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Chapter Text

✩

Here is a list of everything Al-Haitham knows about Kaveh:

Kaveh is two years his senior. Students and professors throughout the Akademiya praise him for his kind heart and helpful nature. He has blonde hair and sharp crimson-colored eyes. He is sitting next to him in this lecture hall right now, nine-thirty AM on a Tuesday morning.

Al-Haitham turns to him, rakes his gaze down to Kaveh’s tablet where he’s furiously scribbling notes.

“You’re wrong,” he says.

Kaveh turns to look at him. Up close like this, it’s not hard to notice the lines of his face, slope of his nose, glow of his bright crimson eyes unfettered by the lecture hall’s cheap fluorescent lighting. “What?”

“You’re wrong,” says Al-Haitham again. He tilts his head. “Did you not hear me the first time I said it?”

“What the hell?” says Kaveh. “Who even are you?”

“That’s not really important,” says Al-Haitham. He points down to the section Kaveh had been writing. “Kisra’s aspiration to greatness had nothing to do with Ghoghnus. It’s clearly written in the first volume.” A pause. “Did you even read the book?”

“What the—” Kaveh shakes his head. “Of course I read the book, and no, you’re wrong. Ghoghnus was the bird who raised Kisra. He wouldn’t have been adopted by the vassal king if it weren’t for his family. Parental love is quite literally a central theme to the story.”

“No,” says Al-Haitham simply, “it’s about Kisra’s power and rise to sagehood.”

“No, it’s deeper than that.”

“No, it’s not.”

Kaveh huffs, then rolls his eyes and turns away. “It’s not my fault you lack reading comprehension. Now, be quiet. I’m trying to listen to the lecture.”

Al-Haitham’s eyebrows curve.

How interesting. He opens his mouth to rebuttal again, and—

“You two in the back. Quiet,” comes their professor’s booming voice from the front of the lecture hall.

Kaveh squeaks, glaring sidelong at Al-Haitham. Al-Haitham meets his eyes.

And, well, like all things that begin—this is how they begin.

☀︎

“I’m going to die,” says Kaveh, and then he drops his head down until his forehead slams into his laptop’s trackpad.

“Probably wrong,” says Cyno to his left.

“You’re not going to die,” says Tighnari to his right.

“Thank you,” Kaveh nods to him. Then he turns to Cyno and says, “What do you mean, probably? You’re supposed to say no, Kaveh, that would never happen to someone as kind, as sweet, as lovely, as generous as you—”

“Well,” says Cyno. “Life is unpredictable. You never know what will happen. Plus, I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Okay,” says Kaveh. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Why are you going to die?” says Cyno.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Hm.”

Tighnari nudges him. “Well?” he asks, because of course he does. That’s the thing about Tighnari. Catches you when you’re most off guard. Pinches you where it hurts the most. Whatever the hell the stupid saying is—Kaveh doesn’t know, nor does he particularly care.

“I just think,” Kaveh starts, then stops, because right there at the opposite end of the library is a head of ashy silver hair, teal eyes skirting over the bookshelf pressed against the wall. It’s that guy from his History of Gurabad lecture yesterday, the one who very rudely peeked at his notes and then decided to be a smartass about them.

“What?” Tighnari and Cyno say together, probably because Kaveh just froze in the middle of saying whatever it is he had been trying to say. He doesn’t even remember anymore. Silver-Haired Asshole is reaching for a book on a shelf that is just a few inches too high for him.

Before he can think better of it, Kaveh is standing up and marching right over.

“Hey,” he says.

Silver-Haired Asshole looks over at him. When their eyes meet, his brows furrow so slightly Kaveh almost misses it.

A few moments of silence pass between them.

And then, “Did you hear me? I said hey.”

“I heard you,” says Silver-Haired Asshole. “What do you want?”

Right. “I saw you from over there.” Kaveh points arbitrarily behind him with his thumb. “You looked like you were struggling to reach for that book.”

Silver-Haired Asshole seems to process this. “So?”

“So? What do you mean, so?”

“So? What’s your point?” says Silver-Haired Asshole. Archons, Kaveh needs to stop referring to him as Silver-Haired Asshole in his head.

So he says, “What’s your name?”

“Is that why you came all the way over here? To ask me for my name?”

“All right,” says Kaveh. “Fuck you. I don’t even want to know your name, actually.”

“Clearly you do. It’s Al-Haitham,” says Al-Haitham. 

Kaveh rolls his eyes. “I’m Kaveh.”

“Right,” says Al-Haitham. “Is that all?”

“No,” says Kaveh, and then he stands up on his very tippy-toes and slides the book Al-Haitham had been trying to reach for out from its spot on the shelf. He glances down at the cover, dusts it off with the pads of his fingers. “Shiruyeh and Shirin? This is for Gurabad.”

“Congratulations on knowing the required readings for class,” says Al-Haitham. He glances down at the book. “Maybe you should keep that, actually. Since you didn’t read the first volume.”

“What the hell? Yes I did!”

“I see,” says Al-Haitham. “Then you just don’t have a knack for reading comprehension?”

“Okay, so,” says Kaveh, “I’m going to leave now. Here’s your stupid book. Make sure to read it closely. Archons know you need to.”

“I already do. Hence why I know the material so well.”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“You’re the one who came over here.”

Kaveh turns on his heel. “Goodbye. See you in class.”

Al-Haitham does not respond. Good fucking riddance.

“So,” says Kaveh when he next sees Al-Haitham. It is nine-thirty AM on a fuckass Thursday, but that’s university, he supposes. “Shirin.”

Al-Haitham slips into his seat next to him. “What about her?”

“Which fate do you think she was subjected to?” Kaveh leans over, tilts his head as he looks down at him. “Was she detained by Al-Ahmar in a magic bottle? Or does she still roam the desert searching for her child?”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Al-Haitham. “She fulfilled the prophecy. Her fate is irrelevant.”

Kaveh frowns. “No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. Shirin’s post-prophecy life holds zero significance in the overarching narrative.”

“That’s just not true,” says Kaveh, his eyes narrowing. “Shirin's fate is crucial to understanding the choices she made, not just with the prophecy. The pain she endured, the revenge she sought, and the kingdom's downfall, it all matters. Think about it. The repercussions of Shirin's decisions and the unresolved aspects of her story make it more than just a tale of prophecy fulfilled.”

“The prophecy was the catalyst for her story,” says Al-Haitham. “Whether she’s detained or roams the desert is secondary.”

“Can’t you just be normal and answer the question?”

“If you want me to answer your question, then you should come up with a better question.”

“Forget it,” Kaveh says, turning around to face the front of the room again. “I don’t even know why I tried to have an intellectual conversation with you. You just refuse to see past your own views.”

At this, Al-Haitham goes quiet. Though that might be because the professor has finally decided to start teaching, and with that, Kaveh delves into another hour-and-a-half of frantic note taking.

About thirty minutes in, he feels a weight over his shoulder.

“What Darshan are you?”

Immediately, Kaveh whips around, only to see Al-Haitham several inches closer, staring blankly at him.

He blinks. “Kshahrewar.”

“Then why are you in a Vahumana class?”

“This is an intro class,” says Kaveh. “I’m taking it for my requirements. Are you Vahumana? Is that why you’re so pretentious about history?”

“No,” says Al-Haitham, shaking his head. “I’m Haravatat.”

This makes Kaveh pull a face. “Then why the hell did you ask me why I’m in this class? You’re not Vahumana either.”

“Vahumana has more in common with Haravatat than it does with Kshahrewar.”

“You’re weird as hell for gatekeeping Vahumana when you’re in a completely different Darshan, you know.”

“I’m not gatekeeping it. I was just asking a question.”

“Says the one who was all, if you want me to answer your question, then you should come up with a better question.”

“You two in the back!” comes their professor’s voice again, booming, much louder than she normally is, in any case. Kaveh thinks she should use this volume when she’s addressing her lecture hall of hundreds of students and not only to chew him and Al-Haitham out, but he digresses. “See me after class!”

And so Kaveh shoots Al-Haitham the stink-eye as they delve back into silence. Devi Kusanali bless him for his patience.

“Al-Haitham and Kaveh, right?” says their professor.

Kaveh drops his head. Al-Haitham says, “Yes.”

“This is a warning,” says their professor. “You can save your friendship for after class.”

“We’re not friends,” Kaveh and Al-Haitham say together, and then look at each other. Kaveh glares. Al-Haitham’s expression remains perfectly blank as always.

“Right, well,” says their professor. “Whatever you are, keep it out of my class.”

“Sorry, professor,” says Kaveh.

“Fine,” says Al-Haitham.

“Quite frankly,” says Al-Haitham as they leave together after, well, whatever that just was. “I gain more from our debates than I do listening to her pointless lectures.”

This makes Kaveh snort, despite himself. “Yeah, well. Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Hm,” says Al-Haitham.

Kaveh falters, just for a second. Then he decides, fuck it. “What year are you?”

“First year,” says Al-Haitham.

“Oh,” says Kaveh. His jaw hinges. Well, he can’t say he’s surprised. “I’m a third year. You should call me senior, then.”

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow.

Kaveh mirrors the gesture.

Then Al-Haitham turns around and begins to walk away. “See you later,” he says, and Kaveh’s jaw promptly drops right open.

“Hey! Hey! Al-Haitham!”

✩

Al-Haitham won’t say it was obvious from the get-go, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t. It really, really, wasn’t. But by some force of nature, Al-Haitham and Kaveh end up becoming friends. Of sorts.

And honestly, he didn’t even know that Kaveh was his friend—not until some second year comes up to Kaveh one day and Kaveh swings his arm around Al-Haitham’s shoulders and says this is my friend, Al-Haitham. Don’t take anything he says too seriously. Actually, just don’t listen to anything he says in general.

“Oh,” says the second year in response to all of that. “So this is Al-Haitham.”

What does that mean? 

“Who are you?” says Al-Haitham.

The second year looks mildly put off by this. He turns to Kaveh. “I can’t believe you don’t talk about me. Also, since when are you and Al-Haitham friends?”

“I…don’t know, actually,” says Kaveh. He frowns. “In any case, Al-Haitham, this is Tighnari. There. See? I introduced you. You’re welcome.”

The second year—Tighnari, apparently—just shakes his head. “I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve mentioned me,” he says, “when I waxed poetic about you to Cyno way before you two met, but it’s whatever. I guess. Especially since I’ve already heard—”

“Okay,” Kaveh says, a not so pleasant smile pasted onto his face. “Enough of that. Al-Haitham, all you need to know about Tighnari is that he’s far too nosy for his own good and that maybe you shouldn’t listen to anything he tells you either, especially if it’s about me. Just a warning in advance. See? Now I’ve talked about you to him. Where’s Cyno? Aren’t you two attached at the hip?”

“I thought we were more than this, Kaveh,” says Tighnari, but it doesn’t sound as if his heart is really in it, so Al-Haitham supposes that this is just the type of person Tighnari is. “But fine, I guess. And Cyno is off organizing his Genius Invokation set or whatever it is he does in his free time when I’m not around.”

Kaveh’s arm is still heavy on Al-Haitham’s shoulders, a fact he had not processed until Tighnari gives it an obvious look of deep consideration and Kaveh scrambles to remove the appendage. Oddly enough, the spot is left a little stranger feeling than before Kaveh had touched it. Al-Haitham rubs it unconsciously, distantly wondering if he had perhaps pulled a muscle while perusing the school’s library the day before.

“So!” Tighnari says. He readjusts the robe on his shoulder. “What were you two doing?”

“We were about to grab lunch,” Kaveh says, looking sideways at Al-Haitham. “You could tag along, I guess? I’m sure Al-Haitham doesn’t mind, right, Al-Haitham?”

Al-Haitham actually doesn’t mind—he also hadn’t known that they were heading for lunch because all Kaveh did was drop by his last lecture and drag him away with little to no explanation as to where they were going, but this is fine. Since he and Kaveh are apparently friends now, it would be good to get to know his friends as well. Theoretically.

Either way, if it were something that Kaveh wished for, then there was no getting out of it. So he shrugs, and he says, “Sure,” and then Tighnari digs out his phone and says that he’ll get Cyno to come along too so he doesn’t have to third wheel the two of them, which makes Kaveh laugh awkwardly and side eye Al-Haitham.

They end up at a small cafe just a little farther up within campus. Cyno, who Al-Haitham has just been briefly introduced to, noisily slurps a smoothie through a straw. Seated on Al-Haitham’s right is Kaveh, who picks at the wrapping on the bagel he ordered. 

“Cyno,” he says. “How are your classes going? Did you know that Al-Haitham and I actually met through a Vahumana class? Funny how those things happen.”

Cyno takes a second to swallow his mouthful of the drink, and then he says, “This semester has been going smoothie-ly.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and then it looks as if Cyno is going to elaborate but Kaveh turns to Tighnari with this artificial looking smile on his face. “So! Tighnari! How are your classes going?”

“Ah,” Tighnari says. “They’ve been growing well.” He puts a lot of emphasis onto the word growing, which is doubly amplified by the fact that he’s ordered a salad.

Al-Haitham, with amusement, notices that it looks as if Kaveh’s eye is twitching.

“Haha,” Cyno says instead of actually laughing. “That’s funny. You see, it’s a joke because Tighnari’s in Amurta—”

“We all get it,” Kaveh cuts in. “Thank you.”

Al-Haitham hadn’t gotten it, but that’s only because he hasn’t known Tighnari nearly long enough to even have the typical what’s your Darshan? spiel. Or more so that this meeting isn’t like any other meeting that he’s had with other people, as limited as those occurrences come.

“Maybe Al-Haitham didn’t,” Tighnari says, his face serious. “Did you ever consider that, Kaveh?”

“Archons,” Kaveh says. He has his head in his hands, but in Al-Haitham’s opinion, it’s just not that serious. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten lunch with three of the most infuriating people I know.”

“Hey!” Tighnari says. “I’m still your favorite one though, right? Number one on the list?”

“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of,” says Kaveh. 

“So you admit it.”

“Ugh,” Kaveh says, and then he turns to Al-Haitham. “Al-Haitham, how are your classes? Actually, never mind, I don’t think I want to hear it.”

“I do!” Tighnari pipes up helpfully. Kaveh shoots him a dark look.

“They’re fine,” Al-Haitham responds. “I have difficulty paying attention in my Vahumana lecture, but everything else is going well.”

“Isn’t that the class you have with—”

“Yes, it’s the class he has with me,” Kaveh says, looking tired. “You people are miserable.”

“You’re very distracting, senior,” Al-Haitham says sincerely.

“Aha,” says Tighnari. “Kaveh, if you decide to take that the right way, then that’s technically a compliment.”

“Decide.”

Tighnari nods.

“That’s just not how it works,” Kaveh begins to say, glaring daggers at both Al-Haitham and Tighnari at this point. “An insult is an insult—”

“Don’t you have a bagel to eat, senior?” Al-Haitham interrupts innocently, and then he takes a pointed bite out of his own meal.

“I think I like this guy,” Tighnari says thoughtfully. “Kind of.”

“Thanks,” says Al-Haitham.

“What’s your Darshan, Al-Haitham?” Cyno asks.

“Haravatat.”

“You and I speak the same language,” Cyno says, “when it comes to Kaveh.”

“I am so fucking tired of all of you,” Kaveh says, and then he takes a vicious bite out of his bagel as if it proves a point.

☀︎

you, tighnari, cyno, al-haitham

[10:13] cyno: Hello

[10:13] you: what is this

[10:13] tighnari: ?

al-haitham has left the group

cyno added al-haitham

[10:13] cyno: You can’t leave

[10:14] al-haitham: How did you get my number

[10:14] cyno: I don’t remember
[10:14] cyno: Kaveh probably gave it to me

[10:14] you: do you hate me cyno. be honest

[10:14] al-haitham: Why are you giving people my number

[10:14] tighnari: cyno why did you make this group chat

[10:15] cyno: Law club and dance club are having a joint profit share tonight from 5-9 pm at Puspa Cafe
[10:15] cyno: As my friends, you guys are /legally/ required to come
[10:16] cyno: Get it? Because it’s law club, and I said legally
[10:16] cyno: Which is a law term

al-haitham has left the group

you added al-haitham

[10:16] cyno: It’s an advanced joke. I understand if you don’t get it

[10:16] you: fine i’ll come

[10:16] al-haitham: I am not your friend

[10:16] you: he’ll come too

[10:16] al-haitham: No I won’t

[10:16] tighnari: why didn’t you just text us about this separately

[10:17] cyno: See you all tonight

“Ugh,” says Kaveh as he arrives in front of Puspa Café at approximately five-thirty later that day. “You’re here.”

“Unfortunately, I was invited,” says Al-Haitham, who arrives from the opposite direction. 

Kaveh pulls a face. “And yet you’re still here.”

“If I recall correctly, I was forced to come here.”

“Okay, well,” says Kaveh, rolling his eyes. “What else could you possibly have to do on a Friday night? It’s not like you’re a partier. Are you? I’m not going to believe you if you say you are.”

“Then there’s no point in asking,” says Al-Haitham as he slips past him and moves to open the door.

Kaveh follows behind him, the two of them taking their spots at the very end of the line. “Have you ever even been to a party? You’re a first year. This is literally the time you should be going out every weekend and getting so drunk you can’t remember what your own name is.”

“Speaking from experience, senior?”

“No,” says Kaveh. “I have no idea what could possibly be giving you that impression.”

“Al-Haitham!”

The new voice comes from right by Kaveh’s side, and he looks over to find a girl with bright red hair tied into two twin tails flowing out behind her rushing up to them. She’s waving at Al-Haitham, a smile bright on her face, and Kaveh can’t help but raise an eyebrow as she stops in front of him.

“Are you here for the profit share?” she asks, tilting her head.

“I am,” says Al-Haitham.

“Al-Haitham,” says Kaveh, mock gasping, “you have friends?”

The girl giggles at this. Al-Haitham looks resolutely unimpressed.

“Hello!” says the girl. She reaches her hand out, and Kaveh takes it. “I’m Nilou. I’m a first year in Rtawahist. Al-Haitham’s in my intro philosophy class.”

“Oh!” says Kaveh. “Nice to meet you! I’m Kaveh. I’m a third year Kshahrewar. Al-Haitham and I are in a history class together.”

Nilou’s smile widens. “So nice to meet you, Kaveh. You’re here for the profit share too? Do you know anyone in law or dance?”

“I have a friend in the law club,” says Kaveh. “You?”

“Oh!” she says. “I’m in the dance club. I just got recruited, actually. So. This is my first actual event for the club.” Her eyes shine. “We’re doing a showcase next month, actually! If you have time, you should come! Both of you!”

“I’m busy,” says Al-Haitham.

Kaveh elbows him. “What he means is, of course he’ll come.”

“You’ve been speaking for me a lot lately,” says Al-Haitham.

Kaveh shoots him a look. “Of course he’ll come,” he says again, turning back to Nilou. “And of course I’ll come. Do you have a flier or something?”

“Yes, but…” Nilou frowns. “Ah, I have Al-Haitham’s number. I can send it to him!”

“You should send it to Kaveh,” says Al-Haitham. “Who knows what’ll happen to that message if you send it to me.”

“Ominous,” Nilou comments, “but sure. Here, Kaveh, give me your number.”

They chat as they get closer and closer to the counter, and Kaveh learns that Nilou is still choosing her specialization in Rtawahist. “To be honest, I’d much prefer just dancing for the rest of my life, but I applied and was accepted to the Akademiya, so of course I had to attend,” she tells him, and Kaveh’s lips part as he slowly nods at this.

“I get it,” he says, sighing. “Were your parents scholars?”

“No, actually,” she says, looking thoughtful for a moment. “My parents are just ordinary civilians with day jobs. They’ve always been supportive of me. You know, when I told them I like girls, they baked this cake for me with the colors of the lesbian flag.”

“Aww,” Kaveh grins. “That’s so sweet.”

“They are,” she nods. “They didn’t even push me to apply to the Akademiya, I just chose to in case my dream of becoming a dancer doesn’t work out. I thought it might be beneficial to study, so I came here.” She pauses to laugh, looking away. “I just know for certain I don’t want to specialize in anything theory-based. Maybe starscoping.”

“That sounds really interesting,” says Kaveh. “Though I do hope your dream of dancing comes true. For your own sake.”

“Thank you,” she grins. “Ah, we should be friends!”

“We should!” Kaveh agrees.

“Senior, it’s your turn to order.”

Right. Kaveh shoots Nilou one final smile before rattling out his usual order to the barista, making sure to mention he’s here for the profit share. She looks stressed because of the rush, Kaveh notes, and when he goes to pay, he taps the highest tip option and hopes it might brighten her day.

“For someone who checks his bank account three times a day, you sure are lavish with your spendings,” Al-Haitham says as they move to the other end to wait for their drinks.

Immediately, Kaveh scowls at him. “It’s good karma! Can’t you see how on-edge everyone working right now is? It’s only the nice thing to do.”

“It would be a nice thing to do if you could actually afford it,” says Al-Haitham.

“Whatever,” Kaveh mutters. “Anyways, Nilou is so sweet! For how much of an asshole you are, you make some pretty awesome friends, Al-Haitham. First there’s me, who’s simply the best, as we all know. And now there’s—”

“Nilou and I are not friends,” Al-Haitham interrupts. “We just sit together in class and sometimes exchange small talk. That hardly counts as a friendship.”

This makes Kaveh frown. “Of course it’s a friendship. She saw you and said hi!”

“A very normal thing to do when you see someone you know, yes.”

“Oh please. Like you would say hi to people you’re not friends with.”

