“I had to help him,” you went on, your voice a little steadier now. “It wasn’t easy. I had to put everything on hold. And before I knew it, years had passed. I ended up studying law in Liyue to help him deal with everything.”

He blinked, surprised. “You’re a lawyer?”

You nodded, though there was a sadness in your eyes that he didn’t miss. “Yeah, I am. It wasn’t what I had planned, but… it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

Alhaitham was silent for a moment, processing this new information. You, the girl who had once poured her soul into art, had become a lawyer. It was hard to reconcile the image of you sitting beside him, sketching, with the idea of you in a courtroom or an office, dealing with the complexities of law.

“What about your art?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

You smiled, but it was tinged with that same sadness. “I still draw… but not as much. Sometimes, when you grow up, life pulls you in directions you never expected. And before you know it, the things you love… they become hobbies rather than careers.”

Alhaitham’s heart ached at your words, though he didn’t show it. He had always admired your passion for art, the way you poured yourself into every sketch, every line. To hear that you had let go of that dream, even partially, left him with a sense of loss he hadn’t anticipated.

But before he could say anything, you smiled at him, brighter this time, as if trying to lighten the mood. “But enough about that. It’s good to see you again, Alhaitham. You really have grown into someone… incredible.”

He didn’t reply right away, his eyes still lingering on you, on the woman you had become. Ten years had passed, but the connection between you felt as strong as ever, even if it had been buried under time and distance.

And as he sat there, staring at you, Alhaitham realized something that made his heart clench. You had returned, yes—but the years had changed you both in ways neither of you could have predicted.

The moment stretched between you, filled with the weight of ten years of absence. Alhaitham’s usual calm, controlled demeanor was chipped away, revealing something raw beneath the surface. He had prepared himself for this reunion countless times in his mind, but the reality of seeing you again left him unsettled.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come back,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though his eyes betrayed the emotion he tried to suppress. “Not after so long.”

You felt the heaviness in his words and it tugged at your heart. The boy you once knew, the one who had always been so composed, was struggling to contain the hurt he had buried deep inside. And it was all because of you—because you had left without ever explaining why. The guilt weighed heavily on you now, knowing that he had been waiting, never knowing when or if you’d return.

“I didn’t plan to stay away,” you admitted softly. “Everything just… spiraled out of control. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, ten years had passed. I wanted to come back sooner, but I couldn’t.”

Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as if to shield himself from the feelings he didn’t want to confront. “I get it. Life happens.”

The casual response stung more than you expected. You could sense the disappointment in his words, the unspoken frustration. He was holding back, as he always did, unwilling to let his emotions show fully. But you could feel them, just beneath the surface.

“Alhaitham, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

His gaze softened for a moment, but then his usual calm expression returned. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking away as if gathering his thoughts. “I waited,” he admitted quietly, his words almost too soft to hear. “I was going to tell you how I felt before you left, but I thought I’d wait until you came back.”

You froze, the breath catching in your throat. He had wanted to tell you… back then? Before you left?

“Tell me?” you echoed, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability he had kept hidden all these years. “How I felt about you,” he said, more firmly this time. “I was going to tell you that I liked you… more than just a friend.”

Your heart clenched. In all those years, you had never known that he had felt the same way. You had thought about him often, wondered what could have been, but you never allowed yourself to dwell on it too long. It was easier to believe that the past was just that—the past.

“I… I didn’t know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I had no idea.”

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but there was a sadness in his eyes that couldn’t be ignored. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Ten years have passed.”

“But it does matter,” you replied quickly, your emotions bubbling to the surface. “I cared about you, too. I thought about you every day after I left. I always wondered what could’ve been if I hadn’t gone.”

The admission hung in the air between you, both of you silently processing what the other had said. The café seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you, confronting the feelings you had both buried for so long.

“You never said anything,” Alhaitham muttered, his eyes dropping to the table. “I thought you were happy in Liyue, that you had moved on.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to blur your vision. “I never moved on, Alhaitham. I just… I had no choice. I had to help my dad. It wasn’t about moving on or forgetting you. It was about surviving.”

His gaze lifted to meet yours again, searching your face for the truth in your words. And he found it—the pain, the longing, the regret. It was all there, as raw and real as his own.

