Archive of Our Own

Before marble and sketches, the first beautiful thing Kaveh ever recognized was his maman.

He could not have been older than three. The memory had long since blurred around its edges, but some details refused to fade. Little Kaveh put the detail one by one, remembering the pale gold woven through her hair whenever the afternoon sun spilled across the windows; then it followed with a scent of fresh Padisarahs lingering on the sleeves of her dress because she just returned from the Bazaar every morning. Kaveh enjoyed feeling the gentle weight of her arms as she lifted him, core memories to his mundane.

She would gather him against her chest, laughing whenever his tiny hands reached for the loose strands framing her face.

“My little Kaveh,” she would murmur, her voice sweeter than the dusk birds nesting among the branches of Sumeru’s great trees. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Children did not yet possess words large enough to contain their wonder. So he simply stared, round crimson eyes reflecting the woman before him as though committing every detail to memory. The gentle curve of her smile. The warmth hidden in her amber gaze. The way sunlight caught in her blond hair until she almost seemed wrapped in a halo spun from gold.

To Kaveh, she was the most beautiful person the world had ever made. 

He remembered reaching toward her face with clumsy fingers, brushing against her cheek with all the reverence a child could offer. His maman laughed again, pressing a kiss into his tiny palm before holding it against her own.

“My darling,” she whispered.

Then another voice interrupted the tenderness.

“Seriously?” his baba sighed dramatically from across the room. “You’re going to have to stop stealing my wife.”

Kaveh turned just as his baba crossed the room, amusement dancing openly across his features. He crouched beside them, pinching Kaveh’s cheek gently until the little boy squeaked in protest.

“Look at him,” his baba said, pretending to sound defeated. “He doesn’t even look at me anymore.”

His maman laughed effortlessly, knowing that this wasn’t the first time he protested.

“Little Kaveh knows this isn’t a competition, love.”

“Oh, I think it is,” his baba replied with mock seriousness. “And I’m clearly losing.”

She only shook her head before turning back to Kaveh, brushing an unruly lock of blond hair away from his forehead.

“You hear that?” she asked him softly. “Your baba is jealous.”

Kaveh did not understand the joke, but he giggled anyway because they were laughing, and that was reason enough.

His baba leaned closer, studying the boy’s face for a long moment before smiling with a tenderness Kaveh would only come to understand years later.

“Faranak,” he said quietly, “he looks just like you.”

The words seemed to make something in his maman soften. Her smile was coated with happiness that settled gently behind her eyes.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is,” his baba answered without hesitation.

He leaned forward then, pressing a lingering kiss against her cheek.

Little Kaveh watched them with silent fascination. He did not know what his baba meant. He did not know why his maman’s smile grew different whenever his baba looked at her, nor why the room somehow felt warmer after such a small gesture.

He only knew that it was beautiful.

So Kaveh, being three years old and unable to form any proper coherent thoughts that were harder than a one, two, three, made the conclusion that beauty is, other than his maman’s, was the family that he had right now. 

It was worth remembering for the rest of one’s life.

🏛️

The next beautiful thing Kaveh learned was the stars.

By the time he was seven, his baba had become convinced that his son deserved to know the sky as well as they knew the roads leading home. His work often kept him within the Akademiya among other scholars of Rtawahist whose lives revolved around celestial calculations and movements of the heavens. Every few weeks, he would return carrying some curious little treasure tucked inside his red satchel. Kaveh kept his favorite a lot, but if he had to put it on a proper rank: third, a tiny mechanical ornament whose stars rotated when wound with a key (and it had tiny music, too!), second, a parchment map stained with careful ink depicting skies that had existed centuries before Kaveh was born, and the first, crystal pendants carved into the constellation of his birth date, a Cancer.

“Baba, this is so beautiful,” Kaveh would breathe every single time something new was brought home. It almost put a light in his carmine eyes as much as he gasped from looking at it alone. His baba always smiled in the same way.

“They are,” he would agree. “Because someone spent their whole life trying to understand them.”

And yet, there was one thing that made it into a tradition of a father and son. Whenever his maman busied herself in the kitchen, his baba would steal Kaveh away before dinner.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The stars are waiting.”

The hill behind their home was hardly remarkable. It overlooked a stretch of forest where towering trees swayed gently beneath the evening breeze, and though the dense canopy obscured much of the horizon, the clearing above offered an uninterrupted view of Sumeru’s night sky.

Kaveh loved that hill. He liked to imagine the grass remembering every conversation they had shared there. His baba spread a blanket across the earth before lying down with his hands folded behind his head. Kaveh copied him immediately, though his small body could never stay still for long. He pointed at everything before his baba even had the chance.

“That one!”

“Too late.”

“What about that one?”

“You missed it.”

“Baba!”

His baba laughed.

“You’ll never become a scholar if you’re this impatient.”

“Okay, but what if I don’t want to be a scholar?”

“No?”

“I want…” Kaveh frowned, thinking very hard. “Uhm. I don’t know. Scholars are not pretty.”

His baba chuckled under his breath.

“Have you looked at your maman?”

There was something so satisfying to witness that—that look in his baba’s face, every time his maman was mentioned—something like longing, hoping, Kaveh yet could name it—but it was hard to disagree. Maybe being a scholar won’t despise his idea of beautiful things after all. 

As the stars slowly revealed themselves one after another, they settled in a comfortable silence. Then his baba lifted a finger toward the immense silhouette rising beyond the forest.

“You see that, Kaveh?”

Kaveh followed his hand.

“That’s The Divine Tree.”

Even from this distance, its crown reached impossibly high, standing like the world itself had stretched upward in search of the heavens. His baba pointed just beside it.

“And that bright star there?”

Kaveh squinted until one brilliant point emerged from the sea of countless others.

“I see it!”

“What do you think it is?”

“I… Like the name? Ah… A really shiny star?”

“You’re not wrong. You have the correct observation, my son,” his baba laughed. “But Rtawahist teaches us that stars are more than lights. Every constellation is a story. In that constellation, we will find a pattern that teaches us something about this world.” 

Kaveh tilted his head.