“I’m a different case entirely,” says Al-Haitham simply. “I wouldn’t say hi to my friends either.”

“You’re an asshole,” Kaveh says matter-of-factly.

They get their drinks and Kaveh gestures Nilou over, the three of them venturing out to find Tighnari and Cyno—who Al-Haitham spots sitting at a table in the very corner of the café. 

“This is Nilou,” says Kaveh as the three of them slip into the empty seats. “She’s my new best friend. You guys are now obligated to be friends with her.”

Tighnari and Cyno both look at Nilou, who in turn offers them a bright smile and says, “Hello! I’m Nilou. I’m in a class with Al-Haitham.”

Now Tighnari and Cyno look at Al-Haitham, who takes a sip from his coffee and says nothing.

“Hi, Nilou,” says Tighnari. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tighnari.”

“As far as Cyno, I am Cyno,” says Cyno.

“Nice to meet you guys too!” says Nilou, nodding amusedly to Cyno. “That was a good one.”

“I like her,” says Cyno. “We should keep her.”

“She’s not something you can just keep,” says Tighnari, swatting Cyno’s shoulder.

Nilou giggles. “It’s okay.”

“See?” says Kaveh. “She’s an angel. Nilou, don’t listen to anything any of these people ever tell you.”

“Can we go now?” says Al-Haitham, looking around. “All we had to do was buy something, right? I have responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities,” echoes Kaveh. “What responsibilities could you possibly have?”

Al-Haitham levels him with a deadpan expression. “I’m going to go out and get so drunk I can’t remember what my name is.”

This guy. “You are so fucking annoying.”

“Well, if that's all,” says Al-Haitham, standing up. “Good night.”

Once he’s gone, Kaveh turns to Nilou. “Don’t worry about him. He’s always like that. He’s kind of an asshole.”

Nilou just smiles. “It’s okay! He seemed busy. He doesn’t talk much in class either.”

Kaveh could tear up right here and now. “You,” he says, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder, “are an angel. Where have you been all my life? Here, I’m going to add you to our group chat. No, don’t look at me like that. It literally formed today. For this profit share. So. Yeah. You’re not intruding. I hate all of these people. Anyways, here, these are Tighnari and Cyno’s numbers.”

Unknown Number

[23:32] Unknown Number: hi kaveh this is nilou from the profit share (ᵔ▽ᵔ)
[23:32] Unknown Number: {attachment: 1 image}
[23:32] Unknown Number: this is the flier for the dance troupe’s showcase!!!

[23:33] you: omg hi nilou!! and thank you i will definitely try to make it

[23:33] nilou: no worries if not!!! i just thought i’d send you the flier before i go to sleep
[23:33] nilou: it was super nice to meet you today!! we should hang out soon (๑>◡<๑)

[23:34] you: we definitely should!! and we will!

✩

It’s as if that first lunch opens a flood gate.

All of a sudden, Al-Haitham finds that whenever he needs accompaniment, there is always Kaveh—for abrupt convenience store runs and post-lecture meals and studying together in the library. Sometimes they’re joined by Tighnari, sometimes by Cyno or Nilou, sometimes with their other friends from Kaveh and Cyno’s year, Dehya and Candace, but it doesn’t matter.

Al-Haitham finds that he quickly gets used to it.

It’s easy, is what it is. It’s nice. When he’s not reading quietly with his grandmother at his own place, he’ll be on campus; and though he’s extremely busy, at least he’s not lonely.

Kaveh wouldn’t allow that to happen, whether it’s intentional or not. Maybe it’s more so the way that he’s so obviously used to having company wherever he goes, which Al-Haitham figures is a byproduct from his personality, or perhaps he thinks that Al-Haitham is alone too much of the time.

Tighnari and Cyno typically come as a package deal, but sometimes they’ll come without the other and vice versa; and sometimes, Al-Haitham will even see one or the other individually without Kaveh there as a buffer, though it’s often due to circumstance and not as frequently as Al-Haitham meeting Kaveh.

Dehya and Candace similarly can’t be seen without the other, but that’s because they’re dating—if Al-Haitham had ever seen a committed relationship, it would be those two. Al-Haitham is fairly sure that they live together from the way that they always enter and leave in each other’s company.

Dehya is the same kind of person as Kaveh and Tighnari, though she’s a little less restrained with her laughter, a little louder. Candace is snarky but she’s quieter, more reserved. She also looks menacingly at anyone if they so much as say the slightest wrong thing, so, there’s that. Al-Haitham likes both of them well enough. It would be an issue if he didn’t. As the year carries on, the seven of them form an unlikely sort of group in virtue to Kaveh dragging Al-Haitham along with him to their meetings.

And in this way, Al-Haitham’s schedule quickly fills in ways that he never expected. And his grandmother, who obviously is aware of every time he leaves and enters the house, is kind enough not to comment on it. 

Yet.

Al-Haitham knows she will—eventually, at least, and since he tells her mostly anything anyway, it’s about time that he brings up Kaveh. Besides, there is no one else that he can tell about him; his other friends were brought to him by Kaveh himself, and there’s no way that he could spill to them about his inexplicable urge to speak about the other man.

Which leaves his grandmother, who already knows most everything that is important.

“I’ll be back after dinnertime,” Al-Haitham says to her, pausing meaningfully at the entrance to her bedroom. She looks up from the book she’s reading, her glasses slanted on her nose. “There’s still leftovers in the fridge.”

“There wouldn’t be leftovers if you actually ate a meal at home one of these days,” she says a little snappishly, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells Al-Haitham that she’s only joking. “Who are you getting dinner with?”

Al-Haitham pauses. He can be vague and say friends and just leave it at that, and she would probably dismiss it easily. But his mouth is saying the words, “I’m seeing Kaveh,” and then his grandmother puts down her book and slides her glasses off of her face, and Al-Haitham resigns himself to being at least a little bit late to meeting Kaveh.

“Oh?” she says. “Tell me about this Kaveh of yours.”

Yours. Al-Haitham shifts a little, a prickle going up his spine. Kaveh is hardly his. They are hardly even friends, actually. Maybe. “He’s someone I met in one of my Vahumana lectures,” he says eventually, taking a few steps into the room so he can lean against the doorway instead of remaining in the hall while he speaks to her. “We study together sometimes and get food afterwards. He’s Kshahrewar, like you.”

“I approve already,” Nabeela interjects, leaning forward slightly. Her eyes are glittering. “How nice that you’ve made a Kshahrewar friend.”

“He’s not a friend,” Al-Haitham replies reflexively, except—that’s not quite true, is it? Kaveh called him his friend when he introduced him to Tighnari and Cyno, though the way he continues to pick fights and blatantly attempt to get under Al-Haitham’s skin suggests the opposite. But maybe he enjoys it in the same way that Al-Haitham does.

“I wouldn’t get meals with people I don’t consider friends.”

“He’s not a friend,” Al-Haitham says again. “He’s just Kaveh. It’s different. We disagree on nearly everything we discuss, whether it’s the Vahumana texts we are required to analyze for our shared class or which table we are going to reserve in the library. He’s contrary.” Sometimes I disagree with him just to see how he’ll react. He coughs. “But he’s extraordinarily kind, in a generous sort of way, so I figure that this is just his attempt at a charity case. Perhaps he is civilizing me.”

Al-Haitham doesn’t always know how to read his grandmother, who is quick, sharp, and is highly opinionated in a way that clearly rubbed off onto Al-Haitham himself, and he can’t read this expression right now. She hasn’t moved, but her face looks as if it is warring between a frown and amusement.

“Celestia knows you could use it,” she says eventually. “Perhaps he is doing you, and I as a result, a favor. Kshahrewar. I can always count on my Darshan.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, bibi,” Al-Haitham says, and if it were anyone else, then the words would sound more mutinous, a little whiny, but it is Al-Haitham.

Nabeela picks up on it anyway because she laughs, a full, throaty sound, and the familiar ring of it dissuades the tension that Al-Haitham hadn’t known had been accumulating in his bones. Even though she seems to only be a slip of the woman she used to be, she hasn’t changed very much at all; she approaches everything she does with full force, nor does she ever back down.

She still wins most of her chess matches, and she’s exceptionally good at haggling with street vendors. She’s stubborn. That’s where Al-Haitham inherited the trait, so he supposes he can cite his grandmother the next time that Kaveh gets in his face about his inappropriate ways.

But although age had taken away a lot of her mobility, it hadn’t taken away her smile or her eyes.

“Go be civilized, boy,” Nabeela says, picking up her book again. “And tell that Kshahrewar friend of yours that I’m on his side.”

“There are no sides,” Al-Haitham says, but she only sniffs and declines to answer, so he takes it as the dismissal that it is and leaves right out the front door.

“You’re late,” Kaveh says accusingly the moment that Al-Haitham finds him outside of the restaurant they agreed to meet at. “It’s cold out here, Al-Haitham. It’s as if you have no regard for others. Ugh.”

Al-Haitham, who had been expecting this, merely glances at him and then sweeps inside so that Kaveh has no chance but to follow him inside to continue complaining. He sees the goosebumps rising on the other’s skin and notes to himself that maybe he could consider bringing an extra jacket next time if he knows that it’ll be a cold night, especially since Kaveh has the propensity to underdress for the colder nights.

“My grandmother was bothering me about you,” Al-Haitham says in explanation, nodding at the hostess and taking a seat at a nearby table. “She wanted to know who I was meeting.”

“Your grandmother?” Kaveh leans a little over the table, his previous irritation apparently dissipating. “What did you tell her? That I’m a wonderful individual with a heart of gold? That you’re lucky that I took pity on you after our lectures together?”

Al-Haitham frowns. “I’d be lying if I told her the former.”

“Okay, fuck you.”

“I did tell her that I am probably just a case to you, though. That you plan to civilize me. She told me that she’s on your side, to which I told her that there are no sides.”

Kaveh laughs, the sound bright and happy. “I think I like your grandmother more than I like you. Can I meet her? What’s her name?”

“No,” Al-Haitham says shortly. He picks up the menu and pretends to study it, even though they’ve visited this establishment more times than he can count. He could probably recite the menu front to back.

“It sounds like she’d love me,” Kaveh says knowingly. “You’re depriving her from my presence just as you are depriving me of hers.”

“I think I’m going to get something different today.”

Kaveh frowns and plucks the menu out of Al-Haitham’s hands. Al-Haitham levels him with a dry glare. “No, you’re not. You’re going to get the same thing that you always get without fail because you’re Al-Haitham.”

Al-Haitham sighs and leans back in his chair because Kaveh is right—he is going to get the same thing, but so will Kaveh. “I suppose.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and then Kaveh says, “Hey, I was only joking. By the way.” He shrugs. “It’s not as if I need to meet your grandmother. I’m just curious about your family, to be honest. It feels like I barely know anything about you.”

Al-Haitham… doesn’t hate the idea of Kaveh meeting Nabeela. In fact, Nabeela would probably be too excited for Al-Haitham’s good if he came home and reported that his Kshahrewar classmate expressed interest in meeting her. “It doesn’t bother me,” he says. “We’re just very close.”

Kaveh blinks at him, and then blinks at him some more. “Ah,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “That’s kind of cute. What the hell.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Al-Haitham says. “That’s how it’s been since she raised me.”

“Now I’m even more curious,” Kaveh replies, gripping the edge of the table. He has this smile on his face that suggests that he’s being sincere, which is probably even worse for Al-Haitham. First his house, then his grandmother, and then what?

“I guess I’ll ask her,” Al-Haitham says resentfully. This was not what he expected out of this night.

Kaveh clasps his hands together, grinning wildly. “Great! I’ve already gotten you under my thumb, so I’m sure that she’ll like me.”

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. “Under your thumb is a generous over exaggeration.”

“But it’s true,” says Kaveh, “especially since you’re going to go with me to Nilou’s dance showcase in—”

“I’m busy.” Al-Haitham takes a long sip from his water glass. “What about Tighnari and Cyno? Or Dehya and Candace? I imagine that they’d all be much more enthusiastic about this showcase than I am.”

Kaveh’s smile drops and is immediately replaced with a frown. “I haven’t even said the date. I’m sure you can afford to get your head out of the books for one night. And Tighnari told me no without explaining why, Cyno heard this and said he wouldn’t go without Tighnari, and Dehya and Candace have date nights every Friday because they’re gross like that. Which only leaves you. So you have to go with me!”

Al-Haitham continues to drink from his water glass.

“I have never seen you more enthused to stay hydrated,” Kaveh observes. Al-Haitham ignores him. “Anyway, I’ll text you the information after dinner, and then we’ll go together. Great!”

“Why is Tighnari allowed to say no but I’m not?”

“I think he has plans with Cyno,” says Kaveh like this explains literally anything. He waves a hand. “You know how those two are.” Al-Haitham does not. “In any case, you’re coming. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t see why I have to be involved,” Al-Haitham mutters, finally placing his glass down. It seems that it hadn’t worked and all he’d done is give himself a mild stomach ache from chugging water. “She’s your friend, not mine.”

“But she can be,” Kaveh wheedles. “You already have a class together. You guys can study together! We can do trio study dates! You two can put your heads together and I’ll provide moral support.”

“I’m starting to think I really am your charity case,” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh gives him a broad smile. “So does that mean you agree?”

Al-Haitham didn’t quite mean to agree, but he’s here anyway so he might as well stay the whole way through.

Both he and Kaveh are dressed a little nicer than normal per Kaveh’s instructions. As long as he wasn’t dressed in ratty streetwear, Kaveh said, which didn’t even make sense because Al-Haitham does not dress in ratty streetwear. He’d met him outside the steps to their university’s big auditorium, and together they’d entered the audience and chosen seats a decent distance away from the stage so that they’d be able to get a good view of Nilou when she went on. Kaveh also brought a bouquet of flowers, which he rests on his lap as they wait.

“What even happens at a dance showcase?” Al-Haitham asks.

“Nilou’s going to dance, obviously,” Kaveh said, which made it clear that he didn’t know anymore than Al-Haitham did.

“Really?” Al-Haitham said, very clearly in an ironic manner, and then the lights dimmed and silence fell over the audience before Kaveh could reply. He did kick Al-Haitham in the shins, however, and his dress shoes were unfairly solid when they met his skin.

Al-Haitham sits through several dances in which he does not know what is going on. Kaveh, to his credit, is watching very intently. Al-Haitham got lost sometime when the dance got too interpretive for him to follow.

Al-Haitham unfolds the program and Kaveh shoots him a dirty look. “Don’t be so loud,” he whispers, hardly intelligible with how quiet it is. Al-Haitham rolls his eyes.

He waits another five minutes before he opens his mouth. “When is Nilou coming on?”

“Dude, be quiet,” Kaveh hisses, and then he tugs Al-Haitham over so that he’s speaking directly into his ear. “Just check the program.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Clearly not looking closely enough.”

Al-Haitham pointedly shoves the program in his face and trails his finger down the list of names. “I don’t know any of these people. How am I supposed to know which dance we’re on?”

“Maybe if you were paying attention,” Kaveh whispers venomously. “Can you quit talking?”

“Can you quit replying?” Al-Haitham responds mockingly. “You’ve been paying attention. Which dance are we on.”

Kaveh snatches the program from him in one stiff movement and begins to study the piece of paper, squinting at the text in the dim light. One moment passes, and then another. The music playing over the speaker comes to a stop, the audience begins to clap, and then the next dancer takes the stage.

“I take it you don’t know,” Al-Haitham says dryly over the applause.

“Yes I do,” Kaveh says just as the clapping comes to a close so that his voice rings awkwardly over the sudden silence. He ducks his head down, hiding his face in the program, and Al-Haitham pushes down the urge to laugh at his expense.

Kaveh scowls. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m literally not laughing,” Al-Haitham says.

“But you want to. I can tell.”

He’s right, but Al-Haitham isn’t going to admit that. “What?” he says. “Can you just tell me what dance we’re on?”

The frown on Kaveh’s face is getting progressively bigger, and he brings the program closer to his face. 

Another few moments pass without a reply, and Al-Haitham huffs a sigh. “Give me that.”

“No,” Kaveh hisses quietly, jerking the program away from Al-Haitham’s hand. “I’ll figure it out. I have a better idea than you do, either way.”

“It’s been long enough. That was my program, by the way,” Al-Haitham says in response, reaching over Kaveh to yank at the paper.

“You’re such a child,” Kaveh says, slapping at Al-Haitham’s wrist to get him to draw back. “Leave me be—”

Someone behind them shushes them loudly, and both Al-Haitham and Kaveh go very still, giving up on the program.

Kaveh glares at him.

“Oops,” mutters Al-Haitham.

“Ugh,” says Kaveh, but when they lock eyes, there’s a hint of a smile on Kaveh’s face as if he’s trying not to laugh. And then suddenly, Al-Haitham has to fight a bubble of amusement rising in his chest because it’s all so ridiculous and for some reason, abruptly, he is grateful that Kaveh dragged him out to go to the showcase with him.

Kaveh nudges him on the forearm when Nilou does eventually come on, which is when Al-Haitham stops zoning out so he can genuinely pay attention to her performance. She’s an excellent performer; and while Al-Haitham may be a little biased because he actually knows who she is, her dance is much more enrapturing than the others had been.

She moves with a grace that Al-Haitham wouldn’t have imagined a human could harness, floating across the stage with lithe movements and elegant gestures that match well with the music that plays on the overhead speakers.

Al-Haitham has always been more educated on the art of language and words rather than the art of movement, but he supposes that dance is its own language of its own right. Somehow, Nilou manages to convey a story solely through her body and the beat of the rhythm that would not have been able to be scripted in words.

Kaveh is equally captured by the performance; when Al-Haitham happens to glance to the side during a lapse in the music, he sees Kaveh with his mouth slightly parted, staring up at the stage and at her with a light in his eyes. It’s clear that he has an eye for beauty, and in Al-Haitham’s uneducated opinion, Nilou’s performance seems to be the epitome of that.

After that, the rest of the exhibition falls flat and Al-Haitham returns to studying the rest of the performers coming up next so that he can count down the dances left until the showcase is over. After the solo performances, it ends off with a group performance by the entire troupe, and then they take their bows as the curtain closes.

As soon as it ends, Kaveh tugs Al-Haitham up and out of his seat so they can leave the auditorium before the crowd rushes up to obstruct their path. “Come on,” he says, waiting impatiently as Al-Haitham stands. “Nilou said that we can go meet her backstage since she’s already dressed.”

“Are you sure we’re allowed?” Al-Haitham says, but the question falls on flat ears as Kaveh grabs him by the wrist and tugs him out of the auditorium, veering around the perimeter so that he can enter the room toward the back of the hall, his flowers still in hand.

“She’ll be here soon,” Kaveh says as he shoots off a text from his phone, and then he pockets it and wraps his hands around his arms, shivering slightly. The night had grown late as the showcase dragged on, and now it was much later than Al-Haitham had anticipated it would be.

Al-Haitham looks at Kaveh’s slightly trembling form and thinks that maybe he should offer him his jacket right before the door swings open, letting a rush of warm air out and showing Nilou smiling brightly at them on the other side, dressed in much more casual clothes.

“Kaveh! Al-Haitham!” she exclaims.

Al-Haitham raises one hand in greeting. “Your performance was nice.”

Kaveh rolls his eyes next to him. “That’s probably all you’re going to get from him. Well, in my professional and highly esteemed opinion, Nilou, I thought that your performance was beyond amazing. I truly didn’t know what to expect, but I was honestly amazed. I’d like to look more into your style of dance if you tell me more about it. Oh, and I also got you these.”

He pulls the bouquet of flowers out from behind his back with a flourish, and the grin on Nilou’s face melts a little into a beam much more genuine, a smidge brighter. “Oh, Kaveh,” she says, reaching out to take the flowers from him. “These are beautiful. This means so much.”

Kaveh waves a dismissive hand. “Only for the best of dancers.”

Nilou hides her face behind the bouquet, her smiling tipping over the top of the flowers anyway. “Stop it! Anyway, come in, you two. It’s cold out there and we’re letting out all the heat. Come tell me what you thought of the rest of the show too.”

Kaveh throws a glance over his shoulder to Al-Haitham. “Someone wouldn’t shut up.”

“Someone wouldn’t stop fighting with me over the program,” Al-Haitham says in return.

“Someone was being inconsiderate about the other dancers,” Kaveh says with increasing hostility.

“Someone—”

Nilou laughs in the middle of their exchange, abruptly stopping both of them. “Maybe I don’t need to ask how the rest of the show went,” she says goodnaturedly. “I have a pretty good idea of how it was for you two from the sound of it.”

“It was interesting, Nilou,” Kaveh insists. “I would definitely go again. Let me know when the next show comes around and I’ll make time in my schedule. I’ll make sure Al-Haitham makes time as well.”

Nilou beams at him, obviously pleased. “Of course!” she hums. “There are a lot of competitions coming up, but the next time we have a university showcase I’ll text you again. I’ll text both of you, actually, if you’d like?”

“I’d be fine with that,” Al-Haitham says. It had been interesting, at the very least. A decent disruption to his usual mundane evening plans. He wouldn’t mind attending again, especially since Nilou’s performance in particular was surprisingly enrapturing.

Nilou flashes two thumbs up and a smile. “I’m looking forward to it! But these showcases are generally few and far in between, and I hardly get the chance to talk to you two besides after the show like this. But I don't want to keep you too long. I’m thinking we should all get lunch sometime…?”

Al-Haitham nods in assent and Kaveh says, “I’m looking forward to it,” so that’s that. And Kaveh has gotten Al-Haitham another friend, just by being himself.