Silence settled over you once more, but it was different now. It wasn’t the awkward, tension-filled silence from before. It was something deeper, something filled with the weight of all the things left unsaid over the years.

Finally, Alhaitham spoke, his voice gentler than before. “So… what now? You’re here, after all this time. What happens next?”

You smiled, though it was a little sad. “I don’t know. I’m still figuring things out. My dad’s debt is taken care of now, but life… it’s complicated. I came back to Sumeru because it felt like the right thing to do, but I don’t know what the future holds.”

He nodded slowly, understanding. “And the art?”

You chuckled softly, though there was a touch of bitterness in it. “I wish I could say I’ve been painting every day, but the truth is… I haven’t. Life got in the way. Being a lawyer takes up most of my time.”

“I see,” he said, but there was a sadness in his eyes, as though he mourned the lost artist in you.

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing his hand gently. “But I haven’t given up on it. Not completely. It’s still a part of me. Maybe… maybe I’ll find my way back to it one day.”

He looked down at where your hand rested on his, a small flicker of hope lighting in his eyes. “You should,” he said softly. “It was always something that made you… you.”

You smiled at that, a genuine smile this time. “Maybe I will.”

For a moment, you just sat there, hands touching, the weight of the past finally beginning to lift. There was still so much to talk about, so much to work through, but in that moment, it didn’t feel impossible. You had found each other again, after all the years and the distance. That was something.

And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of something new.

The silence between you and Alhaitham felt different now—lighter, yet still heavy with unspoken emotions. The café bustled around you, but it was as though the two of you were in your own bubble, suspended in time. Your hand remained on his, and for the first time in years, you felt a sense of calm.

Kaveh, who had been quietly observing from across the table, cleared his throat loudly, pulling both you and Alhaitham out of the moment. “So… not to interrupt or anything, but I’m dying to know—what’s the plan now?” His tone was teasing, but there was a genuine curiosity in his eyes.

You pulled your hand back slowly, suddenly aware of how much time had passed. "I don't really have a plan," you admitted with a small shrug. "I’m still trying to figure things out."

Alhaitham's gaze remained fixed on you, studying your face like a puzzle he was trying to solve. "You don’t have to decide everything now," he said quietly. "You’ve just come back."

His voice was calm, but there was something in his tone—a quiet plea, almost—as if he wanted to hold on to the moment a little longer, to not let you slip away again.

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. “I suppose I don’t.”

Kaveh leaned forward, a mischievous grin on his face. “Well, while you figure out your life plan, why not start by catching up over dinner? It’s been ten years, and I’m sure Alhaitham has plenty to tell you.”

Alhaitham shot him a look, but you couldn’t help but smile at Kaveh’s suggestion. “That sounds nice,” you said, glancing at Alhaitham. “Dinner. It’ll give us time to… catch up.”

Alhaitham’s lips quirked into a small smile, one of those rare ones that always caught you off guard. “I’d like that.”

The moment felt delicate, as though you were both trying to navigate the shifting ground beneath you, but for the first time in years, you felt like you were on solid footing with him. The years of separation and uncertainty hadn’t erased what you once had; if anything, they had made it more precious.

Kaveh stood up suddenly, clapping his hands together. “Alright then! Dinner it is! I’ll leave you two to… sort out the details.” He winked at you before turning to Alhaitham. “Don’t screw this up, genius.”

Alhaitham gave him a deadpan look as Kaveh sauntered out of the café, leaving the two of you alone again.

You turned back to Alhaitham, feeling a nervous flutter in your stomach. “So… dinner?”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. “Dinner,” he confirmed. “But I’d like to take a walk first. It’s been so long, and I’d like to hear more about what you’ve been up to.”

You smiled softly, nodding. “I’d like that too.”

As the two of you left the café, stepping out into the cool evening air, you felt a sense of nostalgia wash over you. The streets of Sumeru were different now, yet familiar. You glanced at Alhaitham, who walked beside you, his expression thoughtful as he took in the city. You wondered if he was thinking about the past too—about the two teenagers who once roamed these same streets together.

“I never expected to see you so soon,” you admitted as you walked, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. “I thought… well, I didn’t think it would happen like this.”

Alhaitham glanced at you, his gaze softening. “Neither did I. But I’m glad it did.”