“So, the sky is like a really big book?”

His baba's smile widened. “Exactly.”

“But who wrote it, then?”

“That’d be another long story for you to learn. Are you probably interested in Rtawahist, my son?”

“Uhm—but, if it was going to be a boring, long story…” Kaveh tapped his index finger against his chin, thinking as hard as he could, knowing so little with the knowledge. “People still read it?”

“The sky is vast and boundless space, Kaveh. Even now, they spend their lives trying.”

Kaveh considered that answer for several long seconds before nodding with all the solemnity a seven-year-old could muster.

“I think I like books on the ground better. Or like maman’s. Full of colors!”

His baba laughed so hard that the birds nesting nearby fluttered from the trees.

“Oh, you’re just like her,” he smiled as he patted his son’s head gently, ruffling the blond hair that was clearly a legacy of both. “I thought you might.”

As the laughter gradually faded, all of a sudden, the stars above them continued their endless dance—and something else—

“Baba,” Kaveh shot upright so suddenly he nearly tripped over the blanket. “The star is falling!”

A streak of brilliant silver tore across the night, vanishing almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“Ah, my son,” he said. “In the nation of Mondstadt, people like to make wishes whenever they see a falling star.”

Kaveh’s eyes grew round. “Why?”

“They believe it brings good fortune.”

“But,” His brows knitted together with genuine concern. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Dangerous?”

“The star is falling.” Kaveh pointed frantically toward the empty sky where it had disappeared. “What if it lands on someone?”

His baba stared at him for a heartbeat before laughter escaped him once again, warm enough to chase away the evening chill.

“No, no. It won’t.”

“How do you know, baba?”

“Because stars are much farther away than they look.”

Kaveh looked unconvinced. He frowned with so much worry that his baba prompted him to scoot closer, one arm opening an embrace. 

“They’re simply reminding us to hope, Kaveh. In some places, they like to make their wish every time a star’s falling. Believing that maybe, the divine beings out there would hear them, and grant their wishes and hope.”

He brushed a hand gently through Kaveh’s hair.

“So, what will you wish for, my son?”

Kaveh closed his eyes immediately. He squeezed them shut with such determination that his baba had to hide another smile.

There were so many things he could ask for. He could wish for another story of the stars like this, because nobody tells a better story than his baba ever would. Maybe a prettier sketchbook, because the one his maman gave him already ran out, and he’d need more than they could ever afford. A new building block with more colors and variants of shapes, because his head kept on bugging him with the idea of a new building and he hated being confined with just the same circle, square, and triangle over again. 

Or maybe as simple as an endless supply of Candied Ajilenakh Nuts. Kaveh had a little tantrum yesterday because his maman limited the amount that Kaveh could consume in a day.

But, the wish arrived as naturally as breathing, and maybe a little vague, but if it was meant to be a message to the divine beings, then they would understand what Kaveh really wanted, right?

I want to see more beautiful things, Baba. With maman and you. 

When he opened his eyes again, the falling star was gone.

🏛️

Kaveh was beginning to understand that beautiful things had a way of finding him. By the age of nine, he had become something of a collector of moments itself. He believed beauty was something one could gather, carefully and patiently, until life itself became full of it.

But this was a cruel age to learn about the fact that beauty could also leave.

One day, the dining table was filled with food but something else that took his attention. A medal. It caught the sunlight that slipped through the window. Unlike the celestial ornaments his baba often brought home, this one was heavier, forged from polished metal that gleamed like liquid gold. Intricate vines curled around its edges, embracing the emblem of the Six Darshans engraved proudly at its center. To little Kaveh, it looked less like an award and more like a treasure.

So, he climbed onto a chair just to admire it more closely.

“So pretty!” he whispered.

His fingers hovered above the medal before gently tracing the carved patterns decorating its surface.

“What is this?”

His baba emerged from the next room, fastening the cuffs of his Akademiya robes.

“Ah, The Interdarshan Championship. It’s not mine; it’s Amu Amir’s. He won the championship last year.”

Kaveh’s eyes widened immediately. “The championship?”

“Mhm.”

“Can I join, baba?”

“Oh, has my son gotten so big that I didn’t know?” His baba laughed so suddenly that Kaveh puffed out his cheeks in protest. “You can’t, my son. It’s only for scholars.” 

“Hmch.” His disappointment lasted all of three seconds, fingers admiring the beauty of it. “Then you should join!”

His baba paused. There was something almost bashful in the smile that crossed his face, as though the suggestion embarrassed him more than pleased him.

“You think so?”

“Of course!” Kaveh beamed. “You’ll win.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re the smartest.”

His baba chuckled, kneeling until they were eye level.

“Shh. Careful. Don’t let your maman hear you say that!”

“She already knows that you’re a winner, though.”

His baba reached over, turning the medal so it reflected sunlight onto the walls, scattering little flecks of gold across the room. Kaveh watched them dance with innocent amazement.

“Do you really like how it looks, Kaveh?” his baba asked.

“Yes!”

“So much?”

Kaveh nodded enthusiastically. “It’s really beautiful, baba!”

His baba looked at the medal for a long moment. “I think so too.”

Kaveh wouldn’t understand that until years later—but his baba didn’t come home with the medal, and little Kaveh, who knows no better than to hide his disappointment, jokingly pouts every time his baba talked about it. But who would expect such understanding from a nine-year-old? 

The morning continued exactly as mornings always had, except that he barely saw his maman’s eyes bright again. Like something had happened last night that Kaveh didn’t want to pry, so he tried his best to be a happy son, lest it became their burden even more. A tender reminder became a competition of screams, and by the time Kaveh realized, his baba had registered for a project in the desert. 

When it was finally time to leave, his baba crouched before him.

“I’ll be home before dinner. What do you want?”

“Uhm. Aaru Mixed Rice? They said it’s better if you get it from the village directly!”

“Okay then. We’ll have that for dinner. Promise.”

Kaveh hooked their little fingers together. His baba smiled and ruffled his blond hair one last time before stepping through the doorway.