Kaveh

[14:38] Kaveh: so when can i meet your grandmother

[14:38] you: No

[14:38] Kaveh: ?
[14:39] Kaveh: okay but i bet she wants me to meet me! i’m a delight

[14:39] you: ?

[14:39] Kaveh: omg don’t pull that on me
[15:03] Kaveh: so when are we meeting

“Bibi, this is Kaveh. Kaveh, this is my grandmother.”

Kaveh stands in the doorway with his back as straight as a pin and a too-bright smile on his face. “Hello! It’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Al-Haitham.”

Nabeela nods approvingly, and Al-Haitham shifts a little on his feet. “As it is to meet you. I’ve also heard my fair share about you. Kshahrewar, right? It’s nice to see that this generation is turning out all right, even though my own blood failed to follow in my footsteps.”

“You were delighted when I committed to Haravatat, bibi,” Al-Haitham says, staring at the ceiling in exasperation. “You cannot pretend to be disappointed in me now.”

Kaveh turns an inquisitive look onto Al-Haitham. “You spoke about me at length? I thought you just mentioned me offhandedly.”

“I did not say more about you than what needed to be said,” says Al-Haitham.

At the same time, Nabeela exclaims, “Oh, I got the impression that you are a dear friend! At the very least, it was nice to see Al-Haitham finally leave the house for reasons other than to attend his lectures, even though he doesn’t do that all too often either.”

“Wow,” Kaveh says. “I’m so glad to have met you, bibi. It seems that we agree on many more topics than I would have imagined.”

Nabeela beams at him, and Al-Haitham can already see how taken she is with him right off the bat, which sends a sinking feeling down his stomach. Of course this would happen to him. “We are of the same brain!” she says. “I feel comforted knowing that there is someone to keep this one in line when I’m not around. Would you like some chai or coffee or water?”

“Hm,” Al-Haitham says. “Is this going to last much longer?”

Nabeela looks at him, affronted, and Al-Haitham sighs. “Kaveh has only just arrived. That’s not how you should be treating your guests, Al-Haitham.”

When Al-Haitham turns to his side, he’s met by a faux hurt look from Kaveh. Maybe he’d made a poor decision in bringing them together. “I’d appreciate coffee, bibi,” he says to Nabeela, and she bustles off to the kitchen willingly, and then it’s just Al-Haitham and Kaveh left together.

“You might as well come in, then,” Al-Haitham says grudgingly, beckoning Kaveh to come into the sitting room, and Kaveh just grins at him.

“I knew she would love me,” he says singingly as he passes Al-Haitham, and Al-Haitham only rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know how she does it,” Al-Haitham says. “That’s where our views diverge.”

“Nothing you can say will get to me,” Kaveh says smugly, “because your grandmother is fond of me. Kaveh, loved and cherished by grandmothers everywhere. I’d say I’m rather good at this.”

The rich scent of coffee begins to float through the air, and Al-Haitham joins Kaveh on the couch, settling back heavily into the cushions. It’s the first time in a long while that Al-Haitham has had non-family members come visit the home that he shares with Nabeela, and it feels strangely fitting that it is Kaveh of all people who would break the inadvertent streak. He looks right here, somehow, as if the sofa had made space for Kaveh specifically. As if Al-Haitham’s home had rearranged itself to fit Kaveh into it.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head. No use thinking of such strange and romantic things.

When Nabeela comes back, proffering a tray holding a coffee pot and three cups, she sits in the armchair she usually inhabits across from Al-Haitham and Kaveh and looks at the two of them consideringly.

“So, Kaveh, is that old witch still teaching Kshahrewar students?” she says, bringing her cup to her lips. “She teaches second-years, if I remember correctly. Middle-aged when I had her, but gave the air as if she were much, much older and twice as bitter. Had zero tolerance for any talking during her lectures; not even questions.”

“Oh!” Kaveh says, straightening. “You can’t mean Professor Arya, do you?”

Al-Haitham’s grandmother barks out a laugh. “Ah, so that’s what the old bat’s name was. I had forgotten after all of these years, but I can still picture her face in my mind and her atrocious grading scale. It’s a shame that she’s survived long enough that the students now still have to suffer through her classes.”

“Oh, she’s on the verge,” Kaveh says knowingly. “There are rumors that she’ll retire soon, or that the Akademiya will force her to. They’ve already reduced her hours.”

Nabeela’s eyes sparkle. “Tell me more. I always used to be fond of gossiping with my friends back when I was at the Akademiya.”

Kaveh grins and leans forward, ever willing. “I’m sure you can imagine that she’s never married, right? Well, I’ve heard this one rumor that she had a lover twenty years or so back…”

Although Al-Haitham has no place within the conversation, he finds that he doesn’t feel out of place simply sitting back and listening to his grandmother and Kaveh discuss first the state of the Kshahrewar Darshan, gossip between the professors, and then eventually onto their opinions of the modern state of architecture and material supply.

The topics of discussion don’t pertain to him specifically, but Al-Haitham has never been a man of many words either way, and he is content listening to whatever happens to interest him, whether that be ancient languages or architecture or synthetic dyes for clothing. It just so happens that Kaveh and his grandmother are very intellectual people, and thus he does not feel compelled to interject or add to an exchange that has no place for him within it.

Despite his words and despite himself, Al-Haitham is glad that his grandmother and Kaveh have found a common ground to bond upon. He’d be doing Nabeela a disservice if he ever downplayed her influence upon his life and his motivations, and it’s… nice to find somebody that will entertain conversation with her and connect with her in ways that Al-Haitham cannot. Somebody who can see her as the woman she is now instead of an old woman who had grown out of her prime.

The coffee grows cold and forgotten, but the discussion does not die until many hours later as the sun sets and the moon rises to take its place. And meanwhile, Al-Haitham is content. Al-Haitham is satisfied.

Five months later, Nabeela passes away.

It’s not an unexpected death. She’d put together her will many years ago, though nearly everything was going to go toward Al-Haitham anyway. She spent a lot of time in her room with her books, and often Al-Haitham would catch her gazing off into the distance, lost in thought, though when he would speak to her she would look confused.

Sometimes she asked him what his parent’s names were, and whenever he answered, his voice would be oddly quiet. She tried to avoid asking him very often after that.

In her last few months, Nabeela’s mobility greatly decreased, so Al-Haitham skipped more lectures and came up with more excuses on why he couldn’t go out and he spent those afternoons inside his grandmother’s room, playing chess with her and putting together puzzles. Often, they would sit and read together quietly until she fell asleep and Al-Haitham quietly extinguished the oil lanterns after making sure she was comfortable.

Kaveh visited from time to time. Al-Haitham could tell that they were growing fond of each other, but as midterms hit, his time was impacted. Nabeela asked about “that Kshahrewar boy” a couple of times, and Al-Haitham would always tell her about his latest projects and whatever architectural lessons that he remembered from what Kaveh would say. Until the end, it always delighted her to hear about her Darshan.

She was always very driven and focused, but most of all, she prioritized contentedness within her discipline. Al-Haitham had inherited that from her and he resolved to never forget it.

When she passes, Al-Haitham is at her bedside, holding her hand. It is peaceful.

Kaveh

[9:28] Kaveh: omg did you skip class again… i think the prof is starting to notice
[9:28] Kaveh: i mean it’s not attendance mandatory but this week’s chapter was kind of dense tbh

[13:57] Kaveh: wtf are you ignoring me
[13:57] Kaveh: wake up!!

[00:20] Kaveh: hi are you okay? i’m getting worried now. just read the message please!
[00:38] Kaveh: i don’t want to have to stop by the house but i will if there is no sign of life by this afternoon

- read 3:42  -

Three days later, Al-Haitham finally leaves the house, but only because he is running low on groceries and he knows that his grandmother wouldn’t want him to waste away on her account. Nor would she want him to squander his education, but he sends out emails to all of his professors and gets his deadlines extended anyway.

Kaveh finds him in the vegetable aisle, picking through the selection of okra. 

“Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, his expression half worried and half wary. “You haven’t been answering my texts.”

“I haven’t,” Al-Haitham says, and then he makes quick work of tying the bag closed and throwing it into his basket. He stoops down to the rice section and grabs the brand that his grandmother always liked, blinking at it for several seconds before he tosses that in too.

“So like,” Kaveh says, following Al-Haitham as he trails dazedly down the aisle. He’s searching for something else, he thinks. He’s gotten his usual vegetables and rice but he can’t remember for the life of him what else he needs. Carrots, probably. Nabeela always bought carrots because she said it would help his eyesight with all of that reading he did. 

He never quite believed her.

“Are you okay?” Kaveh says, reaching out halfway before he withdraws his hand as if he’s not sure whether he’s allowed to make contact with Al-Haitham’s arm or not. Al-Haitham stares at his fingers, and then drags his gaze up to his eyes.

“Bibi passed away,” he says, and the words don’t even sound as if they’ve come from his mouth. They’re not real. If he doesn’t believe it, then perhaps he didn’t say them, and maybe it didn’t happen. He’s only shopping so he can go back home and allow his grandmother to cook a curry with the mishmash of vegetables that Al-Haitham picked up.

“Oh my god,” Kaveh says. He stands in front of Al-Haitham, not moving. Al-Haitham doesn’t move either. He doesn’t know how he can. He thinks that his brain is supposed to know this intrinsically, theoretically, but he can’t seem to get any of his limbs to fucking move. The basket falls out of his hand and hits the floor, and he thinks he hears the sound of a bag breaking and rice grains spilling all over the floor.

“Shit,” Kaveh curses, kneeling briefly as if to scoop up the rice before he gives up, now only a few paces from Al-Haitham. His hands hover all around him as if he doesn’t know what to do. Al-Haitham looks at the rice all around him, and he thinks, shit.

“Can I hug you, Al-Haitham?” Kaveh asks. “I. I don’t know if you’re that kind of person or not.”

Al-Haitham thinks he nods.

Kaveh’s embrace is warm, warmer than he ever knew another person’s body could be. But even still, there is a part of Al-Haitham deep inside of his body that feels inexplicably cold knowing that with every breath he takes, it is in a world that no longer knows Nabeela.

Al-Haitham breathes. He breathes again. It is all he can do.

☀︎

nilou

[12:12] you: ok so i know this is like a huge reach and i am just asking purely out of curiosity and nothing else
[12:12] you: but like
[12:12] you: do you have living arrangements already worked out for next year

[12:13] nilou: i do! (・・;)ゞ
[12:13] nilou: i’m living with some of the girls in my dance troupe next year…
[12:13] nilou: why?

[12:13] you: ugh ok i figured
[12:13] you: it’s fine don’t worry about it!!!!

[12:13] nilou: are you okay kaveh? 

[12:13] you: yes i’m fine
[12:13] you: it’s just like the place i’m renting rn’s rent prices are going up this year
[12:13] you: and normally this wouldn’t be an issue since they go up pretty much every year but this time they’re going up by soooo much so i need to like. find a new place to live. basically

[12:14] nilou: oh no!!!!!!
[12:14] nilou:  ( :౦‸౦: )
[12:14] nilou: oh my gosh i’m so sorry!!! that sounds like a really tough situation :( i wish i could be of more help

[12:14] you: no no don’t worry about it seriously
[12:14] you: tighnari and cyno already renewed their leases so they’re out of the question
[12:14] you: i asked dehya and candace too but they live in a one bedroom apartment together
[12:14] you: it’s okay it’ll probably be fine, i’ll just have to search for a new apartment

[12:14] nilou: have you asked al-haitham?

[12:15] you: now why would i do that

[12:15] nilou: doesn’t he live by himself?

[12:15] you: it’s his grandmother’s property, but she passed away very recently so i’m not sure if i should ask him

[12:15] nilou: you two are friends!
[12:15] nilou: i think?
[12:15] nilou: in any case i’m sure he’d like the company?
[12:15] nilou: then again you know him better than i do

[12:16] you: yeah idk
[12:16] you: i’ll keep it in mind though
[12:16] you: thank you nilou!!!!!!!! 

[12:16] nilou: of course!!! let me know what you end up doing!! (╥﹏╥)

Turns out, Kaveh doesn’t need to ask. Al-Haitham’s the one who brings up the subject.

“So,” he starts one day while the two of them are studying together in the House of Daena, and Kaveh immediately feels an ominous chill run down his spine, “I heard you’re struggling to find housing for next year.”

“What?” Kaveh blinks. “What the hell? Nilou told you?”

“No,” says Al-Haitham. He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow as he looks at Kaveh sitting to his left. “You’ve spent the last hour on rental websites instead of working on your model. You keep muttering curse words under your breath. It’s really not that hard of a conclusion to come to.”

“Okay,” says Kaveh, “so, like, fuck you.”

“Well?” says Al-Haitham, tilting his head. “Have you had any luck?”

“Obviously not,” says Kaveh. He rolls his eyes and turns back to his screen, a big red mora sign staring back at him with far too many zeroes for his liking. “Everything is so fucking expensive. How do these people expect college students to pay for shit like this? Why is everything so goddamn pricey?”

“Inflation,” says Al-Haitham, like an asshole.

“Thanks,” says Kaveh. “Archons. You have no room to talk. You don’t even pay rent.”

Al-Haitham nods at this. “I don’t,” he says.

“Great,” says Kaveh. “That’s really great for you.”

“You don’t sound like you mean it.”

“I do! I am so happy for you! I really, really am!” Kaveh exclaims through his teeth.

Al-Haitham regards him with a long look, one that Kaveh can, unfortunately, parse through quite well. Ugh. Ugh. What a fucking ass—

Al-Haithams sighs then, snapping Kaveh out of whatever stupor he had been in. He leans forward until his elbows land on the table they’re sitting at, his chin coming to rest against his knuckles.

“Senior,” he says, “how about living with me?”

Immediately, Kaveh scoffs. “Nilou put you up to this. I knew it. You stop listening to a single word of anything she says ever again. Okay? I already told her I’m not going to ask you, so forget it.”

“What?” says Al-Haitham. “Are you serious?”

“What the fuck? Yes I am?”

“Why would Nilou say anything of the sort to me?” says Al-Haitham. He reaches forward, his index finger landing on Kaveh’s shoulder. He pushes a little, and Kaveh flinches at the touch. “For an honors student, you can really be so dense.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know what conversation you had with Nilou,” says Al-Haitham, “but forget about it for a second. She hasn’t told me anything. I didn’t know you already talked about this with her. Me asking you if you want to live with me has nothing to do with whatever you two talked about.”

Kaveh squints at him. “So you’re telling me I’m supposed to just believe you’re offering me a room in your place out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Obviously not,” says Al-Haitham. “You have to pay rent.”

“It’s not even your place.”

Al-Haitham blinks at him a few times.

Kaveh groans and looks away. “Fine, fine. How much do you want?”

“Whatever you’re paying right now is fine.”

At this, Kaveh brightens. “I can do that. Sure.”

“Great,” says Al-Haitham. He glances back at his laptop, his half-complete paper staring back at him. “Now that you have that sorted out, you should go back to your work. You have a lot to do.”

Kaveh stares at him, takes in the way Al-Haitham turns completely away from him in favor of resuming his typing, the way his silver hair just barely hides the way his eyes sweep over the onscreen page. Kaveh leans over to get a better look at him, and then Al-Haitham glances up at him, the two making eye contact for a split second before the corners of Al-Haitham’s mouth twitch upwards, and, damn, okay.

“Thank you,” Kaveh says. He knocks his foot into Al-Haitham’s calf.

“Ouch,” says Al-Haitham with absolutely no vigor.

Kaveh grins.

✩

On the day that Kaveh moves in, Al-Haitham observes that he has entirely too many things.

“Have you considered that perhaps you wouldn’t have so much trouble with your rent if you controlled your purchases with more consideration?” Al-Haitham asks him, watching Kaveh empty his bags of needless junk; things like various little wood-sculpted animals and glass jars filled with shells that he’s fairly sure are sourced all the way from Liyue.

“Most of the mora from things that I purchased went toward a good cause,” Kaveh shoots back, a little ruffled. “Many of them were collected by children living off of the streets who could only sell little trinkets like these. Though I can’t imagine that you pay very much attention to others when you are out and about.”

“Because they’re scams oftentimes,” Al-Haitham points out, though Kaveh pays him no heed and continues determinedly unpacking his things as if Al-Haitham had not spoken at all.

The room that Kaveh is now occupying was the room he previously lived in. Al-Haitham’s quarters are across the hall, in what used to be Nabeela’s room. The house only has two bedrooms, so one of them needs to take it, and Al-Haitham has the feeling that Kaveh wouldn’t feel quite right occupying it, so. It’s his now, he supposes.

It helps a little bit that Kaveh is at least a little bit familiar with Al-Haitham’s house at this point. Though he had only come over a few times—all of those occurrences were to see Nabeela, not even Al-Haitham, mind you—he was vaguely accustomed to the way of the house.

At the very least, it wasn’t entirely foreign to see Kaveh moving about inside the space. He hadn’t had to see the house empty very much at all; not long enough to get used to it. He wouldn’t have wanted to get used to it, if he admits that much to himself. For someone who seems to operate so well on his own, after living with his grandmother for all of his life, he doesn’t know how he would function if he lived on his own for that much longer.

There are a few weeks in between Nabeela’s passing and Kaveh’s move-in date in which Al-Haitham drifts about aimlessly in his home, but that time is spent studying for finals and attending lectures at the Akademiya and finalizing funeral plans, so he hardly remembers anything that happened at all.

Perhaps it’s for the best. He doesn’t think that was a particularly good time in his life, anyway.

And now Kaveh is here, preparing to move in. Already moving in, actually, because now that he’s unpacked all of his trinkets, he’s now unloading his clothes into the drawers.

“Are you just going to stand there,” Kaveh huffs, standing up and putting his hands on his hips with a stern look on his face, “or are you going to help me? Listen, I’m fine doing all of this by myself, but it comes off as rather condescending that you have the time to simply watch me and not lift a finger to help. If you’re going to stand there, you might as well make yourself useful.”

There are times when Kaveh reminds Al-Haitham rather strikingly of Nabeela.

“I thought that with all of those years of knowledge you have on me, senior,” Al-Haitham says, “that you would be fit to do the job yourself. But I suppose that if you require my assistance, I can be of help.”

“Have you ever considered not being an asshole?” Kaveh asks him.

But there are also times where Kaveh is, simply put, Kaveh.

Apparently, the next thing that Kaveh decides to take issue with is the way Al-Haitham’s kitchen is organized.

“Why would you do this to your spices?” Kaveh asks, frowning at the spice drawer that night. He’d suggested that they cook together, as a roommate bonding activity of sorts, and since they’ve taken quite a few meals together, they’d have some idea of a shared meal they could make. It’s too bad that he’s so particular about everything.

“I don’t know what you mean,” says Al-Haitham.

“Everything is unlabeled. And there is no distinguishable order—why would you put the cinnamon next to the garlic powder?”

“It’s all sorted by how often I use each spice,” Al-Haitham says. “It’s much more convenient that way instead of going by alphabetical order or however you want to reorganize it. And why should I require labels if I know where everything is?”

“Because maybe people who are new to your kitchen haven’t got your spice drawers memorized?” Kaveh says slowly as if Al-Haitham is stupid, which he doesn’t appreciate very much. “What if I reached for sugar and put in salt?”

Al-Haitham shrugs. “Now I know not to eat any of your cooking until I know for sure that you are familiar with my spices.”

“Oh my god,” Kaveh says, and then he stomps off to his room. When he comes back after what sounds like a significant amount of digging, he has in one hand a label maker. And then he proceeds to give Al-Haitham’s entire spice drawer a makeover.

Dinner is served forty five minutes behind schedule, but at least it is served. 

“You’re washing the dishes,” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh pauses eating. “I labeled all of your spices.”

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. “You did that of your own volition. I didn’t ask you to.”

“I still did you a favor,” Kaveh says pointedly.

“I’ll raise your rent,” says Al-Haitham, and he feels a certain kick of satisfaction at the way Kaveh’s face goes noticeably red and he visibly takes a few breaths to calm down, screwing his eyes shut.

“Literally what is wrong with you,” Kaveh says, but he washes the dishes that night anyway.

It’s a strange thing to live with Kaveh. It’s a comfortable thing, if Al-Haitham is being honest. They’ve spent a decent amount of time together; more time than Al-Haitham had realized because now the transition to roommate is genuinely easier than he would have figured.

And it helps that he hardly has the time to miss the presence of a person because now there is someone else to take her place—not that Kaveh could ever replace his grandmother, but rather that he fills a familiar shape in her absence. Perhaps what really matters is that, despite everything, he is not alone.

☀︎

During the first week of classes, Kaveh makes plans to get coffee with Nilou after class.

“You get us a table,” he says to her as they enter the café just off-campus. It’s a popular spot, so naturally it’s busy this time of day. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”

“Hmm,” Nilou hums, tapping her azure-painted nail against her chin as she scans the menu. “I’ll have a mocha, then? I’ll transfer you however much it is.”

“You don’t have to, but sure,” says Kaveh, and Nilou smiles before pirouetting away in the direction of the seating area. 