You looked away for a moment, collecting your thoughts. "When I left, I wasn’t sure when—or if—I’d be back. I thought about Sumeru a lot… about you. But life had other plans."

“I understand,” he said quietly. “Things change. People change.”

You nodded. “Yeah… but it’s strange. Coming back now, it feels like so much has changed, but at the same time… it feels like nothing has.”

Alhaitham slowed his pace, turning to face you fully. “You’ve changed,” he said, his voice steady but filled with something deeper. “You’ve grown, and I can see it in everything about you. But you’re still… you.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat at his words. There was a warmth in the way he looked at you, as though he saw through all the years and the distance, straight to the person you had always been.

“And you’re still you,” you replied, smiling through the emotions threatening to spill over. “Still calm, still steady. Still…” You hesitated, searching for the right word. “Still Alhaitham.”

He smiled—a real one this time, small but genuine. “Still Alhaitham,” he echoed.

The two of you continued walking in silence for a while, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between you. You knew there was more to talk about, more to reveal, but for now, just being together again was enough.

Eventually, you reached the edge of the city, where the streets gave way to open fields bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Alhaitham stopped, turning to you with a question in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly, the vulnerability back in his voice. “When you left… why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

You bit your lip, the memories rushing back. “I didn’t want to burden you,” you admitted. “Everything with my dad… it was so sudden. And I knew that if I told you, it would only make it harder to leave.”

He looked at you, his gaze intense. “You could’ve trusted me.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I should’ve. But I was scared. I didn’t want to pull you into my mess.”

Alhaitham’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. “You were never a burden,” he said quietly. “And you never will be.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, the guilt and regret that had weighed on you for years slowly starting to lift. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing your arm in a comforting gesture. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You did what you had to do.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the two of you bathed in the fading light, the weight of the past slowly being replaced by the promise of something new.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice filled with hope. “So… where do we go from here?”

Alhaitham smiled, that rare, beautiful smile that you had missed so much. “Wherever you want,” he said softly. “We’ve got time.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink, an electric tension settled between you and Alhaitham. The fading warmth of the day mirrored the warmth building in your chest, a heat that seemed to grow with every second you spent standing there, inches apart. His hand, still resting lightly on your arm, was the only point of contact, but it felt like so much more.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something deep and intense that you hadn’t seen before. The weight of the years apart, the missed chances, the unspoken words—it all hung in the air between you, begging to be resolved.

Your lips parted as you tried to speak, but no words came. Instead, the pull between you grew stronger, undeniable. Alhaitham’s eyes flicked down to your lips for just a second, and your heart skipped a beat. The soft breeze carried the scent of the fields around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his hand lingered on your arm, the warmth radiating from his body, and the tension in the air thick enough to cut through.

Neither of you moved at first, as if both of you were afraid that taking that final step might break the fragile moment. But then, without thinking, you closed the distance between you. It was subtle at first—a shift of your body, a tilt of your head. And then his hand slid up your arm, gently cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. Time seemed to slow, and every nerve in your body was focused on this moment, on him. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours, soft yet firm, hesitant yet sure.

The kiss was slow, almost tentative, as if testing the waters after so much time apart. But the moment his lips touched yours, everything seemed to fall into place. It felt like coming home after years of wandering, like everything that had been missing for so long was suddenly found.

You responded without hesitation, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. His other hand found its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. It was gentle, but there was an underlying urgency—an unspoken promise that neither of you wanted to waste any more time.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you caught your breath. His thumb still caressed your cheek, and you felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

Alhaitham’s eyes searched yours, his voice soft when he finally spoke. “I’ve waited for this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. “For so long.”

You smiled, your hand still resting against his chest. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

His lips quirked into a small smile, his thumb brushing your bottom lip before leaning in for another kiss, this one deeper, more assured. You melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hand tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was years of longing, of missed moments, of everything that had been left unsaid. And in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you.

When you finally broke apart again, both of you were breathing heavily, but neither of you moved to step away. Alhaitham rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, and for the first time in years, you felt whole.

“You’re not leaving again,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with determination.

You smiled, leaning into him. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back.

And in that moment, under the fading light of the evening sky, it felt like everything had finally come full circle.

—usagiibun2024 🐇