He stood beside his maman, waving with both hands as his baba grew smaller and smaller along the road that disappeared into the desert. Kaveh kept waving long after his baba had vanished from sight, convinced that if he waved hard enough, somehow his baba would still know.

That evening, he and his maman waited until dinner had long since gone cold. His stomach ached with hunger, but it was nothing compared to the way his heart lurched when a knock echoed through their front door, and two Matra stood on the other side.

The mixed rice never made it to their dinner table, nor did his baba.

🏛️

Since then, Kaveh stopped believing that beautiful things were meant to last.

The house was still the same house. The same patterned curtains still caught the afternoon sun. His baba’s books still sat where they had always been. Even the Padisarahs outside bloomed when spring came, indifferent to the absence of the man who used to stop and admire them, because the people inside had changed.

His maman remained as beautiful as ever. Her hair was still neatly braided every morning, her dresses carefully pressed, and her smile still gentle whenever Kaveh looked her way. But beauty, Kaveh learned, could survive without joy. It could exist without life. Some mornings she would sit by the window for hours, eyes fixed on nothing beyond the glass, as though she were waiting for someone who had merely been delayed instead of buried beneath the desert.

Kaveh tried everything a child knew how to do. He drew little sketches to make her laugh, and brought home the Sumeru Rose he found on the roadside. Sometimes, she smiled for him, and for a fleeting second the warmth returned to her face. Then it disappeared just as quickly, as though she had remembered she was grieving.

A child could only compete with sorrow for so long before losing.

Perhaps that was simply the nature of beautiful things. They were never promised permanence. They arrived quietly, made life worth loving, and left before anyone had the chance to imagine a future without them. Five years, Kaveh used to think. Five years was long enough for happiness to belong to someone.

Now he wasn’t so sure. Beautiful things seemed to grow shorter every year, slipping through his fingers before he even realized he was holding them. So he held on to the only thing he had left.

His love for his maman.

If beautiful things always disappeared, then he would simply have to love enough for the both of them. Just enough to fill the silence in the house. Something that would make her eat, make her smile, and make him convinced that losing one parent did not mean he was destined to lose the other. He was too young to understand that love could keep a person alive. It could not always make them stay.

🏛️

Kaveh wasn’t sure if he could call the Akademiya the next beautiful thing in his life.

Talk about the building itself—it certainly was. Even as a child, he had admired its towering arches and impossibly high ceilings, the sunlight pouring through carved stone as though the place had been built to catch the sky itself. The winding paths that spiraled toward the entrance carried the scent of blooming flowers from the Razan Garden. He would notice scholars drifting from one lecture hall to another with books tucked beneath their arms. Even younger, when his baba was still around, he used to bring Kaveh to his office, but Kaveh preferred wandering through the gardens while he asked random passersby why the structures were made like that as it had always been. Kaveh remembered very little of those conversations now, but he remembered the feeling they left behind.

After his baba’s death, the Akademiya became a place he deliberately avoided. It reminded him too much of afternoons that no longer existed.

Still, grief had a peculiar way of making a house feel smaller with every passing day. Eventually, Kaveh began to think that perhaps the only way to survive was to spend less time inside those walls. If he couldn’t outrun grief, maybe he could at least walk somewhere it wasn’t waiting for him at the dinner table.

The next thing he knew was that the Akademiya had announced their entrance exam, and Kaveh studied tooth and nail to get his seat in Teyvat’s most prestigious university.

It wasn’t really a smooth sailing journey, though. Kaveh believed that he was nowhere close to any of Sumeru’s brightest minds. If anything, the practice examination felt like proof that someone smarter deserved his place far more than he did. But if he was going to build a future at all, then perhaps it had to begin somewhere beyond the house where everything beautiful had ended.

And it was during those months of relentless preparation that his maman finally spoke to him. Not as a mother comforting her son, but as someone asking for forgiveness: she told him she wanted to leave Sumeru.

Fontaine, she said, with a voice so careful. She wanted a place where every street corner did not remind her of the man she’d buried, where she could wake up without searching the opposite side of the bed before remembering why it was empty. She promised she loved him and she would write. Because leaving wouldn’t mean abandoning, right?

Kaveh remembered smiling before she had even finished.

“It’s okay, Maman,” oh, how he remembered how easy it had been to say. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Kaveh—”

“I’m not a crybaby anymore, come on! I’ll be fine.” Kaveh puffed out his chest with all the confidence a teenager could pretend to possess, though he wasn’t sure which one of them he had been trying to convince.

When she left, Kaveh stood at the docks until the ship disappeared into the horizon.

So, about Akademiya—

Kshahrewar became the obvious choice after that. His maman had always spoken about architecture with such admiration that it seemed impossible for him to choose anything else. If she was searching for a new beginning across the sea, then perhaps he could preserve the part of her that still belonged to Sumeru. The little towers he once built from wooden blocks turned into careful sketches. Those sketches became blueprints. The blueprints became dreams large enough to fill every empty corner of the house.

And when the entrance examination results were announced, Kaveh stood at the top of the list.

So beautiful things hadn’t abandoned him at all, it seemed. Maybe it looked a little different when Kaveh folded the acceptance letter into his hands carefully, ready to tell the news at home but—

He was on his own, eh? 

He had no way of knowing that every beautiful thing in his life, nowadays, always began with someone leaving.

🏛️

Friends, then.

Kaveh spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about that word.

Growing up, he had watched loneliness consume his maman one quiet day after another. Before his baba’s death, the house had always been full. Many scholars that were his baba’s friends stopped by to debate over tea, and every now and then his baba would disappear for an evening, returning from the tavern with stories that somehow became funnier each time they were retold. To conclude: there had always been new people in the house, until they weren’t.

If Kaveh had learned anything from watching grief hollow a person out, it was this: no one should ever have to survive alone. That was why making friends mattered so much to him.

Unfortunately, the Akademiya was an awfully inconvenient place to try.

Everyone was—competing. For something that Kaveh could only see as recognition, funding. Sometimes, he felt conversations turned transactional. Kshahrewar was no exception to it. Kaveh liked his classmates enough. Say, Jazari and Pharez, they were good company, but they weren’t… they weren’t someone you’d drag to Lambad’s because you looked exhausted, or knocked on your door because they hadn’t seen you all day.