And so Kaveh gets in line, and then his phone pings, and when he takes it out, he finds two messages sitting pretty at the top of his notifications tab.
 

al-haitham

[14:21] al-haitham: We do not have the cabinet space for the amount of snacks you buy
[14:21] al-haitham: Also, where did you put my books? They were in the living room and now they’re not

[14:22] you: i did you a favor and PUT THEM AWAY!!!!!!!! STOP cluttering our sacred shared living space with your mess

[14:22] al-haitham: It isn’t a mess. Everything is exactly where I can find it

[14:22] you: well too bad so sad
[14:22] you: also do you want anything from puspa? i’m here w nilou but i can bring you smth if you want
[14:22] you: just don’t be an ass and order something you know is going to be a pain for me to carry back with me
[14:22] you: or something hot since it will probably get cold by the time i get home
[14:22] you: or something cold since the ice will probably melt?
[14:22] you: on second thought why am i even asking you if you want anything

[14:23] al-haitham: I don’t want anything
[14:23] al-haitham: I don’t waste money on coffee when I have an espresso machine in my apartment

[14:23] you: why does this sound targeted

[14:23] al-haitham: Not sure what you’re talking about

Kaveh is in the middle of typing out a fuck you when he suddenly feels someone step into the spot by his side.

“Hello,” says an unfamiliar voice. “You’re Kaveh, aren’t you?”

Kaveh starts, looking up. Standing in front of him is a vaguely familiar-looking woman, eyes deep brown and mouth colored with striking mahogany lipstick. She’s very pretty, Kaveh notices. He also notices that she is still staring at him, and that he has not said anything back for several seconds.

“Oh,” he says, like an idiot, “yes, I am. Um. Do we know each other?”

“Not exactly,” says the woman. She tilts her head, the corners of her lips twitching upward. “I’m Parisa. We’re at the same bench in design studio this semester.”

“Oh!” says Kaveh again, sounding much less like an idiot this time around. Or so he at least hopes. “Yes, yes. I thought you looked familiar. Sorry, ah…” He smiles sheepishly. “I’m usually focused on my work in design studio. That’s why I didn’t recognize you.”

She waves a hand out in front of her. “No worries, I am too. I just saw you in line and thought I’d introduce myself. We barely get time to talk to other students in that class, anyways. Even though we’re all Kshahrewar and we should probably know each other better than we do.”

Kaveh’s shoulders relax. “You’re a senior, right? I’m surprised this is the first time we’re talking to each other.”

Parisa nods. “I am. And well, there are hundreds of students in our Darshan. So I guess it’s not completely out of the question.”

“You’re not wrong,” says Kaveh. “Well it’s nice to meet you then. I don’t have very many friends in Kshahrewar.”

Parisa laughs. “Me neither. I guess that makes two of us. Most of my friends are either Rtawahist or Vahumana.”

“Oh, I have a friend in Rtawahist,” says Kaveh. “None in Vahumana, though. Actually, all of my closest friends are in different Darshans. One in Spantamad, one in Amurta, one in Haravatat. And one in Rtawahist, of course.” He shrugs. “Though I guess that keeps things interesting.”

They’ve reached the front of the line, it seems, and as Kaveh orders a mocha for Nilou and a black coffee for himself, he glances sidelong at Parisa, who’s waiting patiently behind him.

“What are you getting?” he asks her.

“Uh,” says Parisa. She blinks a few times, then quickly scans the menu overhead. “Ah…usually I just get a saffron brew. Why?”

Kaveh nods, then turns back to the barista. “I’ll get a medium saffron brew too.”

As the barista punches in the order, Kaveh hears Parisa inhale next to him. “What?” she says. “No, Kaveh—you don’t have to pay for my drink.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Kaveh, tapping his card against the reader. As he threads the receipts between his fingers, he shoots her a smile. “It’s good karma for our friendship.”

Parisa buries her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have told you my order.”

He laughs at her disposition, and when she surfaces, she’s smiling, and the two of them walk over to the other end of the counter to wait for their drinks. Parisa tells him an anecdote about their design studio professor, something about some conflict he got into with an international student from Fontaine last semester, and Kaveh listens attentively, eyes going wide as the story reaches its conclusion. Suddenly he’s a lot more stressed about the upcoming grading for the course, but, well, that’s a problem for future him he supposes.

When three coffees are deposited onto the counter, he reaches for the one labeled S for saffron and presses it into Parisa’s hand.

“Thank you, Kaveh,” she says, her fingers curling around the disposable cup. “Let me pay you back. What’s your I.D.?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m not letting you pay me back.”

She frowns. “I feel bad. We literally just met.” She pauses, runs her index finger over the lid on the cup. “If you won’t give me your I.D., then will you give me your number instead?”

“What?” says Kaveh, then promptly feels like an idiot. “Oh.”

Immediately, Parisa’s expression twists. “Um. Forget I said anything. Ah. I’ll see you in—”

“No!” says Kaveh quickly. He swallows. Fuck. “No, I mean—sorry. It just caught me off guard. Of course you can have my number. Here, give me your phone. I’ll add myself to your contacts.”

Parisa does, and then Kaveh is quickly punching in his number into a brand new entry and handing it back to her.

“Here,” he says. “Uh. Just text me so I can save your number.”

“Okay,” she nods. She raises the coffee up to her face and smiles, “I should get going then. It was lovely meeting you, Kaveh. I’ll see you around? Hopefully?”

“Yes, I’ll see you around,” Kaveh agrees with a nod, and then he watches as she turns on her heel and walks toward the door, the heels of her boots clacking as she goes.

What follows is about five seconds of Kaveh standing there, dumbstruck, before he feels a weight on his shoulders. When he turns around, he finds Nilou grinning from ear to ear.

“Kaveh!” she squeals, clapping her hands in front of her. “Kaveh, what? Archons—what was all of that? I was watching the entire thing!”

“Nilou, that’s weird,” Kaveh groans, passing her drink to her before pushing past to the table she reserved for them with her scarf.

“Was that you giving her your number at the end? That’s why you took her phone, right? It’s too loud in here, so I couldn’t listen to what you guys were saying, but it definitely looked like you were giving her your number—”

“Nilou, calm down,” says Kaveh as they slip into seats across from each other. He bites his lip, takes a small sip of his coffee and feels it burn down his throat. “Yes, I did give her my number. But it wasn’t anything like what you’re probably thinking of! She’s in my design studio class this semester and recognized me, so she said hi.”

“That was a very long hi,” Nilou notes.

Kaveh rolls his eyes. “Okay, and then we talked a little, and I paid for her coffee. She felt bad, and I wouldn’t give her my I.D. so she could transfer the money to me, so she asked for my number instead. Totally normal, completely friend-worthy interaction.”

Nilou, for one, is gaping at him. “You paid for her coffee?”

“Yes?” says Kaveh. “Of course I did! That’s the nice thing to do, and clearly she appreciated it.”

“Wow,” says Nilou, leaning back a little. “This is how it starts, you know? First you meet a girl and pay for her coffee, then you exchange numbers, and then all of a sudden it’s ten years later and you’re happily married with a cute kid and—”

“Okay,” Kaveh interrupts, “I think we skipped a few steps here.”

“I’m just saying,” says Nilou. She leans forward, her eyes sparkling. “So…? What did you think of her? What’s her name?”

Kaveh sighs. He is very much beginning to regret coming here with Nilou. “Her name’s Parisa. She’s sweet. She’s in Kshahrewar too, as an architecture disciple, which, you know, is different from what I’m used to with the people I talk to on a regular basis.”

“So you have a lot in common,” Nilou nods, clearly pleased with this.

“You are way too excited about something that is quite literally nothing.”

“I like to call it glass-half-full philosophy.”

“I…don’t think that analogy works in this scenario,” says Kaveh, shaking his head. “Anyways, whatever. I just made a new friend, which is fun. If anything, at least I have someone to talk to now in design studio.”

“True true!”

“Anyways,” says Kaveh, “enough about me. How’re your classes going? Tell me everything.”

Kaveh gets home later that day and finds Al-Haitham sitting on the couch, clearly deeply engrossed in whatever book he’s reading. As usual.

He walks up to him and drops a small bag of baklava onto his lap.

Al-Haitham looks up, closing his book. He picks up the bag and raises an eyebrow. “I told you you didn’t need to bring me anything.”

“Yeah, well,” Kaveh rolls his eyes. “I know you like them. So. You’re welcome.”

“I’m not sure if I should be thanking you if I told you not to buy anything for me.”

“Ugh, stop being a smartass and just eat the pastry.”

“Hm,” says Al-Haitham.

“Anyways,” says Kaveh, shrugging his coat off. “I have a shit ton of work I need to start, so, good night I guess. Coffee with Nilou took longer than I expected because someone started talking to me in line and Nilou got scarily invested in what, in her words, is a ten year romance plan for me, in which I get married to this person and have a cute kid. Mind you, all I did was pay for their coffee and give them my number.”

He stops. Al-Haitham is staring at him.

Right. Okay, so, probably too much.

He shakes his head and turns around. “Sorry, I know you don’t care. Anyways, I’m gonna go to my room now. Good night, I guess.”

“Senior.”

Kaveh looks back over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Al-Haitham doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Then, finally: “Good night.”

“Oh, yeah. Good night, Al-Haitham,” says Kaveh, and then he yawns and stalks away.

Unknown Number

[9:21] Unknown Number: hi Kaveh! this is Parisa. we met yesterday at Puspa :) I just wanted to text so you’d have my number. see you in design studio later today!

[9:32] you: hi parisa!!!!! this is kaveh :) thanks for texting me, it was great to meet you yesterday!

[9:33] parisa: so have you thought further about giving me your id

[9:33] you: oh! yes i have actually! and the answer is still no :)

[9:33] parisa: welllllllll we’ll see
[9:33] parisa: ahh I have class at 10 :/ talk to you later!

[9:33] you: YIKES good luck!! talk to you later

[9:33] parisa: good luck to you too!

✩

Kaveh has a lot of friends. That is an already established fact. Kaveh is an agreeable, friendly person who entertains conversation with just about everyone, and as a result, Kaveh has a lot of friends.

Kaveh has a lot of friends. But none of them are quite like Parisa.

It’s not as if she’s particularly exceptional or anything, or at least not from what Al-Haitham can observe. It’s just that Kaveh seems to mention her more than he does his other friends. Or maybe Al-Haitham is just making it up in his head since Parisa is the latest addition to Kaveh’s life and he hasn’t only heard her in passing but a couple times now, and—well.

Al-Haitham first heard of her when Kaveh came back from coffee with Nilou with news about some other person who asked for his number, which wasn’t too out of the ordinary. But he checked it off as odd in his head because not only did Kaveh seem to reciprocate the gesture, he had a funny half-smile on his face while he relayed the events to Al-Haitham. And that set off an alarm in his head.

And then he mentioned speaking with her again during his design studio class, and that he’d found out that she doesn’t just like saffron brews but also lemon poppyseed muffins. That really clocked it for Al-Haitham. Because who cares that Kaveh’s classmate in one of his classes likes lemon poppyseed muffins?

Kaveh does, apparently.

It’s fine. It’s whatever. Al-Haitham actually doesn’t care that much because besides the few odd comments about her, nothing much changes. They still study together and take turns washing the dishes and Kaveh goes on his coffee runs with Nilou, always bringing something back for Al-Haitham, and it’s normal. Kaveh talks more about the girl in his design studio class, but apart from that, life is normal.

Until it isn’t.

“Um, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, staring at his phone.

Al-Haitham looks over the edge of his book, wondering if he’s texting Parisa. He’s caught him doing that, from time to time. Not that it’s particularly noteworthy. He just sees a few text exchanges that have a lot more exclamation points and smiley faces than Al-Haitham has ever received from Kaveh. “Yes?”

“Haha,” Kaveh says, which doesn’t clear anything up at all, and then he stands to walk over and shove his phone into Al-Haitham’s face. Al-Haitham squints at the sudden bright light flooding his vision.

It’s an email. The subject line says Commission Inquiry. The email is sent from a Lord Sangemah Bay, which is a pretentious title if Al-Haitham has ever seen one. But, alas—

“Okay,” Al-Haitham says in response, and then he returns to flipping through his book, disinterested.

“Okay?” Kaveh repeats, and then he takes the book straight out of Al-Haitham’s hands. “This is not just okay. This is a big deal, Al-Haitham. That’s the Lord Sangemah Bay. What you’re looking at could be the start of my career.”

“I don’t know why you expect me to know who this lord is,” Al-Haitham says. “Also, I did not get to read it very clearly.”

“Well, that’s because you went back to your book,” Kaveh says, put out, but he offers the phone to Al-Haitham obligingly again.

It’s a brief email, written in a short tone. Al-Haitham still doesn’t know who the Lord Sangemah Bay is, but he’s distracted by a text notification coming in at the top of the screen. It’s from Parisa, and he doesn’t read it out of respect for Kaveh’s privacy but he does catch a lot of smiling emojis before he tears his eyes away from the screen.

“You got a text,” Al-Haitham says, and then he pointedly takes the book back from Kaveh’s slack hands.

“Oh,” Kaveh says, and then like a dog who’s caught sight of a squirrel, immediately takes his phone back and begins typing what is presumably a response to the text with a small smile on his face, the commission email clearly forgotten.

Al-Haitham watches Kaveh’s face for a few moments more, but when it becomes obvious that Kaveh is more wrapped up in whatever he’s saying with Parisa instead of elaborating more about the email, he forcibly shoves it to the back of his mind instead and returns to his book.

Perhaps the most glaringly different thing about this entire Parisa matter is the fact that Kaveh texts her so much. More than he texts other people, and they have several very active group chats going. At this rate, Kaveh seems to be investing more time into Parisa than he does other people.

Which is fine. It’s not as if Al-Haitham is that concerned with whom Kaveh spends most of his time with or who he talks to the most—it’s not his business. Besides, Kaveh seems to be happy. And Parisa seems to be a nice enough person. She must be, since she’s Kaveh’s friend and all.

Or something.

you, Tighnari, Cyno, Kaveh, Nilou

[15:29] Tighnari: hey guys

[15:46] Tighnari: omg i can’t believe you guys hate me

[15:49] Tighnari: wow you guys like actually hate me
[15:49] Tighnari: where’s kaveh he’s usually online why can’t he attend to my needs
[15:49] Tighnari: i am so bored :( 

[15:50] you: He’s only online because of Parisa

[15:50] Tighnari: booooring
[15:50] Tighnari: omg this is actually awful i can’t be stuck here with just you al-haitham. a little bit of offense

Tighnari added Dehya and Candace

[15:51] Tighnari: there we go
[15:51] Tighnari: now we have a proper group chat with more people which means more chances for people to be online to quell my boredom
[15:51] Tighnari: so true dehya

[15:54] Dehya: so it’s not just one clown but the entire circus

[15:54] Tighnari: okay so this is not what i added you to the gc for can you be normal

[15:54] Dehya: no

[15:54] Tighnari: ok

[15:55] Candace: what is this?

[15:55] Tighnari: omg hey candace! what are you doing right now? let’s get some food or something! since nobody else seems to have any time for me!

[15:55] Candace: oh
[15:55] Candace: i’m busy right now sorry

[15:55] Tighnari: ok
[15:55] Tighnari: dehya?!

[16:31] Tighnari: ok

[19:12] Kaveh: omg tighnari i didn’t mean to strand you with just al-haitham i know that must have been awful
[19:12] Kaveh: oh hey dehya hey candace

[19:14] Tighnari: you decide to pick up your phone NOW
[19:14] Tighnari: how was your day kaveh :) 

[19:23] Tighnari: oh for fuck’s sake

☀︎

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do after graduation?” 

Kaveh glances to his right, eyes landing on the model Parisa is working on. It seems to be a design inspired by Sumeru’s desert region, specifically the many ruins found scattered across the sand. Parisa herself has paused her work, and she’s looking at Kaveh expectantly.

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully. “I’ve been sending my portfolio to a few contractors here and there, but I don’t have anything concrete yet.”

“I see,” Parisa nods. “Yeah, I’m the same way. I’ve been trying to network but it’s such a bitch of a process.”

“I did get a curious offer though,” Kaveh says. He twists his lips, wondering how much he’s even allowed to say here. “There’s this investor that keeps her eye on to-be graduates from the Akademiya. Have you heard of Lord Sangemah Bay?”

“Sangemah Bay?” Parisa blinks. “The name sounds super familiar. She owns a few buildings up north, right?”

“I think so,” says Kaveh. “She contacted me last month and asked to see my work, but she hasn’t gotten back to me since I replied to her.”

“Interesting,” Parisa frowns, “I hope she gets back to you. It’s so stressful, not knowing what’s going to happen post graduation. At least, it’s stressful for me. I know you’ll be fine since you’re, like, the top student in our department.”

“Haha,” says Kaveh. “Funny.”

Parisa lands a blank look. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

“Well,” says Kaveh, and then he sighs. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. And you’ll be fine too, Parisa. We got into such a prestigious school, didn’t we? At least the name will stay branded on our resumes, if nothing else.”

She giggles. “You’re definitely not wrong about that. Perhaps the four mental illnesses I have acquired during my time studying here will be worth it in the end after all.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kaveh grins. “Do you have a lot of work to do this weekend?”

“Of course,” says Parisa. Her shoulders drop, and she pulls a face. “Interior design wants three sketches by Monday. That, and I have a physics exam on Tuesday, and a paper for world architecture due Wednesday. So. Just lovely, really.”

“Wow,” says Kaveh. “I would kill myself.”

“Thanks,” says Parisa. “What about you?”

“I have a post-lab for physics,” says Kaveh. “And a paper for site design.”

“Yikes,” says Parisa, her nose scrunching. “That still sounds awful.”

“It is,” he nods. “I’m always so jealous of my roommate.”

“Your roommate?” Parisa blinks, tilting her head a little.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s also like, my best friend, but whatever,” says Kaveh, rolling his eyes a little at the thought of what Al-Haitham would say if he heard him refer to him as his best friend. Still, that is what he is to Kaveh. So. “He’s in Haravatat, so most of his exams are actually just papers. Not that that’s not a beast of its own right, but Al-Haitham—that’s his name—isn’t the type to get stressed about school like I am. It’s incredibly annoying.”

“I see,” says Parisa slowly. “He sounds like someone I wouldn’t get along with, haha.”

Kaveh laughs at this. “Don’t worry, it’s not just you.”

“You said you’re…best friends?”

“Something like that,” Kaveh shrugs. “Well, anyway. Maybe we can meet up and cry over our workload together?”

“Please,” says Parisa. “Please.”

“Great,” says Kaveh. He shoots her a thumbs-up. “It’s a date, then.”

What follows is approximately two seconds where he contemplates digging a hole beneath his feet and burying himself alive. Wow, is he fucking stupid? Why would he fucking say that? Devi Kusanali above—he needs to evaporate or something. Right now! Right this very moment! Right this—

“It’s a date,” Parisa nods, and then she smiles up at him, and okay, fine, maybe the floor’s life won’t end today.

They grin at each other before going back to their work.

parisa

[20:05] parisa: were you serious about meeting up to study…because I am so down lol

[20:07] you: yes i was!!!!! i need it desperately actually

[20:07] parisa: ok same
[20:07] parisa: and about it being a date?
[20:09] parisa: omg no worries if not sjdfshkdjfh I was just wondering but I thought maybe it would be too awkward to ask like right when you said it just in case

[20:10] you: wait no
[20:10] you: i mean yes
[20:10] you: like yes i did mean it
[20:10] you: about it being a date
[20:11] you: well i mean it’s kind of a pathetic date if you think abt it like we’re just meeting up to study and cry over how much work we have

[20:11] parisa: no I think it’s fitting
[20:11] parisa: for our pathetic little lives as the Kshahrewar students we are
[20:11] parisa: but also like hm…we can grab dinner on the way back from studying
[20:11] parisa: make it a bit more date-like?

[20:11] you: ok!!! yes
[20:11] you: sounds fun :)
[20:11] you: saturday? when do you wanna meet?

[20:12] parisa: hmmmm 2 pm? I don’t want to set an alarm (＋_＋)

[20:12] you: yes that’s perfect
[20:12] you: also real me neither
[20:12] you: see you then!!!!

[20:12] parisa: see you then!!!!!!!!!!

3 Idiots (2009, PG-13)

[20:12] you: guys i have a problem

[20:15] tighnari: when do you not have a problem

[20:15] cyno: ?

[20:15] you: i have a date on saturday

[20:15] tighnari: WHAT

“I didn’t even know you were looking?” says Tighnari as he busts through Kaveh’s front door. Cyno follows closely after, and he nods as he passes Kaveh, who in turn grimaces before shutting the door with his foot.

“I wasn’t,” he says. He brings his thumb and index finger to his temple. “Why are you even here? This could have been a perfectly fine conversation to have over text!”

“No,” says Tighnari. “You can’t just be like, I have a date on Saturday and not expect us to drop everything and come here?”

“What do you mean, you dropped everything? Go back home and do your work!”

“He’s exaggerating,” says Cyno as he slips into the seat at the very end of the couch. “He actually doesn’t have any work today.”

Kaveh drops his shoulders. “Of course he doesn’t.”

“Exactly,” says Tighnari, nodding shortly down at Cyno. Then he turns back to Kaveh and asks, “Now, who are you going on a date with? Is it—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of a lock clicking, and Kaveh immediately whips around to see none other than fucking Al-Haitham walking out of his bedroom door. Tighnari and Cyno go still too, and then Al-Haitham is looking between the three of them with an expression more deadpan than even Kaveh is used to.

He laughs, stilted.

Al-Haitham zeroes in on him. “Thank you for letting me know you invited your friends over.”

This guy. “Oh, shut up,” Kaveh scoffs. “Firstly, it’s my apartment too now. Secondly, they’re literally your friends too. Thirdly, fuck you.”

Through his periphery, he sees Tighnari facepalm. “Guess not, then,” Tighnari mutters.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” says Tighnari, looking back up. “Hello, Al-Haitham. Sorry for barging in, I guess. Actually, never mind, Kaveh’s right. I’m not sorry. Anyways, we just came over to ask Kaveh for details about his date on Saturday.”