So really, how did one make a friend like his baba’s had? 

(One week he found himself chatting with Amurta students over lunch. The next, he somehow ended up listening to Rtawahist scholars argue over the stars despite understanding almost none of it. It wasn’t difficult, really. Kaveh had inherited his baba's gift for conversation. Give him five minutes with a stranger, and somehow they’d be exchanging stories as though they’d known each other for years. But still, it wasn’t enough.)

It wasn’t like people hate Kaveh. People liked Kaveh. That much became obvious by his second year. He was invited to gatherings he hadn’t planned on attending (usually a random party with a mix-and-match session, which Kaveh wasn’t interested in, thank you) and somehow became acquainted with students from nearly every Darshan. If there was a celebration, someone would inevitably pull him into it. If there was a debate, Kaveh usually had something to say.

(Kaveh liked the latter, though he was painfully aware that it wasn’t good to keep himself getting riled up every now and then, he thought.)

By his sophomore year, he’d memorized every corner of the House of Daena. He drifted between bookshelves and study tables almost absentmindedly now, often stopping wherever there happened to be an empty seat. Introducing himself had become second nature.

Now, that afternoon was no different, except for the silver-haired boy sitting alone.

He looked… impossibly young? Soft cheeks that hadn’t quite lost their childhood roundness, pale silver hair interrupted by an absurd little tuft that refused to stay down, and striking teal eyes fixed entirely on the book in front of him. Judging from the robes, Haravatat.

Kaveh glanced toward the cluster of Haravatat freshmen only a few tables away and saw them glancing back. Instead of accompanying the silver-haired boy, they simply laughed amongst themselves.

Something not quite right? He frowned.

Truth was, Kaveh had heard every stereotype there was about Haravatat students. Something about them being too serious, too pretentious, absorbed in semantics to hold a normal conversation. It was supposedly why the Darshan attracted fewer students than the others.

But he had never cared much for stereotypes when all he saw was someone sitting alone while everyone else pretended he wasn’t there. So Kaveh walked over.

“Hi.” 

The boy didn’t respond, so Kaveh waited a moment, wondering if he simply hadn’t heard, before reaching over to gently tap his shoulder.

Teal eyes finally lifted from the page.

“Yes?”

“My name’s Kaveh!”

A few students seated nearby snickered under their breath. Kaveh spared them a brief glare before turning back with the same smile that had gotten him through countless introductions. “I thought I’d introduce myself. I’m your senior, by the way.”

He put just enough emphasis on senior. Usually that made people loosen up.

“I didn’t ask.”

Excuse me? Kaveh blinked. Well. The response—no, Kaveh held it in. Don’t even think about the worst. 

Still smiling, if only out of sheer stubbornness, he let out an awkward laugh. “I was actually going to offer my friendship. Are you alone?”

“Thank you,” the boy answered with complete sincerity. “But I don’t need friends.”

What the fuck is his—Kaveh grew perplexed. He could feel the laughter getting louder and louder. He was so close to saying that—oh, so this was why nobody wanted to talk to you—but that would make him the same as them.  

So, Kaveh found himself staring at him for a moment, unsure whether he should feel insulted or strangely impressed by how efficiently he’d been dismissed. “Wow,” he muttered eventually. “You could’ve just said no.”

“I believe I just did.”

“Yeah. Cool. Whatever.”

There really wasn’t much else to say after that. Kaveh scratched the back of his neck, offered one last painfully polite smile, and excused himself before the warmth creeping across his cheeks could become any more obvious. 

So much for making friends.

🏛️

Who would’ve thought that sex was awkward?!

Okay. Not bad, exactly. Just painfully, almost laughably awkward.

It wasn’t as though Kaveh had grown up completely oblivious to the birds and the bees. If anything, he’d spent enough late nights reading romance novels and badly written fanfictions to form embarrassingly lofty expectations. Surely, if everyone insisted that making love was one of life’s greatest beauties, there had to be something extraordinary about it. Something that made people look at each other the way his baba had once looked at his maman—with that sort of certainty that made the whole world seem softer.

Instead, he’d ended up with Siraj.

“Listen,” the man sighed as he reached for his clothes, “you really need to work on your… blowjob skills.”

It was Kaveh’s first time. Of course it was!

“…Okay,” he replied after an awkward pause, because genuinely, what else was there to say?

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.”

Good, Kaveh thought as the door clicked shut behind him. I wasn’t planning on it either, asshole.

He lay there for another minute, staring at the ceiling as though it had personally betrayed him.

So that was it?

That was the beautiful thing people kept writing poems about?

With an exhausted groan, Kaveh rolled onto his side, reached for the half-finished blueprint abandoned on his bedside table, and decided that if romance was this disappointing, he was better off reading fanfiction and putting himself to sleep instead.

Sex, he concluded bitterly, was very much overrated.

🏛️

“My name’s Alhaitham.”

Kaveh nearly dropped the architecture volume he had been reaching for. He turned around with a hand over his chest, only to find the silver-haired freshman from yesterday standing a few steps away, looking as composed as ever.

“You startled me,” Kaveh muttered. “Yeah, I know your name now. Nice to—”

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Oh okay. Wow. That caught him off guard.

Alhaitham’s expression remained perfectly neutral, as though apologizing was simply another item on today’s agenda. “I wasn’t intending to make friends when I came to the Akademiya. But I saw your name on the enrollment list for Introduction to Sumeru History, and it appears we’ll be partnered for several research assignments.”

Kaveh slowly crossed his arms.

“…So you came to apologize because we’re going to be working together.”

“I came to apologize because I was rude,” Alhaitham corrected. “Working together merely makes resolving the matter more practical.”

Kaveh let out a disbelieving laugh.

“So it is because we’re partners.”

“It can be both.”