“His date on Saturday,” Al-Haitham repeats.

“His date on Saturday,” Tighnari nods.

“Saturdate,” says Cyno.

“Okay,” says Kaveh. “Anyways. It’s not even that big of a deal. Stop making it into such a big deal. I’ve been on plenty of dates before!”

“No you haven’t,” says Tighnari. “You’re too busy. Which is why this is actually a big deal.”

“No it’s not,” says Kaveh. “It’s stupid. We’re literally just meeting up to do homework.”

“That’s really sad,” says Cyno.

“Okay, and what was the last date you went on, Cyno?” 

Cyno does not respond.

“That’s what I thought,” says Kaveh, and then he makes a face. “Fine. Fine. It’s with Parisa. And it’s not just homework. We’re also getting dinner after.”

“Parisa?” Tighnari blinks. “The girl in your design studio class?”

“Girl?” says Cyno.

“Yes, her,” says Kaveh, waving a hand. “We’re friends. It’s not that deep.”

“Isn’t it?” Tighnari’s eyebrows twitch. “You’re going on a date with her.”

“Well,” says Kaveh, and, okay so, yeah. He doesn’t really know how to rebuttal that one. “It wasn’t supposed to be one? I guess? I just kind of said, it’s a date, instead of something normal like, yeah sounds good when we were making plans to study together. And then she texted me later like were you actually serious about the date thing, and I was like well, fuck, I guess I was.”

“You guess,” Al-Haitham echoes.

“Yeah,” says Kaveh, turning to face him.

“You shouldn’t go on dates with people just because you guess,” says Al-Haitham stiffly. It’s a little off-putting. “You should go on dates if you mean it.”

“Again,” says Kaveh, “it’s not that deep. And anyways, isn’t that why people go on dates in the first place? Because they want to get to know someone? Parisa and I are friends, but I thought about it, and well, it would be nice to get to know her as more than a friend. So.” He pauses, looking between the three of them. “Um. Did that make sense?”

“Yes,” says Tighnari slowly. “I guess so.”

“Great,” says Kaveh with a nod. “Then that settles things. You two can go now!”

“No we can’t,” says Tighnari, and then, “I’m famished.”

“Me too,” says Cyno, turning to Al-Haitham. “Al-Haitham should cook for us.”

“No thank you,” says Al-Haitham.

“Oh,” says Kaveh to Tighnari, “oh, fuck you. Both of you. That’s why you came here, didn’t you? For dinner?”

“It’s not like you’re cooking,” says Cyno, shrugging.

“That’s…” Kaveh blinks, “true, actually.”

“I’m not cooking,” says Al-Haitham as Kaveh, Tighnari, and Cyno make their way to the dining table. “What are you all doing? I said I’m not cooking.”

Unsurprisingly, Al-Haitham ends up cooking.

✩ 

Kaveh’s date with Parisa is a concept that exists on the peripherals of Al-Haitham’s mind, but it’s not something that he intentionally directs a lot of attention to. He has no business thinking about it in depth outside of supporting Kaveh as a friend, which is the extent to it that Al-Haitham concerns himself with. Or at least, that is what he thinks he should do.

It’s a little more difficult once Kaveh makes it Al-Haitham’s problem. That Saturday morning, Kaveh is awake far earlier than is characteristic of him on a weekend, and then he spends those extra hours flitting around Al-Haitham anxiously as he talks to Al-Haitham but mostly himself about how the afternoon is supposed to go.

“You know, Tighnari and Cyno were right,” Kaveh says over Al-Haitham’s shoulder, completely ignoring the fact that he appears to be deeply engrossed in his work and can’t attend to his needs. “Not that I would admit that often, but I really haven’t been on many dates. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act.”

“Didn’t you say that it’s more of a study session than a date?” Al-Haitham says, affecting a disinterested tone. “You do that all of the time. Just act the same as you normally do.”

“But it’s an entirely different matter when it’s you versus with somebody I might potentially be interested in,” Kaveh says in a voice that implies that should be obvious. Al-Haitham feels his muscles stiffen at the words and he forces himself to return to his textbook and continue his notes.

“Don’t you have class once a week with this girl?” Al-Haitham asks. “It’s practically the same.”

“Twice a week, and no, it’s not,” Kaveh says, his voice reaching hysterical levels. “It’s dinner.”

Al-Haitham and Kaveh get dinner all of the time. Al-Haitham doesn’t see why it has to be any different than that.

For the sake of Kaveh’s patience and for the sake of sparing himself another long dissertation as to why this singular day is so significant, Al-Haitham refrains from voicing this thought. “That it is,” he says, agreeing, and then, “Good luck.”

“I can’t believe you’re just dismissing me like this,” Kaveh complains, but when it’s clear that Al-Haitham has returned to his own studies, he leaves Al-Haitham’s room and returns to his own routine.

Half an hour before the date, Kaveh leaves the house, and he doesn’t come back until six hours later.

“Hi,” Kaveh says, hovering at the edge of Al-Haitham’s doorway. Al-Haitham, who had hardly moved from his room but instead relocated to lounge on his bed and read a book, looks up at the sound of his voice.

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says. He looks normal—not anxious, not ecstatic, just as if he had gone out for coffee with Nilou. Except he doesn’t swing by Al-Haitham’s room to talk about coffee with Nilou, so when he peers closer, he can see a sort of happy content tucking itself into the lines of Kaveh’s quiet smile and the corners of his eyes.

“Hello,” Kaveh repeats, and then he pauses, clearly waiting for something. Al-Haitham stares at him for another five seconds and then returns to his book when it becomes obvious that he’s not going to speak.

He hears a pointed sigh and then the sound of Kaveh’s heavy footsteps walking away toward his own room, though the noise doesn’t stop. There’s the muffled sound of items being shifted around, and then a few more footsteps, each interlaced with a couple seconds of silence each. And then he walks past Al-Haitham’s doorway once, twice, three times.

After the third time, Al-Haitham closes his eyes briefly to compose himself. “Kaveh?”

Kaveh whips his head around the doorframe. “Yes?”

Al-Haitham gestures toward him. “It seems like you want to tell me something.”

Kaveh blinks at him. “Oh, no,” he says. “There’s nothing on my mind.”

“Right,” Al-Haitham says with no small amount of doubt in his voice. “All right. Carry on with what you were doing, then.”

“Wait!” Kaveh steps into the room and pushes his book away from his line of sight. “You’re supposed to ask me a specific question.”

“I did,” Al-Haitham says pointedly. “Well, if you don’t want to tell me about your date, then I certainly don’t need to sit here and listen.”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?” Kaveh says wonderingly. Al-Haitham opens his mouth to speak and then thinks better of it. “Just—just listen.”

Al-Haitham has sat through his fair share of talks: rants, complaints, lectures, all of the like. It’s never necessarily bothered him before. He’s not low on free time, and if he doesn’t have any, he’ll make it. Besides, that’s just the sort of person that Al-Haitham signed up to live with when he first accepted him as a tenant.

He’s never been aggravated by it before, but the subject of Kaveh’s spiels before were never about Parisa. That’s the only difference. And Al-Haitham can’t place why it rubs him the wrong way to hear so much about her. Maybe it’s the fact that Kaveh is very clearly falling for her, and from what it sounds like, Parisa is falling too—and this is only an issue because Al-Haitham has never met the kind of person Kaveh is when he’s in love.

It’s just different, is all. Al-Haitham has no personal reason why the recent events should get under his skin like this. He has no grudge against Parisa. It would be unbecoming of him if he were to.

“So,” Kaveh starts, and then he winces. “This is awkward. Al-Haitham, you’re making this awkward. Why am I standing? Can I sit on the floor? I’m going to sit on the floor.”

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham interrupts, exasperated, “just talk.”

“Right! Right.” Kaveh lets himself down onto the ground. “Well. It was normal. It was… good. Yes. Good is the right word for it. We met to study at the library, as every other academically beleaguered student does, and we did work. Well, she was drawing up plans for this assignment we have for the design studio class we share, which is ironic because that’s where we met. You know? And I was finishing an assignment for my god awful physics class—”

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says, “is this necessary information to the story?”

“Al-Haitham,” Kaveh sniffs, “have you ever realized how lucky and privileged you are that you get to hear so much about my life? Because it doesn’t seem like you’re aware of it.”

“Having to hear about your physics homework is a far cry from fortunate—”

Kaveh picks up a slipper on the ground and hurls it at Al-Haitham, which bounces off his chest and falls back to the floor. 

“How very mature,” Al-Haitham says dryly.

“You’re one to talk,” Kaveh says, disdainful and haughty, and it’s like they’re back to normal again until Al-Haitham remembers that the only reason why he’s here debriefing his evening to him is because he was out with Parisa. “Anyway,” Kaveh continues, “we studied for a few hours, and obviously we didn’t talk a whole lot during that time because we were focused on our work. And Parisa was the one who suggested dinner, so I let her choose, and we ended up at this little hole in the wall a few blocks down from the library if you’re heading east.”

Kaveh flops onto his back then, staring up at the ceiling. He blows a gust of air out of his mouth.

“I paid for the bill before she could say anything, and then she called me cute and said that I wouldn’t have a chance to pull that the next time we went out with this intensity in her eyes. Next time, Al-Haitham. There’s going to be a next time.”

Al-Haitham can audibly hear the smile in Kaveh’s voice even though he’s no longer facing him, suddenly unable to look him in the eye while he talks about Parisa. It makes him feel a little sick, as if he’d eaten a little too much at dinner and is experiencing indigestion now.

“Of course there is,” Al-Haitham says when it becomes clear that he’s expected to say something in return. “You two haven’t been messaging so much only for nothing to come to fruition.”

“Yeah, well,” Kaveh says, propping himself back up on his arms, “I wasn’t going to make any assumptions. We talked about a lot of things, most of them relating to architecture. For all I knew, I could’ve been just another classmate to her.”

“I don’t text my classmates the way you text her,” Al-Haitham says, uncomfortably aware of the fact that the only person he texts to any significant capacity is Kaveh.

“Because you’re Al-Haitham,” Kaveh points out. “Though I guess I wouldn’t text her quite that much if I viewed her as only a classmate either. I just wasn’t sure, is all. I didn’t want to presume on her behalf just because I feel a certain way about her.”

Al-Haitham inhales a short, sharp breath at the confirmation of Kaveh’s feelings. Logically, Al-Haitham has known this—it was a date, after all, and people only go on dates if they have pre-existing interest in each other. But perhaps he thought that it was only for the purpose of getting to know each other better, not that Kaveh already liked her.

Though Kaveh would only spend that much time messaging her if he knew he liked her from the beginning. Al-Haitham doesn’t know why that makes his skin feel tight against his bone.

“Well,” Kaveh says, and when Al-Haitham looks at him next, the smile on his face is readily apparent and blinding. He tears his gaze away just as quickly. “She wants to go on another date, so we will. Isn’t that exciting? I guess you don’t have much personal stake, but it’s exciting to me, at least. I don’t consider myself the type to really search for a relationship, so this is sort of new to me.”

“It is exciting for you,” Al-Haitham acknowledges, leaning back and letting his eyes flutter closed. “But perhaps you would find a better confidant in Tighnari. I’ve exhausted all of my excitement on the book I’ve been reading.”

“You suck,” Kaveh says, but Al-Haitham can tell he doesn’t really mean it, and he doesn’t put any more effort into calling him names as he usually would. “I’m sure that even the most thrilling of romantic ventures wouldn’t rouse a boring person like you.”

“Did you not get the hint that you should leave me to my reading?” Al-Haitham says.

“But of course. Have fun with your ancient Sumerian characters,” Kaveh says scathingly, evidently reading the title off the cover of Al-Haitham’s book. There are the telltale sounds of him picking himself back up and the shuffle of his feet, and still Al-Haitham cannot bring himself to open his eyes in case he sees that shining happiness on Kaveh’s face again.

He still can’t figure out why it unsettles him to such a degree. And even though he finds the exact paragraph he’d left off before Kaveh came into his room to disturb him, even with all of his concentration, he’s unable to return to his reading for the rest of the night, preoccupied with an anxiety he does not even have a name for.

☀︎

Lord Sangemah Bay <[email protected]>
to: Kaveh <[email protected]>

Hello Kaveh,

Thank you for sending me your work. I am interested in sponsoring you to build me a new home once you earn your Kshahrewar degree. My only requirements are that it must be very large and very extravagant. I have already bought the land I’d like to build on. I will pay for any and all equipment you would need to complete this project, as well as your own commission fee. Let me know if you’d be interested, and I can send you further details.

Lord Sangemah Bay

“Holy shit,” says Kaveh, straightening up on the couch. He extends his leg until his heel is kicking Al-Haitham’s thigh. “Holy shit. Holy fuck. Oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking—”

“Senior,” says Al-Haitham, “stop touching me with your foot.”

Kaveh ignores him, shoving his phone into Al-Haitham’s face. “Look at this.”

Al-Haitham takes approximately five seconds to scan the email. “It’s a scam.”

Kaveh scowls at him. “No it’s not,” he says. “Why would it be a scam? I know this merchant. Well, not personally, but I’ve heard of her, and I crosschecked with my professors when she first reached out to me and they all told me she likes picking up fresh Kshahrewar graduates.”

“That just further proves that it’s a scam,” says Al-Haitham. “Why would she only work with recent graduates? It’s because she can exploit them.”

“Normally I would agree with you,” says Kaveh, “as much as it pains me to say that. But she said she’ll be the one paying for everything, so. It’s not even like it’s not going to make a dent in my own pockets. I will only be profiting.”

“You’re being scammed,” says Al-Haitham, and then he casts Kaveh one last look before going back to his book.

Kaveh sticks his tongue out at him.

parisa

[18:03] you: {attachment: 1 screenshot}

[18:03] parisa: HOLY SHIT
[18:03] parisa: KAVEH

[18:03] you: I KNOW

[18:03] parisa: YOU’RE SET FOR LIFE
[18:03] parisa: OMG I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!

[18:03] you: THANK YOU SFKSHDKFJ

[18:04] parisa: we need to celebrate!
[18:04] parisa: tonight?? are you free?

[18:04] you: i am!!!!
[18:04] you: wait can i invite my roommate

[18:04] parisa: the best friend?

[18:04] you: that’s the one

[18:04] parisa: uhh if you want to i guess

Kaveh turns and pokes Al-Haitham’s bicep. “Al-Haitham.”

“Have you realized that you’re being scammed?” Al-Haitham asks, tilting his head.

Kaveh rolls his eyes. “I’m not being scammed. I’m going out to celebrate with Parisa and inviting you.”

This makes Al-Haitham visibly pause. Then, “Why would I want to third wheel on you two?”

“Shut up,” says Kaveh. “You’re not going to third wheel. You know it’s not like that.”

“Do I,” says Al-Haitham.

“Yes you do,” says Kaveh. “Ugh, whatever. Never mind. I’ll ask Nilou instead.”

“I feel for her, having to third wheel.”

“She’s not going to be a third wheel.”

“Whatever you say.”

✩ 

cool people and cyno

[21:35] Nilou: {attachment: 1 image}
[21:35] Nilou: kaveh i’m right here (///￣ ￣///) 

[21:35] Tighnari: are my own eyes seeing what i think i’m seeing
[21:35] Tighnari: IS THAT THE PARISA

[21:35] Nilou: yes… wahh i went to the bathroom and i took a while because i was touching up my makeup and i came back and found them like this… (*/_＼)

[21:36] Dehya: aw shit nilou your poor eyes
[21:36] Dehya: @kaveh keep it to the bedroom

[21:36] Nilou: ahh now i feel bad for sharing it
[21:36] Nilou: should i delete it?

[21:36] Dehya: ehhh don’t bother i’m sure everyone has already seen it
[21:36] Dehya: or at least was expecting it
[21:36] Dehya: i know i was, it was just a matter of time

[21:36] Cyno: Al-Haitham always says that Kaveh locks himself out of the house, but I was not expecting to see his lips locked with another
[21:39] Cyno: Get it
[21:39] Cyno: It’s because

[21:39] Candace: no yeah we got it i just needed a moment to process
[21:39] Candace: can we go back to the picture bc

[21:40] Tighnari: where is al-haitham
[21:40] Tighnari: dude i knew they had a thing going but i didn’t think it was that serious @kaveh READ YOUR MESSAGES AS SOON AS YOU’RE DONE!!!

Al-Haitham reads the messages with a peculiar sinking feeling in his gut, and then he turns off his phone and tosses it aside. There’s no use ruminating over something that he won’t get answers to for at least a few hours.

Kaveh does not return home that night.

When Al-Haitham wakes up, it’s with the somehow innate knowledge that Kaveh returned at some point during the night—likely in the early morning, or only a few hours before he arose. Either way, when he wakes, he gets the sense that Kaveh is back in the house, and when he ventures out of his room, he sees Kaveh’s shoes in the parlor.

So. Kaveh did come back after all.

Because he doesn’t know what else he’s meant to do, Al-Haitham sets out to prepare breakfast and coffee for the both of them, which he usually does anyways if he has the time for it. Just as he sits down with his plate and a steaming mug of coffee, Kaveh wanders out of his bedroom, looking as if he hadn’t slept a single minute—and incredibly happy in spite of it.

It’s probably because of Parisa. Al-Haitham knows this. When he takes a big sip of his coffee, not checking the temperature beforehand, it scalds his throat all the way down.

“Morning,” Kaveh says, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking a seat opposite Al-Haitham as he stifles a yawn. It seems as if his lack of sleep has finally caught up to him, what with the slightly darker circles under his eyes and the way that he enthusiastically drinks his coffee for a few long moments.

Al-Haitham tries not to watch him, wondering if he’ll bring it up. Wondering if Kaveh will mention why he got no sleep, or that he must have let himself in when the sun was already rising again over the horizon.

Kaveh, oblivious to Al-Haitham’s thoughts, merely begins eating his breakfast without another word. This is normal. They don’t usually spend their mornings talking, Kaveh too busy with the process of fully waking up and Al-Haitham typically engrossed in his book of choice for the day.

But certainly Kaveh would speak about something as important as his first kiss with Parisa. Surely that would be a subject of note if Kaveh was so anxious to tell Al-Haitham about their first date a week or so back.

“How was Nilou doing?” Al-Haitham finally ventures to ask, and Kaveh looks up, surprised that he would break their routine.

“Uh, she’s fine,” Kaveh says slowly, his cup hovering somewhere between the table and his mouth. “Why do you ask? Did she say anything otherwise?”

“I was just wondering,” Al-Haitham says, looking at the book but tuned into everything Kaveh is saying. “Since you saw her last night.”

“Well, I also saw Parisa last night, and you’re not asking about her well being,” Kaveh points out, and when Al-Haitham glances at his face, he sees it—the hint of content painted in his smile that only appears these days when Parisa comes up.

“Parisa is not my friend,” Al-Haitham says. The words fall strangely between them. They’re almost too antagonistic, too stiffly said. Kaveh’s eyes are wary now.

“Is there any reason why you’re asking?” Kaveh asks again, now choosing his words carefully.

Al-Haitham gives a pointed look to his phone sitting on the table. “Have you checked your messages between now and last night?”

“What?” Kaveh picks up his phone quickly with alarm. “Is it an emergency? Nilou left early last night, but I had my phone on do not disturb.”

Al-Haitham just stands there silently, not sure how he would verbalize what is waiting for Kaveh in the group chat.

He sees the moment that Kaveh processes what Nilou sent when Kaveh’s eyes widen, his hand flies to his mouth, and then he drops the phone to the table with an audible thud, wheezing a little.

Al-Haitham merely raises his eyebrows and takes another sip of his coffee. He suddenly wishes it was brewed stronger.

“What the fuck,” Kaveh says, and then he flips the phone back over so he can look at the screen one more time before turning it around and bringing his gaze to the sky as if he can call upon Devi Kusanali to take him out. “What the fuck?”

“That’s what we were all saying,” Al-Haitham says.

“Why would Nilou do this to me,” Kaveh says, flustered. “Oh my god. I didn’t know she was—obviously if I knew she was done in the bathroom I wouldn’t have—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“Oh my god,” Kaveh moans, his face now in his hands. “Um. I didn’t mention it because we’re kind of taking things slow, or slowish, or I guess it just hasn’t processed yet since it’s been less than twelve hours, but yeah. I asked Parisa out at the celebration dinner once Nilou left because the timing was good and the night just had that feeling and it was? You know? Bound to happen, I guess.”

Al-Haitham makes a noncommittal hum.

“I was going to tell everybody eventually,” Kaveh mutters. “I just needed a moment. Archons. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Poor Nilou,” Al-Haitham says. That's all he can manage to say. He takes another sip of his coffee and finds the cup empty, even though he just sat down. Even the acidic burn of the drink wasn’t enough to wash down the strange constricting feeling in his throat, nor did it disguise the bitter taste on his tongue.

“Poor me,” Kaveh corrects, and then he picks up his phone again and begins texting. Al-Haitham’s phone vibrates in tandem as Kaveh undoubtedly spams the groupchat with a flood of indignant messages, but Al-Haitham only stares at Kaveh. He’s never known the aftertaste of his coffee to be so bitter before. Maybe he over brewed it.

The thing is, there’s still that hint of a smile on Kaveh’s face, so he must not be very upset with this turn of events at all. Which is good. That’s good. It should be good. Logically, this is good.

Al-Haitham grabs his phone, ignores the notifications piling up at the bottom of his screen, and toggles on do not disturb.

So. Kaveh and Parisa are a thing. Officially.