“You know, you’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

For someone who had sounded so dismissive yesterday, the boy looked almost painfully earnest now. Kaveh found himself studying him more closely—the silver hair that refused to stay flat, shaped like a sprout, and, god, the impossibly round cheeks that made him look younger than he probably was. Before he could stop himself, Kaveh reached over and pinched one of those cheeks.

Alhaitham stiffened immediately.

“Don’t touch my face—”

“Oh, you’re adorable!”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are. Don’t talk back to your senior.”

“I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

“It isn’t.” Kaveh grinned, giving his cheek one last squeeze before finally letting go. “I just wanted to.”

Alhaitham rubbed at the offended cheek with a faint frown.

“Next time,” Kaveh continued, “try being a little nicer to your senior, Alhaitham. You might be in trouble one of these days.”

“I’m fairly certain we’re attending the same class.”

“And?”

“The distinction seems arbitrary.”

“It isn’t.” Kaveh stuck out his tongue. “I’m still your senior.”

Alhaitham sighed. Archon, he’s even cuter. “…If you insist.”

“There we go.” Kaveh beamed, satisfied enough with that tiny, almost nonexistent victory. “Now then, since you’re the one who came looking for me, what do you think about the research topic?”

Without another word, Alhaitham reached into his bag and produced three pages of neatly organized notes. Kaveh stared.

“W-wait, you’ve already started?!”

🏛️

So, Alhaitham had become… something resembling a friend. Maybe. Yeah? Okay, yeah, he was a friend. 

There were a few things he had learned about Alhaitham over the past several months. First, Alhaitham had been raised by his grandmother after losing his parents, and she, too, had passed away not long before he entered the Akademiya. Their homes, despite belonging to different people, echoed in much the same way.

Second, Alhaitham had not been exaggerating when he said he didn’t need friends. Outside of Kaveh, he spoke to almost no one unless absolutely necessary. He answered questions with precision, ended conversations the moment they fulfilled their purpose, and possessed a remarkable talent for making people think twice before approaching him again.

Third, for someone who spent most of his life buried beneath books, Alhaitham had an absurd dedication to physical training. Kaveh had wandered into the Akademiya’s training grounds more than once only to find the younger man quietly working through another routine as though lifting absurd amounts of weight were simply another form of reading.

And fourth—

Alhaitham was, without question, the biggest tsundere Kaveh had ever met.

“You know that’s not what that word means,” Alhaitham replied flatly after Kaveh announced his diagnosis.

“You’ve heard of it? It’s derived from Inazuma’s dictionary.”

“I’ve read about it.”

“Of course you have.”

Kaveh laughed to himself before slipping another invitation onto the table. “Anyway, one of my friends is celebrating his birthday tonight. You should come.”

“No.”

“So quick! Have a second thought, please.”

“I have no interest in parties.”

“You’ve never even been to one with me. Come oooon, Haithoomi. This is supposed to be that year where you go out, get wild, find someone to make—”

“No, I don’t need to.”

Kaveh sighed dramatically. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

He gathered his notes into a neat pile and stood, slinging his satchel over one shoulder—there was no use to push Alhaitham anyway. Not to mention his presence wouldn’t be anything but a stiff wall in the corner.

“I’ll just head out now, then.”

Alhaitham glanced up from his book.

“What about the research?”

“I already finished my section.” Kaveh pointed. “Didn’t you read what I sent you yesterday?”

“Not yet.”

“Then that’s hardly my fault.”

Kaveh had barely taken two steps toward the exit when Alhaitham spoke without looking up from the papers spread across the table.

“I think we should review the draft together instead of you going to the party.”

Kaveh paused mid-step before glancing over his shoulder. “Excuse me? As I said, I’ve already finished my part.”

“I’m aware.” Alhaitham finally lifted his eyes from the manuscript. “Which is precisely why we should review it together. This is a group assignment. It’s more efficient if we verify everything now rather than discover inconsistencies later.”

Kaveh folded his arms across his chest, a smile already tugging at the corner of his lips.

“So…” he dragged out, “just say you don’t want me to go.”

“I did not say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.” Kaveh walked back toward the table, leaning forward just enough to catch the faintest crease forming between Alhaitham’s brows. “You don’t want me to leave, do you? Right, tsundere?”

Alhaitham let out a quiet sigh; Kaveh could tell that his junior was regretting that—probably questioning every decision that had led him to this conversation.

“Stop using that word.”

“Aww.” Kaveh grinned wider. “You miss me even before I’ve walked out of the room. You miss me because—”

“Senior.”

The single word cut him off.

“Fine,” Alhaitham said, closing the folder. “We can review the draft tomorrow.”

“…Okay, you know what?” He laughed, defeated by how effortlessly Alhaitham had ended the exchange. “You’re such a cute baby.”

“I fail to see the correlation.”

“I know you do.”

Still chuckling to himself, Kaveh dropped back into his chair and pulled the manuscript toward the center of the table.

“I won’t abandon you, okay?” he said lightly. “Come on. Let’s review our work together.”

Alhaitham didn’t bother to answer. He simply opened the first page of the draft and slid his annotated notes across the table, towards Kaveh. Somehow, that silent gesture made Kaveh smile even more.

🏛️

“Does anyone want to conduct their field research in the desert?” 

The question had barely left Professor Zaha Hadi’s mouth before the lecture hall dissolved into murmurs.

Even after all these years, any mention of the desert still got Kaveh to flinch. He stared down at the proposal sheet on his desk, Interpretations of Runes and Architectural Styles in the Ancient Ruins of King Deshret’s Civilization. 

It was, objectively speaking, everything a Kshahrewar student could dream of. His mind had structured tons of ideas. King Deshret’s history came with a lot of ancient engineering, preserved monuments, and the architecture—something divine, untouched by modern reconstruction, basically all things that made it majestic—Kaveh wanted this opportunity.

“I don’t mind.”

Kaveh turned toward the familiar voice. Alhaitham had taken the seminar as one of his Haravatat electives—a joint course shared with Kshahrewar that examined King Deshret’s ruins through both their inscriptions and their architecture. He already looked back toward Professor Zaha Hadi as though volunteering to spend weeks in the desert were no more inconvenient than borrowing another book from the House of Daena.