Not much else changes except for the fact that Kaveh is gone a lot more often than he used to be, and he spends the time that he used to spend texting Parisa actually seeing her face to face. Well. He still messages her all of the time, but that’s probably to be expected.

And it’s fine.

A couple of weeks pass like this, and Al-Haitham begins to realize that he’s been feeling strange—lately, all he does is commute between the house and campus for lectures and come back to study. That was his life for all the time before he met Kaveh, which doesn’t explain anything but the fact that Kaveh, in his Kaveh ways, must have turned Al-Haitham into more of a social creature than he realized.

To put it short, with Kaveh so preoccupied with his new relationship, Al-Haitham is… lonely.

He’s always had somebody there. He’d always come home to Nabeela, and they would cook and eat dinner together, and when he started college, there was Kaveh. And after his grandmother passed, Kaveh was there to temporarily fill in the vacancy that her lingering spirit left in the house.

Obviously, things have changed.

Perhaps he’d just gotten too used to it, and that’s the problem—getting comfortable. He misses the quiet presence of somebody next to him.

Evidently, Al-Haitham isn’t the only one who’s feeling Kaveh’s absence.

Nilou

[14:21] Nilou: ahhh i hope this isn’t too presumptuous but… would you like to study together today?
[14:21] Nilou: i’ve really missed having a study buddy (ノ_<。)

[14:21] you: That sounds decent
[14:21] you: What time would you want to meet?

[14:23] Nilou: “decent” haha
[14:23] Nilou: you’re funny al-haitham

[14:23] you: I was not trying to be

[14:23] Nilou: that’s what makes it funnier!
[14:23] Nilou: anyways i’m free after this lecture in about forty five minutes? i want to swing home to drop off some things but that will take fifteen minutes max
[14:23] Nilou: oh, and my secret studying weapon is snacks! so i’ll be ready and armed ＼(＾▽＾)／

[14:24] you: I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer

[14:24] Nilou: don’t even worry about it!! see you then (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

Nilou is, as promised, ready with a spread of snacks. She tells Al-Haitham that the librarians have never kicked her out of the premises for it before, and since she’s been here more than Al-Haitham has, he shrugs and accepts it.

Al-Haitham is halfway through his chapter when he glances up and sees Nilou picking at the bun in her hand, looking as if she has something to say. He slowly bookmarks the page, a clear gesture that he’s willing to listen, and then he looks up.

“Al-Haitham,” Nilou blurts out, and then she withdraws a little, biting her lip. “Um. I guess that I just wanted to say that I didn’t really need a study buddy, but since Kaveh got together with Parisa, I’ve felt like I haven’t left my apartment nearly enough. So um. Thank you for coming out with me even though we didn’t make plans beforehand.”

“I’ve been feeling the same,” Al-Haitham admits. “I suppose he took up far more space that I realized.”

Nilou pauses. “Can I say something?” she whispers conspiratorially even though there isn’t anybody around them, and at Al-Haitham’s nod, she continues. “I think it’s a little odd that most of us haven’t even met Parisa yet, but they’ve been talking for quite a while at this point. I mean, I met her at the celebration dinner when Kaveh was offered the commission, but that’s about it. They were more concerned with each other that night. I feel like they’ve spent so much time with each other lately that Kaveh hasn’t even thought to introduce her to his friends, which is, in my opinion, pretty important in a relationship.”

“I suppose so,” Al-Haitham says. “It hadn’t crossed my mind before, but you’re right. The only glimpse I’ve gotten of her was that photo you sent to the group chat.”

Nilou winces. “Maybe if you ask him about it he’ll realize? I think it could be fun if he made it a group thing. We could get Tighnari and Cyno to come, and maybe Dehya and Candace so Parisa feels less outnumbered in the group.”

Al-Haitham, who finds himself a little put off with the idea, shrugs. “I could mention it to him if you like. I’m not too concerned with meeting her, but I’m sure that Tighnari and Dehya are antsy to.”

Nilou relaxes, leaning forward across the table. “I think that would be nice. And it’s such a relief to know that you feel the same,” she says.. “I thought it was just me. I mean, I get why they’re spending all of their time together, and surely it’ll pass, but…” She buries her face in her hands. “Ah, yes. Certainly it’ll balance itself out overtime.”

Al-Haitham, who can’t say that he’s all the more experienced in the realm of relationships, has figured pretty much the same. “We have each other’s company now,” he says. “And I’d say that I have gotten more headway in my studying than I do with Kaveh since he always thinks it necessary to interrupt me with random stories or cat videos on his phone.”

“I guess I’m interrupting you right now,” Nilou says, a little shamefully. 

Al-Haitham shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking the same thing for a while now. I wanted to share my opinions as well.”

“Huh,” Nilou says thoughtfully. “Maybe we should do this more often. Are you a fan of cafés?”

“I’m indifferent to them.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t be a huge fan of anything, huh?” Nilou says, and then she laughs, a bright peal of joy that worms its way into Al-Haitham’s heart. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Well, if you don’t mind, then maybe next time we can meet at the café across the street from the performance hall? And then I wouldn’t have to empty my entire pantry for a study date.”

“Next time,” Al-Haitham agrees, finding himself a little relieved that he was able to find good company even after his grandmother had passed.

As it turns out, Al-Haitham meets Parisa without the encounter even being planned.

On Tuesday, his afternoon lecture gets canceled while he’s already on campus, but since it was his last class of the day, he heads back home a few hours early. He doesn’t think to let Kaveh know since it’s not particularly notable to him, but perhaps it would have been a good idea to.

When he opens the door, he can hear the television playing in the front room. Ignoring the sound of whatever reality television show that Kaveh put on this time, he kicks off his shoes and walks around the couch to get to his room.

He stops short when he realizes that Kaveh isn’t alone in the house. He’s intertwined with another body on the couch, one arm thrown over their shoulders and their legs interlaced.

Right. Well.

This must be Parisa.

“Oh,” Al-Haitham says, almost entirely out of surprise, and that snaps the two of them out of it.

Kaveh swivels around so fast he could break his neck. “Al-Haitham?” he says, and the shock is evident in his voice.

Al-Haitham is more concerned with Parisa, who is staring him straight in the eyes.

She’s pretty—even Al-Haitham can admit that. She has dark brown hair and conventionally attractive features, her lips painted with a darkish red shade of lipstick and pursed a little bit at his interruption. But it’s her eyes that strike Al-Haitham. 

Her gaze is incredibly intense, and it doesn’t waver even when Al-Haitham meets her stare straight on. This, he is not used to. People tend to be more intimidated of him than they are comfortable around him.

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says belatedly. He only turns once Parisa finally swivels away, turning back to Kaveh with a pasted smile on her face. “I didn’t think you would be back.”

“I didn’t think you would be back,” Kaveh parrots, a little confused. “Don’t you have a lecture to attend…?”

“It got canceled,” Al-Haitham says. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“You can introduce yourself,” Kaveh says jokingly, but when he catches Al-Haitham’s eye, there’s an undercurrent of tension.

“What, am I not worth the introduction?” Parisa chimes in, and then she laughs. Kaveh cracks a smile, looking at her. His gaze softens when he does so, and that slight bit of strain on his face dissolves.

“My name is Al-Haitham,” Al-Haitham says. “I’m the roommate.” His eyes flicker over to Kaveh briefly, wondering if he will contest the position, but he doesn’t say anything to the effect. Nothing about them being close friends or just classmates or whatever they are to each other. Maybe Kaveh already told Parisa all about Al-Haitham.

“I figured,” she says lightly. “I’m Parisa, but I assume you already know that.”

“I wasn’t sure, but it’s nice to meet you,” Al-Haitham says. Kaveh looks at him sharply again. There’s something like a warning in his eyes. This girl must really be important to him after all.

Parisa cocks her head to the side. “It’s not as if Kaveh would be talking about any other girl, though,” she says. “Unless…you two don’t talk as much as I previously thought? But maybe I was just making undue assumptions.”

The look in Parisa’s eyes tells Al-Haitham that she knows exactly what she’s doing. He shrugs. “It doesn’t concern me what Kaveh says about me when I’m not around. After all, it’s not as if I’m the one dating him.”

“I know your lecture was canceled,” Kaveh interjects, “but I’m sure that you still must have work to do. If you keep distracting us, then I’m not going to find out if Hannah chooses Blake or Sean, and then I’ll be behind when the next episode comes out.” He gestures toward the television that’s still playing some random channel—Al-Haitham hadn’t even realized that it was still going.

“I’m telling you, she’s going to go for Adam,” Parisa says, smoothly switching the topic and twisting back around so that she’s facing the television. It’s a clear dismissal. “He’s the one who has the most in common with her, so obviously she’ll choose somebody that she can make conversation with instead of somebody that she’s stuck around with for so long only because there was a lack of better company.”

Al-Haitham turns and leaves the room. He doesn’t need to hear anymore to know just what kind of person Parisa is, nor does he have the energy to continue carrying on such a conversation. Besides, he’d gotten the hint from Kaveh. He didn’t want him there anymore than Al-Haitham wanted to remain in that room.

He’d always had a suspicion about Parisa, but this only cements the inkling into a belief. It should have been clear from the beginning, when Kaveh would only get his face out of his phone when he was doing work, and even then he would periodically check his phone whenever he got a notification. She’s clearly somebody who can’t stand to have Kaveh’s attention on anybody else but her.

It’s also clear that Parisa dislikes Al-Haitham, and now Al-Haitham can say that he feels the same—and with reason. It’s her that has no reason to resent him, especially since she’s clearly holding the limelight in Kaveh’s eyes, but if anything, this only serves to provide rationale to the sickly, twisted feeling he gets in his gut when he thinks of the two together. He has even less energy to entertain those that are hostile toward him than those who vie for his attention.

Now if only Kaveh can realize that.

Al-Haitham doesn’t know when Parisa leaves, but it’s a few hours before Kaveh winds up entering his room without even asking, standing over his shoulder until Al-Haitham removes his headphones and turns to indifferently meet his eyes.

“So,” Kaveh says, “what the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” Al-Haitham says. He casts a look back toward his papers. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“Not anymore,” Kaveh says, and then he actually reaches out and takes Al-Haitham’s shoulder to force him to face him. It’s one of the few times they’ve made physical contact; Al-Haitham is rendered breathless by the shot of electricity that shoots from the point of touch. “Why did you act so weird around Parisa?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Al-Haitham says calmly, meeting his gaze head-on. Like her, Kaveh is one of the few who tend to look him dead in the eye. It’s a byproduct of all of the arguments they’ve had—whoever looks away first loses.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kaveh says heatedly, and then he stops and draws back a little. “You didn’t like her from the beginning. I could tell. You were oddly dismissive of her right from the start, and you didn’t even acknowledge her presence until I forced you to.”

“I was getting to it,” Al-Haitham says leisurely, shrugging. He knows he’s pissing Kaveh off more than he already has, but it’s as if he can’t help it. This is the most emotion that Kaveh has shown him in the past couple of weeks, but of course it relates to Parisa.

It always does.

“Archons, you’re such an asshole, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, shaking his head. It’s not something that Al-Haitham is unfamiliar with. He’s heard Kaveh call him all sorts of names for years now, but this is one of the only times where it sounds as if he means it. Like he truly believes that Al-Haitham is a piece of shit to his core.

“Parisa’s heard a lot about you, you know?” Kaveh continues. “Of course she has. You’re one of my closest friends. I figured that she would be a little nervous when she met you the first time, but you had to go and exacerbate the issue, and now it’ll be difficult to mend the bridge now that you’ve broken it. Aren’t you aware of the power of first impressions, Al-Haitham.”

“Her first impression of me is whatever you told her,” Al-Haitham retorts, crossing his arms. “So the reason why she dislikes me is because of what you must have said about me.”

Kaveh’s mouth drops open. “I have only spoken of you in a positive light!” he exclaims incredulously. “I was generous, Al-Haitham, probably more than I should have been. I called you my best friend!” Al-Haitham ignores the current that slices through him at that. “She doesn’t hate you either, no matter what you seem to have gotten into your head. Parisa’s sweet, you know? She didn’t do anything to deserve being treated so oddly the first time that she comes over to my house.”

Something about that makes a fire flare up inside of Al-Haitham’s chest, an unfamiliar, burning sort of anger that he has never felt before in relation to Kaveh. “Your house,” he echoes. “Have you forgotten who you pay rent to? Have you forgotten that I am technically your landlord, Kaveh? Have you forgotten that you had nowhere to live in your senior year and I happened to have a spare room?”

“Are you fucking serious? You’re pulling this shit on me? This has nothing to do with Parisa. That is a matter that has to do with only you and me, and you have no business bringing it up when I am attempting to have a civil conversation with you about the way you are treating my girlfriend.”

“And I thought I was one of your closest friends,” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh stares at him, speechless.

Al-Haitham gathers his composure again, swallowing down the strange mixture of anger and betrayal in his throat. “And this does relate to her, actually. This is my house, and therefore I am enabled to set the rules here. It is only natural that, as roommates, we should have boundaries for what should or should not go on in the house, regardless if I’m around to see it or not.”

“We were cuddling, Al-Haitham.”

“How was I supposed to know what you were or were not doing?” Al-Haitham cocks an eyebrow. “All I saw was that you two were wrapped up in each other, and we all know where that goes.”

“You’re trying to incense me on purpose, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says. His shoulders are tense, his eyebrows furrowed. Al-Haitham feels the tightness running through him like an electric circuit.

“No, I’m not,” Al-Haitham says. “Your girlfriend was trying to anger me, though.”

“Will you stop needlessly antagonizing her?” Kaveh says, his voice rising in volume. “And say her name, damn it. It’s Parisa. Have you got that through your thick head?”

“I don’t care what you do in your spare time, as it doesn’t concern me to get involved in your personal affairs,” Al-Haitham says, looking back at his papers with disinterest. “But keep your indecency to your bedroom instead of displaying it in the main room where anybody could walk in. At least have some decency.”

“Al-Haitham,” says Kaveh, “I genuinely do not understand why you are so intent on provoking me. What the fuck is your problem with Parisa, who has not done a single thing to you? Who you hardly met for five seconds before you decided that you don’t like her? Reflect on that, Al-Haitham. I will see you in the morning.”

And then he storms out of Al-Haitham’s room, slamming the door behind him as he goes with such force that the lingering breeze flutters the papers sitting on Al-Haitham’s desk so they shift on the slightest bit. Al-Haitham, too, feels a little bowled over.

That is what Kaveh is to Al-Haitham. A bit like an earthquake, displacing his center of gravity.

And perhaps the worst part of all of it is that when Al-Haitham thinks about it, when he really, truly tries to discover why he had such a negative opinion of Parisa before he even met her, he finds that he does not know.

In the morning, Al-Haitham still does not have an answer.

But it is the morning, and if the sun had set with their enmity, then it rises again with the promise of forgiveness. Kaveh had told him that he’d see him in the morning, after all. That’s how it usually goes with them. At the end of it all, where would he go?

They’ve played this song and dance too many times before. Al-Haitham knows what the steps to reparation are, drilled into his head at this point.

He gets up early after a shortened sleep and makes his way to the kitchen, putting on the usual pot of coffee. He tidies the surrounding rooms and all of the things that they’ve left out for the past few days and puts everything back into their place. He opens the curtains, just a little bit, so that the new morning sun can seep into the house and bleach everything anew.

When Kaveh wakes, he will be met at the door with a platter of sliced and cut fruit waiting for him, an apology composed not of words but of actions.

“So,” Kaveh says, finally meeting Al-Haitham where he’s waiting in the kitchen, sitting in his chair at such an angle so that the offensive couch that Kaveh and Parisa were on is not within his line of sight. “Care to explain?”

Al-Haitham takes a long dreg of his coffee. “I guess my only answer is that I don’t know either,” he says simply. “But I will attempt to be civil about it. Once an opinion is formed, it is difficult to turn the tides of it.”

“I guess that’s why I’m still here,” Kaveh grumbles, slipping into the chair beside him and staring out the window. “I decided a while back that you were worth my time, and now I’m unfortunately stranded here.”

“It is unfortunate,” Al-Haitham agrees. “And you are welcome to bring her here if you like, though I do ask that you keep any intimacy to your bedroom, and that you warn me beforehand.”

Kaveh flushes. “You talk as if we’ve even gotten that far,” he says. “I told you that we’re taking things slow.”

Al-Haitham shrugs. “Haven’t we already established that I don’t try to think of you two very often?”

“You’re an ass,” Kaveh says, but it’s nothing like how he had said it last night. There’s the familiar tinge of fondness that comes with the insults that he usually throws his way. “Just try to be less of a bastard when you’re around her, all right? If it means that we don’t ever talk about her again, then so be it.”

“Fine by me,” Al-Haitham says, and this time when he catches Kaveh’s eye, he’s far less upset than he was the night before. “Oh, on that topic, Nilou mentioned that maybe it would be nice if your girlfriend met the entire group and you made it a thing. For your consideration.”

“I was thinking about that too,” Kaveh sighs, tilting his head back at the ceiling. “I’ll think about it some more, yeah. But also I don’t know, Parisa tends to be a little strange about things like that. I’ll see.”

Al-Haitham hums in response, deciding better than to comment on that, and then the two lapse into a comfortable silence.

Then Kaveh looks up again. His brows furrow. “Wait, you and Nilou? You two are hanging out without me?”

“It’s not as if the world revolves around you, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says dryly.

“No, this is a good thing,” Kaveh says insistently. “I’ve been trying to get you two to become better friends, remember? Looks like my job is done. You’re welcome.”

“Again, not everything is about you,” Al-Haitham says, but Kaveh is laughing already and there’s no use protesting the matter, so Al-Haitham sits back with his coffee and lets the morning sun wash them anew.

“So I heard you two had a pretty big fight,” Tighnari says conversationally, leaning back in his seat. He, Cyno, Kaveh, and Al-Haitham had met to grab lunch together after Tighnari mentioned in their group chat together that they hardly ever saw Kaveh anymore.

Kaveh had just gotten up to grab utensils for the group, but he’s barely out of earshot before Tighnari decides to open his mouth. Al-Haitham gives him a warning glare but sighs. “And where did you hear that?”

“From Kaveh.” Tighnari takes a sip from his water glass. “He was pretty upset about it, you know.”

“I know,” Al-Haitham mutters. “I was quite literally there.”

“No, Al-Haitham, he was upset,” Tighnari says insistently. “Think about it—it’s his best friend and his girlfriend coming to blows. Of course he’s going to think a lot about it, even if you don’t. Just because Parisa isn’t significant to you doesn’t mean that she isn’t to him. And I think it worried him a lot to find out that you can’t even stand her when he clearly values your opinion so much.”

“If he did, then he wouldn’t have only come to me so upset,” Al-Haitham says. “But I digress. I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”

Tighnari raises an eyebrow. “What? He didn’t tell you that he confronted Parisa about it too?”

Al-Haitham looks sidelong at him, his skin prickling at this new information, but at that moment, Kaveh comes back, Cyno on his trail with handfuls of napkins, and then there’s no other opportunity to ask about it.

“You’re welcome,” Kaveh says pointedly as he sets the cutlery down in front of everybody.

“Thank you, Kaveh,” Tighnari says with a cheeky smile. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Kaveh says, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Well, I would,” Tighnari says, grinning a little too hard at him. His words come out a little stiff. Al-Haitham looks between them. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re not the best liar?” Kaveh says, smiling sweetly.

“I have,” Cyno cuts in. “Tighnari, you better clean up your act.” As he says it, he hands over a stack of napkins to Tighnari, who customarily rolls his eyes at the joke even as he accepts the offering.

“I don’t want to hear it from you, Cyno,” he says laughingly.

“Hey, cut it out,” Kaveh says. “I have a question to ask of you. I mean, I guess Al-Haitham already knows this—” he glances at Al-Haitham, “—but I was wondering if all of you plus Dehya and Candace and Nilou would be free this Saturday night to have a little get together? And you guys could meet Parisa. Which is the main goal of the meeting, actually, so it would be nice if you say yes since that’s the only date that I could get her to agree with.”

If Al-Haitham could roll his eyes at that, he would, because of course it is Parisa who’s the main obstacle to getting to know Kaveh’s friends. From the sound of it, it had taken a solid amount of convincing to get her to even agree with the idea.

“Yeah, I’m free,” Tighnari says, staring straight at Kaveh as he grasps Cyno by the shoulder. “And Cyno is, too, since I just said he is.”

“Am I?” Cyno asks.

“Yes,” Tighnari says pleasantly.

“Wonderful!” Kaveh claps his hands together once. “I knew I could count on you guys. Nilou already agreed, so I just have to get Dehya and Candace to come, but they should be willing. All they need to do is be together anyway. You two can stick together the whole night too, if you like.” He gestures toward Tighnari and Cyno as he says the last part.

Cyno frowns. “It was my understanding that that was a given. I’m usually his plus one, like the thorn in his side that he can’t get rid of. Get it? Because he’s an Amurta—”

“Haha, we get it!” Tighnari says, clapping Cyno on the shoulder, except there’s something a little unhinged in his eyes and his movements are too frantic. “Funny. Because I deal with plants. And—you—thorns—roses. Yeah.” When Al-Haitham looks closer, he can see the hint of a flush on Tighnari’s face.

So. It was pretty obvious that soon only Al-Haitham and Nilou would be the only single people left in the group, and while that would make a great plot for a shitty romcom, neither of them swung the right way for that to work out.

Kaveh can see it too, or Tighnari must have already confided in him, because he’s failing to hide his smirk above the lip of his glass. “Well, this should be fun!” he says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

If only Al-Haitham could relate.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have any say in the matter, so when Kaveh tells him to show up at the nice Inazuman restaurant down the street from the west end of the Akademiya at five PM sharp, he does so.

Only because it was Kaveh asking, and most definitely not because Al-Haitham is particularly anxious to see Parisa again.

To his surprise, only Kaveh is there to meet him when he shows up straight out of a late afternoon discussion group.

“Nobody else is here yet?” he asks, surveying their surroundings. “You didn’t force any of our other friends to show up this early?”

“Oh come on, you want to be here,” Kaveh says brightly. It’s, perhaps, too optimistic. “And no, I didn’t. I was just anxious, I guess, and then I wanted to make sure that the reservation is in place since we’re a large group and I felt bad just showing up and demanding a table, and then I didn’t really want to go alone, but I also didn’t want to make people show up just to wait with me for half an hour. So.”

“You felt bad for everyone but me,” Al-Haitham repeats. “Great.”

“That’s what you’re here for, aren’t you?” Kaveh says, smiling at him. The grin on his face is too intense, a little manic. He must really be nervous about this, which says a lot more about his worry of Parisa’s chemistry with his friends than anything. But maybe that’s just Al-Haitham thinking.

“And I assume the reservation is fine,” says Al-Haitham. “When is she showing up?”

“She,” Kaveh says, rolling his eyes at Al-Haitham, “is arriving when all the rest of them do. A little bit late, actually, now that I think about it. She mentioned that she had to run some errands before she could come.”

“She couldn’t do that after the dinner, or even tomorrow?”

“Give her a break,” Kaveh says, frowning and punching him in the arm. “The dinner is bound to run late. You know how it is. Good food and alcohol.”

“The only way I’ll be able to survive tonight,” Al-Haitham says knowingly.

“Save it. I’ll put you next to Nilou and Nilou next to Dehya, who is next to Candace, so then you won’t have to make eye contact with Parisa even if you wanted to.”

That means that Kaveh won’t be sitting near Al-Haitham. “So you’ve stuck with me with Cyno, who is the second to last person to hit it up with her,” Al-Haitham says. “All right.”

“It’s a sacrifice for the greater good.”

“The greater good being your premature relationship.”

“If you get it all out now, will you finally shut up during dinner?” Kaveh says, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes. “Oh. I think that’s Nilou, which means we have about four minutes before Tighnari and Cyno show up, eleven before Dehya and Candace, and fifteen before Parisa arrives.”

“I don’t think it’s a good sign if you’re this worried about your girlfriend showing up to dinner, but maybe that’s just me,” Al-Haitham says.

“Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, a warning note in his tone. “Are you done yet?”

“Hi Kaveh, Al-Haitham,” Nilou says cheerfully, bounding up to them. “Ah, it seems as if I’m a little early.”

“Better than being late,” Al-Haitham says.

“What he said,” Kaveh says through a forced smile, kicking Al-Haitham in the shin, and then he gestures for her to go with him. “We might as well get seated while we wait for everyone else, then.”

“So, Al-Haitham,” Nilou says as they take a seat at the table, Al-Haitham, as promised, at Nilou’s side. “Did you take a list at the cafes I sent you? Were there any that stood out to you in particular?”

“Cafes?” Kaveh asks curiously.

Nilou lights up. “Yes! We’ve had this idea—well, it’s mostly mine, but Al-Haitham is going along with it so I think that says enough—of visiting all of the local cafés while we study. We’ve been to a few so far, and they were all super cute.”

“Oh,” Kaveh says, glancing over at Al-Haitham. “That’s a fun idea! I had no idea that’s where Al-Haitham has been going these days.”

“You should come one day,” Nilou says. “When you’re not with—”

She’s interrupted by the arrival of Tighnari and Cyno, who make their rounds greeting the trio, and by the time they’ve made their civilities and settled down, Dehya and Candace arrive, and they do it all over again.

And then the only person that they’re still waiting for is Parisa, who is three minutes late by Kaveh’s estimation. Kaveh is frowning at his phone, which seems to be devoid of notifications. 

“I’m sure she’s just running a little late,” Nilou placates, putting one hand on his forearm across the table. “She wants to come. I want her to come! We all want her to come. It’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Kaveh sighs, resting his forehead against his palm. “But it’s already been twenty minutes since the time that I told her—”

“Kaveh,” a female voice interjects then, and Kaveh turns, a smile immediately springing into place on his face.

“Parisa,” he greets, standing and embracing her before turning to the rest of the table, which has quieted at her entrance. “Parisa, this is, in order, Dehya, Candace, you know Nilou and Al-Haitham, Cyno, and Tighnari. Friends, this is Parisa.”

“It’s so nice to meet you all!” Parisa says, sugary sweet, and funnily enough, her eyes skate right over Al-Haitham when she says it. “Kaveh always tells me so much about your antics, so it’s great to finally put faces to the names.”

“You too,” Tighnari says smoothly, a pleasant smile on his face. “It’s always so refreshing to meet people outside of your Darshan, as well. Isn’t it funny how that works? I wouldn’t have met half the people at this table if Kaveh didn’t happen to be volunteering at my interdarshan orientation event back when I was a first year.”

“Oh, yes, I agree,” Parisa says as she fidgets with her purse. “It can get so cutthroat within your own Darshan, too, since it’s such a competitive space. So it’s great to get out of your own circle, even if I think that studying something as mundane as language would bore me to tears.” 

Al-Haitham inwardly scoffs at that.

Then Parisa turns to Kaveh, placing one possessive hand on his chest. “Not you, Kaveh. I’m talking more about—oh, you know who I’m talking about. And I’m sitting where…?”

Kaveh laughs, a little uneasy, in response to what is undoubtedly an inside joke between them. “I do know who you’re talking about,” he says with a nod. “Here, you’re sitting next to Dehya. She’s friendly. She probably won’t bite.”

Parisa laughs airily as she takes her seat, and that bitter taste creeps back into Al-Haitham’s mouth even though he hasn’t had coffee today at all. In hindsight, not the best idea. 

“Probably?” says Parisa.

Dehya smiles easily at her. “Kaveh’s just saying shit for the sake of saying shit. My girlfriend would back me up if you ask her.”

“Oh?” Parisa grins at Candace. “I assume you’re the girlfriend, then? How did that happen?”

“Well,” Candace begins, and then she delves into a story that Al-Haitham has heard a dozen times over at this point about school clubs and leadership roles and an exchange program during sophomore year.

It’s all so incredibly normal, and Al-Haitham watches throughout the night as Kaveh’s tense smile slips into something more earnest as it becomes obvious that Parisa slots in well with the rest of the group despite being a newcomer. Of course, she doesn’t say a word to Al-Haitham, and nor does Al-Haitham speak to her, and their only interaction is limited to Al-Haitham passing the soy sauce bottle down to the far end of the table for her to pick up.

It’s good for Kaveh, he supposes. This is probably exactly what he wanted, minus the fact that Parisa and Al-Haitham require a three person buffer to sit at the same table. It seems that all of that initial distrust and tension applied to Al-Haitham exclusively, which he’s fine with. Again, just thinking of her has that strange effect on his mood and elicits the almost painful tugging in his gut.

The night passes quickly; the alcohol is good and Parisa meshes well within the group and for all of those hours, Kaveh doesn’t stop smiling at her—and everything is fine. Al-Haitham is unsettled inside for a reason that he cannot distinguish, and everything is fine.

Everything is fine.

“Mail’s on the table, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham calls as he enters the house, tossing the miscellaneous envelopes onto the dining table as he passes it.

“If it’s just spam, then throw it out,” Kaveh yells back.

“Why should I have to look through your mail for you,” Al-Haitham says, which Kaveh conveniently ignores. He checks the various envelopes anyway, carelessly flicking through them until he comes across one from an address that isn’t like the others. His hand stills. “There’s one from someone named Faranak? Do you know them?”

There’s a prolonged pause. Then, “What?” And then the sound of Kaveh darting up and out to the kitchen, walking fast enough to cause worry.

“Is there an issue?” Al-Haitham says, but Kaveh is already snatching the envelope out of his hands and tearing into it eagerly.

“It’s my mother,” he explains breathlessly, ripping through the paper. “She hardly ever writes. Archons, what do they make these envelopes out of—”

Eventually, he gets it open and is met with an ornate card that Al-Haitham can’t see the front of. And then he stares at it, and stares at it, and stares at it.

“Kaveh?” Al-Haitham prompts eventually when it becomes obvious that he has no words to say. “Did you even open the card?”

“I don’t need to,” Kaveh says numbly, and then he shows Al-Haitham the face of the card.

You are formally invited to Henri and Faranak’s wedding taking place on the…

“Oh,” Al-Haitham says.

“Oh,” Kaveh repeats. “Oh. Holy shit. Al-Haitham, my mother is getting remarried.” He sits down heavily into a chair, his eyes having been trained on the words ever since he opened the envelope. They scan the same sentence over and over again as if trying to find a hidden meaning.

“Is this a good thing or a bad thing?” Al-Haitham asks. Kaveh hasn’t talked about it much, but he knows that something happened to his father when he was young, and neither he nor his mother really got over it. However, she must be doing better if she’s found somebody new.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Kaveh says, his head in his hands. He gets up suddenly to open the card, reading the contents of it hungrily. “She wrote a little note on the inside that she loves me and she hopes that my exams went well last term and that she hopes I will be able to attend her wedding. Fuck. Al-Haitham. Al-Haitham, my mother is getting married.”  

Al-Haitham got that the first time, but he keeps that thought to himself. “I’ll give you a moment,” he says, beginning to walk away, but Kaveh grabs his forearm to hold him in place.

“No, hold on a second,” he says, a little jittery, obviously deeply in thought. “There was something else on the invitation—it said that I could bring a plus one. And, well, I hope you understand, but I think I need a plus one. Because I don’t know how I’m going to survive traveling all the way to Fontaine and seeing my mother get married alone. Is that not insane? She’s getting remarried. It sounds insane, but that might just be me.”

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says, “you’re going through shock right now. It came out of the blue. Of course it’s going to sound a little insane.”

“Okay, good, because it is,” Kaveh says. “Devi Kusanali above. I need a plus one.” He pauses. “Okay, so, this might be a big ask, but. Um. Al-Haitham.”

“Kaveh,” says Al-Haitham, not really knowing where he’s going with this.

“Could you be my plus one?” Kaveh blurts out, and then before Al-Haitham can even begin to process that request, he turns to him with pleading eyes, grasping at his shirt. “Please. I don’t want to bring anybody but you.”

Al-Haitham ignores the way that makes his palms sweat and looks askance toward the card. “Shouldn’t you bring Parisa? She’s your girlfriend. I’m only your roommate.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kaveh says flippantly, “you’re my best friend. Of course I would want to bring you. Also, I don’t think I’m at that place yet with Parisa. We’ve barely been dating for a few weeks; how could I ask her to travel to Fontaine with me to share a hotel room, meet my mother and my soon-to-be step-father, and then watch my mother get remarried? Holy fuck. I need a moment to process what I just said because I can’t believe that’s actually happening.”

“That’s a lot,” Al-Haitham says uncertainly. “I’m not even sure that you would want to bring me.”

“Be serious, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, lifting his head to meet him in the eye. “Who else would I possibly bring to watch my mother get remarried but you?”

Al-Haitham has no words for that.

“Besides,” Kaveh continues, “I feel like you’re the only person who could understand my situation, even a little bit. After all, I met your bibi, didn’t I? I feel like we have an understanding on that matter, when it comes to family shit like this. I guess I don’t—ugh—trust anyone else but you. Or would want to share that part of my life with anybody else. I don’t want to introduce anyone else to my mother but you. At least, not right now.” He waves a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “That was gross to say. That was not a thing I just said. Al-Haitham, ignore me and just say yes, please. Put me out of my misery so I can agonize over the fact that my mother is getting remarried instead of who I have to bring along with me.”

“Well, if you put it like that,” Al-Haitham says slowly, “I suppose I have no choice but to go. I will not be ignoring that, by the way. Even at your darkest moments, I will bring this up without fail.”

“Don’t say that like it’s a promise, you bastard. Now go.”

Al-Haitham obliges, but he pauses before he’s about to leave the room. “Do you need anything? Chai? Water?”

Kaveh looks up blearily to give him a small smile, and that, combined with everything Kaveh had just said about trust and understanding, gives Al-Haitham the same sort of sick feeling that Parisa does, but in an infinitely more pleasant way. “I’m okay. Thank you, Al-Haitham. Has anybody ever told you that you’re too honest for your own good?”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” says Al-Haitham.

“Ugh. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find you in a few hours, and we can go over wedding details then, but for now I need a little bit of time.”

Al-Haitham leaves him. He understands needing time.

Al-Haitham has experienced his fair share of surprises in his life, but nothing could have taken him more aback than the moment that he opens his front door at a knock, expecting a delivery that Kaveh placed and instead getting faced by Parisa.

Parisa, who is not with Kaveh and therefore has no reason to show up at Al-Haitham’s door. She has her arms crossed as if under the impression that it gives her a bigger presence, but Al-Haitham is under no illusion.

He doesn’t have time for this. “Kaveh isn’t home,” he says, and then he starts to swing the door shut.

Parisa catches it before he can latch the door. “Yeah?” she says. “That’s good. I was banking on that, actually. I’m not here to talk to him. I’m here to talk to you.”

Al-Haitham lazily raises one eyebrow. “Oh?” he says, a little bit imperious because he knows it would get on her nerves.

And it does. “Unfortunately, yes,” she grits out, putting one foot through the door. “I wanted to talk to you about Kaveh, actually.”

Kusanali save him now. He does not want to deal with this, but it’s probably better than having to hear Kaveh ask him why he won’t even entertain one conversation with his girlfriend. “Mind your shoes when you come in,” he says, reluctantly opening the door a little bit more. 

“I’ve been here before,” she says sharply in what is probably a pointed reminder that Kaveh trusts her enough to bring her to his place and that Al-Haitham isn’t the only person who shares this space with him now.

It works. “Then you need not be bored with a tour of the place, I assume,” Al-Haitham says, turning and stopping while they’re still in the parlor. “I don’t mind conversing here.”

There’s a small twitch in her eye that disappears once she properly matches his gaze. “It’ll be short,” she says. “Kaveh just told me about his mother’s wedding last night. The one in Fontaine. And I was wondering why he’s taking you instead of me.”

If Al-Haitham had any smaller amount of restraint, he would be laughing in her face. “This is a conversation you should be having with Kaveh, not me,” he says. “I’m not even sure why you came here in the first place. It’s his mother’s wedding, not mine.”

“That’s the problem,” Parisa says, now quieter. “It’s his mother, not yours. I would be more understanding if he was your plus one. If your mother was the one getting married and not his. But it’s not. And I’m his girlfriend, and you are just—”

“I’m not sure if you want to finish that sentence,” Al-Haitham says sharply, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know why you believe you are entitled to act so possessive over Kaveh especially given that you only met him this year, but we both know that I am more than just his roommate.”

“You’re just his landlord,” Parisa sneers. “Kaveh tells me about that gag you two have going—doesn’t seem as if it’s much of a joke to you.”

“I’m his best friend,” Al-Haitham corrects. “You can ask him yourself, once you leave my house. Actually, I know for a fact that he’s told you that.” He can’t take it anymore; he wants Parisa out of the house. He feels like he’s going to be suffocated by her presence and the stench of her sickly sweet perfume. He hadn’t realized she was the origin of the scent that had recently attached itself to Kaveh’s clothing, but it makes sense now that she would follow him around even without physically being here.

“His best friend will be me soon enough.” Her gaze is haughty, and the look on her face says that if she were taller than him, she would be looking down upon him. It says that she actually believes the bullshit coming out of her mouth.

Al-Haitham can’t help it. He barks out a short, bitter laugh at her expense and the sheer presumption radiating from her body. “You’d be lucky if you even stick around long enough to become one of his close friends. That’s why Kaveh is taking me instead of you to his mother’s wedding.”

A muscle works in Parisa’s jaw as she visibly grinds her teeth together, her hands clutching into fists at her sides. If Al-Haitham were any less of an asshole, as Kaveh is so fond of calling him, he would be far more concerned of making an enemy of his best friend’s girlfriend. But he can’t find it within himself to care at this moment in time. 

“For all I know,” says Parisa, “you asked Kaveh to be his plus one. How am I supposed to know that he truly asked you first?”

“You know,” says Al-Haitham, “I also asked Kaveh why he insisted on bringing me instead of you. And you know what he said? He told me that out of everyone else he knows, I alone am the one he trusts the most and the one who could possibly understand what he’s going through.”

Parisa reels back, shock splashed across her face before she disguises it—not quickly enough that Al-Haitham doesn’t see it. So she really did underestimate Al-Haitham’s role in Kaveh’s life.

“You’re pathetic,” she scoffs. “Hanging onto the coattails of your supposed best friend because you don’t have anybody else in your life who tolerates you enough to stick around. Or is that just a byproduct of your unfortunate family circumstance? I wouldn’t know, especially since all of my immediate family members are still alive.”

At this moment, Al-Haitham decides that Parisa is no longer deserving of any of the civility or falsified respect he’d had in his mind to treat her with for Kaveh’s sake. “Get out of my house,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “I don’t know why Kaveh is wasting his time on somebody like you, and I’m not sure why you think that he would tolerate being around someone who would utter such a vile statement as you just did to me. But perhaps you could reflect on that and come to an actual logical reason as to why his first choice is me, not you.”

Parisa’s face has gone white, and her mouth opens and closes a few times even as she robotically makes her way toward the door. “I didn’t mean it,” she says, the words rushing on their way out her mouth. “I didn’t—”

“You were clearly thinking it,” Al-Haitham says coldly, holding the door open by merely a sliver so that he can make his last parting shot. “Kaveh has always been a man of strong integrity who holds family very dear to his heart, and if you’ve listened to a single word that he’s said, then you would know this. He must be blind to not see the kind of person you truly are.”

And then before she can say anything else—and she tries to because Al-Haitham sees her infuriating lips open once more, Al-Haitham slams the door on her face and stalks back to his bedroom, nearly shaking in rage.

What a fucking way to start his morning.

But despite all of that, Al-Haitham never finds it in himself to tell Kaveh about Parisa’s visit.

It’s fairly obvious that Parisa doesn’t bother to either, so he leaves it alone. He doesn’t want to think about what she had said about his family for longer than he has to, and Al-Haitham isn’t sure that Kaveh would have wanted him to repeat what he told him about Al-Haitham being the only one to understand and trust him.

It feels a little like a breach of trust to have told Parisa about that, but what’s done is done. Al-Haitham isn’t the one who is so insecure in his relationship with Kaveh that he has to confront his best friend about it, and he’s not the one who got so thoroughly embarrassed and dressed down that he can’t even mention it to Kaveh.

Besides, it’s not as if Kaveh is serious serious about Parisa. It was only by circumstance that they came to get together. Soon enough, Parisa would reveal her true nature around Kaveh, and then they would dissolve on natural terms without Al-Haitham having to interfere and potentially get blamed for the disintegration of their relationship.

If there’s anything that Al-Haitham wants, it’s for Kaveh to be happy. He doesn’t want to take it upon himself to destroy that, however temporary it may be. There’s also a small part of him that fears that Kaveh wouldn’t believe him if he were to bring it up—that in the back of his mind, Kaveh would subconsciously choose Parisa over Al-Haitham.

It’s just Parisa getting to his head. It’s not a fear he can easily extinguish, however. Kaveh already knows that Al-Haitham doesn’t have the fondest of feelings for his girlfriend, and he hasn’t recognized that Parisa returns that animosity either. It would merely be, if anything, just another point of tension in their household until the whole Parisa matter gets swept under the rug.

It should be soon now. Al-Haitham can’t imagine that Kaveh will keep her around for very much longer.

☀︎ 

tighnari

[4:41] tighnari: SOS

[6:02] tighnari: SOS

[8:30] tighnari: SOS

[9:03] you: what the fuck
[9:03] you: why did you send me an sos message at FOUR AM?? AND SIX AM???

[9:03] tighnari: and 8:30! don’t forget

[9:03] you: and 8:30 yes
[9:03] you: well??? what happened

[9:04] tighnari: this is something that needs to be said in person i’m sorry

[9:04] you: ????????????
[9:04] you: what the hell???? what the fuck happened omfg
[9:04] you: you are scaring me

[9:05] tighnari: i too am scared

[9:06] you: ok so
[9:06] you: ok i’m coming over

[9:06] tighnari: wait no DO NOT COME OVER

[9:06] you: what the fuck why not

[9:06] tighnari: cyno is here

[9:06] you: why would that matter
[9:06] you: wait why is cyno in your apartment at 9am
[9:06] you: oh
[9:06] you: wait

[9:08] tighnari: i will be there in 20 minutes

Twenty minutes later finds Tighnari sitting across from Kaveh on the couch in Kaveh’s living room. They stare at each other—well, Kaveh stares at Tighnari. Tighnari is currently trying very hard to look literally anywhere else, which, okay, sure. That’s fine. Kaveh will let him collect himself, because he’s a good friend like that. The best, really. So true of him.

The quiet is broken all of a sudden by the sound of a door opening, and Kaveh looks over just in time to see Al-Haitham walking out of his room, empty mug in hand while the other rubs sleepily at his eyes.

He freezes at the sight before him.

“Morning,” says Kaveh, holding up a hand.

Al-Haitham squints at him. “What are you two doing?”

“Well,” says Kaveh, “I don’t know what Tighnari is doing. But I’m waiting for him to figure it out. It’s been…” He glances at the clock on the far end of the wall. “Ten minutes now? Well? Have you figured it out yet?”