Professor Zaha Hadi nodded, scribbling something onto the attendance list. “Excellent. Anyone else?”

Silence. Until Alhaitham broke it again.

“My research partner.”

Every pair of eyes in the room shifted toward Kaveh.

“Excuse me?”

“He’ll be joining me.”

Kaveh stared at him—the audacity of this junior in the class that was literally his major—

“Alright, asshole. I never said that.”

“Your face looks like you were considering it.”

“I was considering not considering it.”

“Which still means you considered it.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

Alhaitham only hummed, letting their bickering noises become the center of the class. Kaveh let out an incredulous laugh before dropping his gaze back to the paper. Then to Alhaitham.

“Alhaitham. Don’t joke about this. You know why I don’t like the desert.” Kaveh hissed, trying his best to lower his voice as Professor Zaha Hadi began to write his name on the list.

“I know.”

Really? Not a sorry—by this point, Kaveh thought that Alhaitham really was a man with a lack of empathy, blinded by the logic of his own thinking that he failed to recognize the bigger picture of why Kaveh had always been hesitant about anything related to the desert. 

But Kaveh waited for him to argue, to insist that enough time had passed or that facing his fears would somehow make him stronger. Instead, Alhaitham simply turned another page of his notebook.

Yeah. That was ridiculous to expect such. 

“It doesn’t change the architecture.”

Kaveh frowned.

“The ruins are still there,” Alhaitham continued matter-of-factly. “King Deshret’s civilization remains one of the greatest architectural achievements in recorded history. If you intend to become the architect you claim you’ll be, then avoiding the desert indefinitely is academically inconvenient.”

“That’s your motivational speech?” Kaveh scoffed, almost raising his voice.

“I’m not attempting to motivate you.”

“No? Then what the fuck—”

“I’m informing you that you’ll regret declining this opportunity. I know deep inside, you wanted this. You’ve always been passionate about what you want, Senior. You’re specific about the things you want to pursue, and this one is just one of them.”

Kaveh huffed. It wasn’t like Alhaitham’s deduction was wrong. But Kaveh hated the way that man was capable of seeing through him. What was it that made Alhaitham think that he was passionate about the desert? Really? 

“You’re unbelievable.”

Kaveh couldn’t help but feel nervous. His pencil tapped against the desk a million times, and Alhaitham glanced at him for the noise, but fuck that; he deserved that noise, that bubble of anxiousness that slowly grew inside him because he decided to take part in this research. Yet, on the back of Kaveh’s mind, he thought of great things that he could achieve, too. If this research turned out to be a breakthrough, then it would be the next beautiful thing that Kaveh finally managed to own, once again, after years living in sorrow. 

So the lecture continued around them until it ended, then the two of them walked side by side towards their own home.

“If I panic later,” Kaveh murmured eventually, staring at the pathway as they walked towards Treasure Street, “you’re carrying my bags.”

“I wasn’t aware they would become too heavy.”

“They won’t.”

“Then why would I carry them?”

You really couldn’t talk cryptically with Alhaitham, huh?

“You really know how to ruin a sentimental moment.”

“I wasn’t aware we were having one.”

Kaveh pursed his lips as he took a deep breath, slowing his pace that now he saw Alhaitham’s back, the junior that he picked up from House of Daena, witnessing his growth from freshman now onto his sophomore year—and Alhaitham, along those times, had never contributed malice to Kaveh’s life, if anything, it put a slight haze of teal inside his blurred vision of the future.

“I’ll go with you, Alhaitham. I’ll go with you to do that research in the desert. But if—if things happened, I don’t want you to leave me. Even if I ended up panicking all the way through, I just want you to be there and tell me that it’s going to be okay.”

Alhaitham stopped his walk and turned around. Kaveh hadn’t remembered when that chubby cheek had slowly gone.

“Okay. I promise.” 

🏛️

“You promised,” Kaveh gritted his teeth. He felt his body hot, head was close to exploding. Like everything inside him was giving the red alarm and alert: high stress. “Why are you being hostile to me right now?” 

“That promise had nothing to do with this argument. How long are you planning to carry everyone else’s burden, Kaveh?”

Alhaitham’s voice remained frustratingly level, even as Kaveh confronted him in the middle of Razan Garden. Of all places.

“I’m not carrying anyone’s burden. They’re—they’re our teammates. What are you talking about?”

“They’re our teammates,” Alhaitham repeated. “Not our responsibility.”

Kaveh let out a disbelieving laugh. “You saw them struggling, and your solution is to let them fall? Interesting, Alhaitham. Wondering what’s going to happen if someone thinks the same when you fall on your feet too.”

“Then I’ll learn. My solution is to let them learn.”

“Really? Alhaitham—They’ll fail the course! As much as you think they’re nothing, at least they’re trying.”

“Speaking of nothing, they’re also contributing almost nothing to the research.”

“You can’t just say things like that. You can’t just be this nonchalant and claim that they’re stupid.”

“I didn’t say they’re unintelligent, Kaveh.”

“You don’t have to.” Kaveh’s voice rose despite himself. “Do you know what you’re doing right now? You reduce people to what they can produce, what they’re capable of, whether they’re useful or not. They’re human beings!”

“And do you see me doing something else? Am I not treating them as such?”

Kaveh was left in awe. He knew that Alhaitham had always had a thought of his own; a logic that works beyond things that sometimes Kaveh couldn’t muster. But this one was new. This one felt like a streak of ego in Kaveh’s strong-built empathy. This was too much to handle.

“No, you’re not!”

“I’m simply acknowledging their limitations. If they can’t do it, then they shouldn’t.”

“You are dismissing them.”

“I’m refusing to do their work for them. Is it simpler now?”

The words collided between them until neither seemed willing to give an inch. Kaveh felt his heartbeat climbing higher.

“I don’t understand why you insist on exhausting yourself for everyone. Do you think you have to, Kaveh?”

“What?”

“You aren’t helping because they need you. You’re helping because you can’t bear the thought of saying no. You feel responsible for everyone.”

Kaveh felt his chest rising, the uneven breaths that turned his face redder. This, he thought. You crossed the fucking line.