“Shut up,” says Tighnari.

Kaveh sighs and moves to stand up. “Al-Haitham, here, give that to me. I’ll make your coffee, you take my spot on the couch. I’m tired of just sitting here.”

He skips over to Al-Haitham and tugs him toward his spot, patting his shoulders to push him down before taking the mug right out from his fingers and turning on his heel to make a beeline for the kitchen. 

He hums as he starts up the coffee machine, and minutes into the process, Tighnari says, “I think Cyno and I are in a relationship now.”

Immediately, Kaveh whips around. “What?” And then, “Why did you only say it when Al-Haitham was sitting there?”

Al-Haitham, on the other hand, looks far less impressed. “Is that all?” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yep,” Tighnari nods.

“Hang on,” says Kaveh, quickly pouring coffee into the mug and marching back to the living room. He presses it into Al-Haitham’s hands and sits down right next to him, pressing against Al-Haitham’s side to make room. “What do you mean, yep? You can’t just say yep and move on! You literally just came all the way to our apartment to talk to us about it!”

“Actually, I like Al-Haitham’s method more,” says Tighnari. “A simple question, and then we all move on.”

Al-Haitham nods at this. “It isn’t particularly surprising news.” He glances at Kaveh, who glares at him in return. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed whatever is going on between Tighnari And Cyno? You?”

“Oh shut up.” Kaveh swats his arm. “Of course I’ve noticed! I’m me. Who do you take me for?”

“Hm,” says Al-Haitham. “Have you really? Are you sure?”

Kaveh swats him again. “Shut up. Nobody asked you.”

“And yet Tighnari only told us what happened when you were gone.”

Kaveh huffs and turns to Tighnari. “I’m still kind of pissed about that, but it’s fine. I’ll forgive you as long as you tell me everything that happened. I want details that rival the smuttiest fanfiction in history. I want to know every single thing that happened between every breath you took.”

“Maybe you should be the fanfiction writer,” says Al-Haitham.

“I told you to shut up,” says Kaveh.

“Why did I even come here,” says Tighnari.

“Because I’m your closest friend, obviously,” says Kaveh. “You know, besides Cyno himself. For better or for worse.”

“For worse,” says Tighnari, and then he sighs and flops back onto the couch, the back of his head hitting the cushion with a faint thop. Kaveh stares at him, his nose scrunching beneath his eyes and rams his knee into the side of Al-Haitham’s thigh when he notices him checking the clock overhead.

“Don’t be an ass,” he hisses.

“Maybe he should hurry up then,” says Al-Haitham. “Some of us have class to get to.”

“Oh please. I know for a fact you skip whatever class you have today. Kusanali above, I feel for your poor professor.”

“Well, if my professor wants me to go to class, then she should teach the subject matter better than the textbook.”

“You don’t think anyone teaches the subject matter better than your stupid textbook.”

“And what about it? I—”

“He’s graduating tomorrow,” says Tighnari from his spot, still sprawled over the couch like some lovelorn maiden. “He’s graduating tomorrow, and of course, both of us knew this. It’s not news. You’re graduating tomorrow too, Kaveh. And Candace. And Dehya. All of you are graduating, and that’s fine, but Cyno is graduating tomorrow.”

“Okay, so,” says Kaveh. “I’m a little offended?”

“And it’s a normal thing, to graduate,” Tighnari continues, clearly choosing to ignore him, “but I’ve been thinking about this specific graduation for a while now. Like Cyno’s graduation specifically, is what I mean.”

“Okay,” says Kaveh. “I get it! No need to rub it in!”

“And I know he’s going to just keep working in the Akademiya,” says Tighnari, “but it’s still a whole thing. Plus, my internship this summer is with the forest rangers in Gandharva Ville, and if that goes well, then I might just continue with that after I graduate, and to be very honest, I’ve not really been letting myself think about what the status of my relationship with Cyno is going to be after he graduates, but it has been in the back of my mind. Actually, I was going to bring it up with him at some point if he didn’t, but…”

“But he did,” says Kaveh, leaning closer. “Yesterday?”

“Yesterday,” Tighnari echoes. “So we talked about it. I suppose we got quite far with our discussion.” 

“Wow,” says Kaveh.

“Wow,” says Al-Haitham.

“So that’s it?” Kaveh says, tilting his head. “You guys talked about it, and now you’re together? That’s a sweet story.”

“And much more normal than yours,” says Al-Haitham.

Kaveh rams his elbow into his ribs.

“Yeah,” says Tighnari. “Since he’s going to be continuing work here, he’s leasing his place out for another year.”

“Are you moving in with him?” Kaveh asks.

“Most likely,” says Tighnari. “And then when I graduate next year, we’ll see where I’m headed before deciding what we should do.”

“Planning for the future,” Kaveh nods, “I like it.”

“Actually, speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask,” says Tighnari, “doesn’t Parisa have a contract lined up here in the city? But you’re going to Port Ormos?”

“Yeah, it’s a little annoying.” Kaveh frowns. Parisa has been especially vocal about this lately, constantly talking to him about how they’re going to be separated for a while soon and that they should spend as much time together as possible. It’s nice to know he’s that loved that much, but it’s also a lot. Kaveh is not someone who really enjoys thinking very far into the future if he can help it. “But I think we’ll be fine. At least, I hope we’ll be fine. My job is more long-term than hers anyways, so personally I’m just going to play it by ear instead of stressing myself out.”

“That doesn’t sound very practical,” Al-Haitham comments from next to him.

Kaveh ignores him. “In any case! I’m really happy for you,” he says. “It’s been a long time coming, I think.”

“I think so too,” says Tighnari. “At the very least, it alleviates my worries. Communication is key, guys. Never forget that.”

“Thanks,” says Al-Haitham.

“Kaveh,” Tighnari says, turning to him, “you’re graduating tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes,” Kaveh nods, “I didn’t already gather as much from you waxing poetic about how you don’t care that I’m leaving soon.”

“There’s no point in getting sentimental about it right now,” Tighnari says. “There’s still several months before all of that. We should just enjoy ourselves tomorrow as much as we can.”

“How sweet, you’re coming to my graduation?” Kaveh bats his eyelashes.

Tighnari laughs. “Of course I’m coming,” he says, smirking. “Don’t you know? My boyfriend is graduating.”

✩ 

When Kaveh graduates from the Akademiya, the department bestows him with a title. 

“The Light of Kshahrewar,” says Al-Haitham as the two of them walk through the hallways of the Kshahrewar wing. Outside, the ceremony has just concluded, and in Kaveh’s hands lies a small golden pin, the Darshan’s symbol engraved in the center. “That’s a hefty name.”

“It’s too much,” says Kaveh, rolling his eyes. He brings the pin up to eye level. “I don’t think the sages realize what kind of pressure they put onto the graduating class by enforcing such stupidity.”

“It’s not stupidity,” says Al-Haitham. “You’re being rewarded for your hard work.”

“Yeah, and I’m also getting a whole new set of expectations thrown onto my shoulders, so.” Kaveh shrugs. “You win some, you lose some. With all of these eyes on me, I can’t afford to fail. Which basically guarantees success in my career, if you think about it.”

“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” Al-Haitham says bemusedly. “And what if you do fail?”

“Then the world will end,” Kaveh says lightly. “And I won’t know how to move forward, especially since this commission job practically fell into my lap. Ah, but don’t put that energy into the world, Al-Haitham! It’s like you want me to kill myself.”

“I didn’t say that,” says Al-Haitham.

“You practically did,” Kaveh says. “Whatever. It’s not going to happen because it just can’t, you know? I’m the Light of Kshahrewar. I’ll represent my Darshan well or I’ll die trying. And anyway, I have Parisa on my side too, who understands more than anyone why it’s such a big deal for me.”

Al-Haitham pace stumbles a little at the mention of Parisa, but he quickly corrects it before Kaveh can notice, who is too busy staring at the pin in his hands once again to notice anything going on around him.

“Speaking of her,” Al-Haitham says, “did she leave you behind or what? I thought that especially since you two came from the same commencement ceremony, she would have found you by now.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Kaveh waves a flippant hand. “I told her beforehand that I would want a little bit of time to myself before I joined all the festivities. It’s a lot, you know.”

“But you’re not alone,” Al-Haitham points out. “You’re with me.”

Kaveh shoots him an exasperated look. “Yeah, but you’re different. Things aren’t as overwhelming when I’m just with you. It’s like the world goes a little quieter, in a nice way. I suppose. Not that it’s particularly nice being around you. It just sometimes seems as if we can exist in our own little world.”

Al-Haitham squeezes his eyes shut briefly. He doesn’t want Kaveh to leave. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that they won’t be able to study in the same libraries or swing by local coffee shops for quick beverages or live in the same house anymore, dancing around each other in the kitchen.

It’s almost as if in that little world that belongs to only Al-Haitham and Kaveh, time passes a little faster, taking Al-Haitham off guard before he can even realize that the sand is slipping through the hourglass far quicker than he had imagined.

He’s just being ridiculous.

“It only seems that way because you try so hard to pick fights with me that you lose a sense of where you are in the real world,” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh erupts into laughter, throwing his head back a little so the sound echoes up and down the hall. “That’s what Tighnari says, doesn’t he?” he says, a twinkle in his eye. He looks so happy. “He says we exist in our own little bubble most of the time and we can’t be bothered to resurface into reality. But that’s just Tighnari.”

“Tighnari likes the sound of his own voice. He’s with Cyno right now, I assume?”

“Yes, of course he is.” Kaveh sighs, the sound long and drawn out. He looks to the ceiling. “Dehya and Candace must be together too, even though they don’t come from the same Darshan ceremony. I wouldn’t doubt it. Parisa is with her friends, and I think Nilou is keeping her company for the meanwhile until we make our way back to the group.”

“Are you particularly anxious to get back?” Al-Haitham asks, drawing to a stop.

Kaveh pauses a few steps in front of him, looking back with a puzzled frown on his face. “No?” he says questioningly. “Why would I be? I’m fine here with you. It feels like I have my entire life ahead of me, stretching out like this great path. My time is no longer constrained by assignments and exam dates and homework, though that’ll soon change with all my deadlines that I’m bound to get. But for now…”

He sighs, and then the expression on his face is replaced by a broad grin. “I feel like I’m free. No professors, no internships, not even Parisa. Just… you, I guess.” Then he laughs, the light in the hall striking his face in a way that does strange things to the linings of Al-Haitham’s chest. His heart pumps uncomfortably within its chamber.

“You would have once said that was your worst nightmare,” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh smiles, a quirk on his lips. “I would have, wouldn’t I? Funny how that works.” His phone vibrates loudly then, and he checks it. “Well, I guess we do have to go back soon,” he says, waving his phone. “Girlfriend is calling.”

“Right,” Al-Haitham says. He thought they would have had a little more time together in these endless halls before Kaveh graduated them for good. 

“Oh, none of that,” Kaveh says, and then he gestures for Al-Haitham to go stand with him on the side of the hallway. “I wanted to walk these passages one more time with you, but I actually had something to tell you, and I thought it would be more fitting to do it now.”

Al-Haitham patiently waits for Kaveh to begin speaking, noting the way his hands nervously fidget with the pin in his hands for lack of something better to do.

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham prompts, gentle.

“Right,” Kaveh says. He grins, a flash of embarrassment on his face. “I guess I’m just a little nervous because it hasn’t even really set in for me yet, and you’re the first person that I’m telling this too. So. Um.”

“Yes?”

“The land Lord Sangemah Bay bought is near Port Ormos,” Kaveh says in a rush, all at once. “And. Um. Since I’m leading the project and drawing up all of the blueprints, I need to be on site every day, and as I’m sure you know, Port Ormos is quite the commute from Sumeru City.”

“You’re moving,” Al-Haitham says for him, a strange mixture of disappointment and relief filling him. He’d known for a while that this would happen. Kaveh was never bound to stay within the limits of the city, with all of his genius and his reputation, least of all Al-Haitham’s childhood home. This is only confirmation of what he’s known for a while. That’s all.

“I am,” Kaveh says, his eyes searching Al-Haitham’s face. “You knew.” He lets out a long exhale, ducking his face down and rocking back on his feet. “Archons. Of course you did. Probably before I even did.”

“I always figured that you would end up going somewhere greater, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says, the words coming out stilted in their honesty. “There’s not much else left for you here now that you’ve left your name on every building in this city.”

Kaveh laughs, a soft noise. “Now that’s an overexaggeration.” Then he looks up at Al-Haitham, hesitating. “And you’re not… upset?”

“No,” Al-Haitham says, wishing that it was less of a lie. “You are meant to go where you are being called to.” Al-Haitham would be the last person to come between Kaveh and his future.

“You’re not upset about me leaving, or you’re not upset about me springing this on you?” Kaveh says teasingly, but there’s an undercurrent of worry there as if he’s really counting on Al-Haitham’s answer. As if it actually matters to him when he, as he said before, has his entire future laid out in front of him like a game board. Next stop: Port Ormos. Roll the dice, Kaveh. You’ve won the lottery.

Al-Haitham weighs his answer for a second. “Like you said, I’ve known that you were leaving for a while,” he says eventually. “So it’s not as if you sprung it on me. I’ve even been looking for prospective roommates, and I think Nilou is going to be looking for a new place next term. But on the matter of you leaving—” He hesitates. “I can accept it, but that doesn’t mean that I’m overjoyed about it.”

“Aw, Al-Haitham, you’re going to miss me!” Kaveh says, much too delighted for his own good.

Al-Haitham looks to the side. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’ll make sure to text a bunch,” Kaveh promises, putting two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. “You won’t hear the end of me.”

“I didn’t ask for that either, Kaveh.”

“But I know you, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, and the words strike deeper than they’re meant to.

Kaveh knows Al-Haitham in ways that even Nilou doesn’t. He’s going to feel Kaveh’s absence when he leaves.

“And unfortunately, I know you,” Al-Haitham says. “Which means that I know you ought to go back soon before your girlfriend comes over and drags you back herself. You should be with your fellow classmates, anyway, not some Haravatat undergraduate.”

Kaveh gasps in mock realization. “You’re right,” he says, “I shouldn’t be hanging out with some undergraduate loser. Archons. Imagine still being a student. Couldn’t be me.”

“Right,” Al-Haitham says dryly. “Quit stalling. We should go back. Are you going to put that pin on or not?”

“Oh.” Kaveh glances down at the Kshahrewar pin that he’s been spinning between his fingers all this time as if just remembering its existence. “I’ll put it on later. I’d like to make sure it looks right.”

“It wouldn’t be good for the Light of Kshahrewar to not wear his Kshahrewar pin,” Al-Haitham says, frowning. “Here, let me do it if you’re so concerned about how it looks.”

“You’re the last person who can talk to me about caring about appearances,” Kaveh says, but he allows Al-Haitham to take the pin from his hands anyway. When he does, their fingers brush against each other for a millisecond, soft.

“I thought that one day you would get tired of insulting me in every other breath you take,” Al-Haitham says, fiddling with the back of the pin. When the needle pops out, he takes a step closer so that he can reach Kaveh’s neckline. “But it turns out that you’re leaving before that could happen, senior.”

When Al-Haitham glances up, he sees that Kaveh’s eyes are trained on Al-Haitham’s fingers. “Oh, don’t say that,” he says, his voice hushed. “That makes it sound so much more real.”

“Weren’t you the one just talking about how happy you are to finally be unrestrained by academia?” Al-Haitham’s fingers brush against the line of Kaveh’s neck on accident, and he can hear him swallow. The pin is tricky, and the needle is unusually small.

Kaveh looks straight ahead, staring into the wall. “I suppose that I won’t be missing the rigid structure of school, but I can miss other things,” he says. “Like taking walks back from the library back to the dorms, or the cold morning air when I need to get onto campus when the bus isn’t running on the weekends. Things that seem so mundane in the moment that I took for granted because things will never be the same again.”

“Morbid.” Al-Haitham finally gets the needle to fasten and withdraws, studying the placement of it until he’s satisfied. When he looks up, he finds that Kaveh is already staring at him.

“No, I’m just being realistic,” Kaveh says softly. “So many big events happen in life that we forget to grieve the small moments, and then they pass us by before we even realize that they’ve left.”

Al-Haitham stares at him, aware that he’s talking about more than just school at this point. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to say—he’s never been too good at that in the first place.

Kaveh clears his throat a little too loudly to be natural and looks away, his feet scuffing the floor. “Anyway! Did you get the pin to work? Does it look nice?”

“Stand up straight,” Al-Haitham says reproachfully, and then he looks at it critically once Kaveh obliges. It does look nice, a gleaming gold emblem standing out on his otherwise white robes. Al-Haitham gets caught on the flush in Kaveh’s cheeks, though, which seems to far outshine the placement of the Kshahrewar pin on his collar.

“It does,” he says belatedly. “You look like a proper Kshahrewar graduate, now.”

“Great!” Kaveh beams, looking down at the pin. One hand absentmindedly goes to run his fingers over it. “I guess that means we really have to go now since there’s nothing left that I can say has to be done here. It’ll be my last time walking this hall, Al-Haitham. You should feel honored that you get to do it with me.”

“Honored or encumbered?”

“Fuck yourself, honestly.”

When they make it back to the main hall, they’re immediately greeted by noise and celebration. Parisa comes over immediately to grab Kaveh by the arm, not sparing a glance at Al-Haitham. “My parents want pictures,” she says, “and I want them to take the pictures so we can be done with that and get on to celebrating.”

“Of course,” Kaveh says, and then, throwing a farewell look at Al-Haitham over his back, disappears into the crowd.

At least Parisa has left Nilou with Al-Haitham. That’s his only saving grace in this hall full of weeping graduates that he doesn’t recognize.

Nilou looks at him. “You and Kaveh were gone for a long time,” she says. “I didn’t realize that’s where you left.”

Al-Haitham shrugs. “We had to talk about some things.”

Nilou nods, not prying any further. “It’s real, isn’t it?” she says, gesturing all around the room. “I still remember when I first invited Kaveh to that dance showcase, you know. It feels like it just happened a few months ago, not two years ago.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Al-Haitham says, and Nilou laughs.

She looks melancholy as she glances around the hall strewn with balloons and streamers, but there’s a content smile on her face even as she does so. “Things are going to be so different,” she says wistfully. “I’m glad that we’re of the same graduating class, Al-Haitham. At least I have that.”

“As am I,” Al-Haitham says. “Are you still in need of a place to live next year?”

Nilou grimaces. “Yeah. I still think it’s stupid that a fight over a guy cost us all a place to live next year, but it’s graduation day and they still haven’t made up so I think I need to look for other options.”

“I’ll have an open room next year,” Al-Haitham says, looking out at the room with his arms crossed.

Nilou blinks. “Is that an offer for a place to stay?”

“If you want to take it.”

Nilou beams, bumping her side into Al-Haitham’s. “Al-Haitham, are you serious? You’d really let me? Oh, that would be so much more convenient. I love the dance troupe girls, really, but I think I’ve learned that I need a little bit more space to myself this year. And your house is closer to the performance buildings…”

“There’s nobody else that I can stand, Nilou,” Al-Haitham says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “My only option is you.”

“You could have chosen to live alone,” she says.

“I could’ve,” Al-Haitham acknowledges. “But I think I’ve learned during my time here that I’d much rather have a housemate than be on my lonesome all of the time.”

The look on Nilou’s face turns a little more sympathetic. “Kaveh,” she says, understanding.

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham agrees.

“But we’ll be fine,” Nilou says determinedly. “It’ll be fun, and then even if you miss Kaveh, you won’t have to miss having company. Because you’ll have me!”

“Of course,” Al-Haitham says, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “I’m glad that’s been sorted out.”

“Me too,” Nilou hums, and then the two of them return to silence, watching the rest of the graduates walk around as they wait for Parisa and Kaveh to return.

In due time, they make their way back, laughing over something indistinguishable. Kaveh draws up short to Al-Haitham and Nilou, that same expression of joy still painted all over his face. It’s probably made to stay for a few more days at least, as long as the high of graduation lasts.

“I think everyone else is about done,” he says, checking his phone and pocketing it. “Well? You two ready to bounce?”

“I’m leaping with joy,” Al-Haitham says sarcastically, and Kaveh gives him a look.

“I’m going to tell Cyno that you’re stealing his job during dinner,” he says.

“Feel free to,” Al-Haitham says. “He’s graduating. Somebody is bound to.”

“Bound?” Nilou pipes in. “As in the synonym to the word jump, which is also similar to bounce—”

Kaveh sighs over exaggeratedly. “Well, the Akademiya can’t have two Cyno’s running around the moment the original one left,” he says. “Not a moment after he left its hallowed halls, too. Damn. Parisa, this is the last time we’re going to walk out of the Kshahrewar wings, by the way.”

“Oh, shut up, won’t you?” she says playfully, but even Al-Haitham can tell that there are tears choking up her voice as she says it.

Kaveh laughs and rubs a comforting hand over her shoulder, and then the two turn and begin to walk out of the hall with Al-Haitham and Nilou trailing behind.

“Logically, I know that they can just come back and visit,” Nilou murmurs, coming to a stop as Kaveh and Parisa continue on. Al-Haitham halts with her as she pulls out her phone and swipes to her camera, crouching so that their backs and intertwined hands are in the center of the photo. “But this all seems so monumental, you know? Ah. There we go.”

Satisfied, she puts away her phone again and starts forward, and Al-Haitham watches as Kaveh crosses the boundary from Akademiya grounds to the city as an alumnus, not a student.

And like that, Kaveh takes his first step out of Al-Haitham’s life.