“You apologize for things you didn’t do. You volunteer before anyone asks. You sacrifice your own time, your own work, your own health.” Alhaitham met his eyes without hesitation. “You call it empathy—but really, Kaveh. Maybe it is guilt.”

The breeze stirred the pages of the manuscript lying between them. Kaveh could barely hear it over the pounding in his ears.

“Alhaitham. Don’t.”

“I think,” Alhaitham continued quietly, “you’ve spent years convincing yourself that if you save enough people, perhaps you’ll finally forgive yourself for the one person you couldn’t save.”

Kaveh’s face went white.

“It has nothing to do with this research,” Alhaitham said. “But it has everything to do with you.”

“My baba has nothing to do with this.”

“I think he has everything to do with it.”

Kaveh felt something inside him split open.

“You don’t get to talk about him, Alhaitham. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to analyze him like he’s another one of your books!”

“I’m trying to understand you.” 

“No.” Kaveh laughed, though it came out broken. “No, you’re trying to explain me to myself, as if you’ve somehow figured me out.”

“I know you well enough to—”

“You know nothing!”

His voice echoed across the garden as it turned into a scream. A few nearby scholars turned to witness the fight, but Kaveh couldn’t even bother. If he had to make a scene, then he would. So everyone would know how much of an asshole Alhaitham was.

“You weren’t there,” Kaveh said, breathing unevenly. “You weren’t there when he died. You weren’t there when my maman stopped smiling. You weren’t there when every single person I loved left me behind. So don’t stand here and tell me why I help people, because you don’t know a damn thing about what it feels like to spend your whole life wondering if loving someone is the same thing as losing them.”

Kaveh saw Alhaitham pressed his lips together, but his expression remained unreadable. Say something, Kaveh had hoped, like a sorry, because even after this, he wondered if Alhaitham would ask for such forgiveness—

But really, even seconds mattered. Anger was quick to take over Kaveh’s emotions, and all of a sudden, everything was ruined. All hell broke loose. Those years of friendship, months of work, days of never missing each other studying were burnt into ashes. 

Kaveh grabbed the stack before he could think better of it. Alhaitham’s eyes followed the movement.

“Kaveh.”

One, Kaveh counted. Two, three, and more, and more pages were torn, everything that he used to work with Alhaitham, those writings under his name—now scattered across the garden like pale leaves.

“Kaveh.”

“Fuck you.” His voice cracked. “No, seriously—fuck you.”

His hands trembled so violently that he could barely rip the remaining pages.

“I spent two years thinking…” He swallowed hard. “I spent two years thinking that, for once, I’d found someone who wouldn’t leave. But all this time you’ve just been studying me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“I regret ever walking up to you in the House of Daena. I regret trying to be your friend. I regret every stupid lunch, every stupid project, every conversation we’ve ever had.”

The vision of Alhaitham blurred in his eyes, and Kaveh felt grateful for once. 

“As you said, I won’t be a burden anymore. I will not be doing this research. You can tell Professor Zaha Hadi that so you can alter the paper as much as you like. I hope you enjoy working on your own, just like what you always preferred.” 

By the age of twenty-two, Kaveh had become the destroyer of beautiful things.

🏛️

“Happy wedding, Maman.”

Fontaine was beautiful. That was Kaveh’s first thought as the airship descended toward the city. Everything shimmered beneath the afternoon light—the canals, the pale stone buildings, the endless shades of blue broken only by touches of white and gold. It was elegant in a way Sumeru wasn’t, and no less breathtaking.

Before he had the chance to admire it any longer, someone crashed into him.

“My son!”

Faranak wrapped him in such a tight embrace that Kaveh nearly stumbled backward.

“Oh my goodness, let me look at you.” She held his face between both hands, eyes already glistening. “You’ve gotten thinner.”

“I haven’t, Maman—”

“But the last time I saw you—”

“Maman. I eat well, okay? Trust me. I really haven’t.”

She laughed, the sound so familiar that for a moment Kaveh forgot how many years had passed since they had lived beneath the same roof.

“Come,” she said, reaching for the man waiting beside her. “Kaveh, this is Lucille.”

Lucille offered a warm smile before pulling Kaveh into a brief hug of his own.

“So you’re the famous son I’ve heard so much about.” Lucille squeezed Kaveh’s arm with a smile; Kaveh saw a hint of similarity between him and his baba.

“And you’re the famous husband.”

“I hope only good things.” Lucille laughed.

“Mhhm. I’ll decide after today.” Kaveh joked.

The wedding itself passed in a pleasant blur. Kaveh didn’t know many of the guests. Most were Fontainians, old colleagues of Lucille’s or acquaintances his maman had made over the years working here. He spent most of the evening drifting from table to table, exchanging polite conversation whenever someone recognized him as Faranak’s son. At one point he found himself chatting with a waiter who had grown up in Vimara Village, and hearing a familiar Sumeru accent was strangely comforting.

More than anything, though, he watched his maman, finally laughing without forcing it. He watched her having her dance, a little awkward since it wasn’t her culture, but she was happy. Her smile came with such softness that he hadn’t seen since he was a child. So Lucille did it, Kaveh thought. I wasn’t enough, but I’ll be thankful for him.

But somewhere beneath all that happiness that he tried to keep, he wondered why he couldn’t sit still, watching in peace, heart in relief. Kaveh knew it wasn’t resentment. He knew it wasn’t regret. 

Maybe it was the fact that not every beautiful thing was meant for him to keep. His family being one of them.

That night, after the last guest had gone home, Faranak led him through the house she and Lucille had built together.

Even here, pieces of Sumeru remained. Kaveh noticed how his maman still didn’t leave her identity behind, probably out of longing. There were plenty of geometric patterns decorating the windows, and each hallway was designed like carved wooden arches. 

“You noticed, didn’t you?” she asked.

Kaveh smiled as he looked around. There were plenty that he could point out, but that’d be another architectural lesson that he would have to go through.

“You designed this part.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

She disappeared into another room before returning with a worn leather journal, its edges softened by years of handling, but the green didn’t fade.

“I want you to have this.”

Kaveh frowned as she placed it in his hands.

“Is this… your journal?”

She nodded.

“But, Maman, this is personal.”

“It is, Kaveh”

“Then why are you giving it to me?”

Faranak looked down at the cover for a long moment before answering.

“Because there are things I never knew how to tell you.” Faranak's smile almost faded, and so did Kaveh’s. “When I left for Fontaine, I spent years wondering whether I had been selfish.”

“Maman—”

“No, let me finish.” She reached over and brushed a strand of blond hair away from his forehead, just as she used to when he was little. “I wanted another chance at life. That doesn’t mean I wanted another son. I have never stopped being your maman.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do, Kaveh,” Her voice trembled for the first time that evening. “I carried so much guilt for leaving you in Sumeru. I thought… perhaps one day you’d hate me for choosing myself.”

Kaveh shook his head immediately. That thought never crossed his mind, ever. “I never hated you. But I can’t lie that I do miss you. So much.”

Faranak smiled through tears. “I missed you too.”

They pulled into each other’s hugs, caressing their backs to comfort in their silence. There was so much longing that Kaveh felt inside him as he felt his cheeks wet. Back then, he was just a kid who could barely reach his maman’s waist and hugged her up to her thigh. But now, Kaveh held his maman close to his chest, keeping her in his embrace. He grew up. Maman grew, too. This all felt far too familiar and strange at the same time.

Then Kaveh’s hand brushed against the chain resting beneath her collar.

“Maman…”

She gently pulled the necklace into view. A star-shaped pendant that Kaveh remembered very vividly. It was his baba’s.

“Ah. Yeah. I still wear it.”

“Maman,” Kaveh sniffled. “I thought…” 

“That I’d stop after marrying Lucille?”

Kaveh wondered if he was allowed to confess, but he nodded anyway.

Faranak laughed softly. 

“Your baba was the greatest love of my life.” She glanced toward the hallway where Lucille had quietly excused himself to give them privacy. “And Lucille knows that.”

“He’s a good man.”

“I married Lucille because he makes me happy,” She placed a hand over the necklace. “But I loved your baba because he changed my life. If I lived a hundred lives, I would still choose your baba every single time.”

Kaveh felt tears prick his eyes.

“But loving him,” she continued, “doesn’t mean my life had to end when his did.”

He couldn’t find the words—but he wrapped his arms around her for another time as she held him just as tightly. At this moment, Kaveh had hoped that Faranak would be reminded of his baba when she was hugging him. That Kaveh had the same warmth that his baba used to give him, too.

When they finally pulled apart, Faranak tapped the journal still resting in his hands.

“Oh, before I forget. The password. It’s ‘Companionship.’”

“I thought it’d be my birthday, Maman.” Kaveh faked his pout.

She smiled to herself.

“I think companionship is far more important.”

Seeing the confusion on his face, she continued.

“When I was your age, I wasn’t anything like your baba. I preferred drawing alone in a corner, losing track of time until someone reminded me to eat. But your baba—he refused to let me stay that way,” she laughed at the memory. “He became my best friend long before he became the man I loved.”

Kaveh looked down at the journal.

“When he died…” Faranak said quietly, “…I realized something. That it wasn’t only my husband I’d lost. I lost the person I told everything to. So I poured all of that loneliness into this journal because I had nowhere else to put it.”

Faranak looked at Kaveh deeply as she rested her hand over his.

“So promise me something, Kaveh. Don’t spend your life chasing achievements so fiercely that you forget to cherish companionship,” her thumb brushed over his knuckles. “Friends. Family. Lovers—they’re the people who make surviving possible.”

Kaveh smiled.

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh?”

“I inherited baba's personality, remember?”

Faranak laughed. 

“I certainly noticed,” then, with the unmistakable curiosity of every mother in Teyvat, she tilted her head. “So, lovers?” 

“Maman,” Kaveh sighed. There. The question most dreaded at every wedding. “I’ve been busy—with graduation, thesis, and stuff. So, uh, well, not a single time for romance.”

The image of a certain silver-haired scholar appeared in his mind without permission—uh, for no reason—but Kaveh immediately shoved it away. Faranak’s smile widened just enough for him to suspect she’d noticed anyway.

“When that person finally comes along,” she said, “I hope they’re patient.”

“Patient?”

“They’ll have to listen to you talk about pillars for hours.”

“Maman!”

🏛️

If beautiful things refused to stay, then perhaps Kaveh had been searching for them in the wrong places. If they weren’t meant to be found, then they were meant to be built.

Kaveh had devoted years to studying the masterpieces left behind by hundreds of Kshahrewar scholars, marveling at the genius of King Deshret’s civilization and the elegance of ancient Sumeran architecture. Yet none of those monuments had begun as legends. They had once been nothing more than sketches spread across a wooden table, dreams trapped inside the imagination of someone stubborn enough to believe they deserved to exist.

Maybe he could become that someone. Beauty did not have to be inherited, but it sure could begin with him.

Lord Sangemah Bay’s letter was delivered on expensive parchment, sealed with gold wax and accompanied by a gemstone so absurdly extravagant that Kaveh wondered whether it was meant as decoration or payment in advance. The meeting itself was no less extravagant. Every piece of furniture in her temporary residence gleamed, every curtain looked like it was imported from Fontaine, and every cup of tea somehow tasted richer than Inazuma’s tea blend Kaveh had ever tasted.

Lord Sangemah Bay herself was exactly as people described her—radiant, a bit smug and standoffish, but she was impossibly wealthy.

“I don’t want a house,” she declared before Kaveh had even finished introducing himself. “I already have houses.”

Kaveh raised his pen.

“I want people to stop walking when they see it. I want them to look at it and think, ‘Ah. Of course. That must belong to Lord Sangemah Bay.’”

She spread her arms as though the building already stood before them.

“Something magnificent—excessive! Something people will remember long after they’ve left.”

“Okay—I think I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” She leaned forward with a grin. “Because I haven’t finished.”

He laughed despite himself.

“I don’t merely want luxury. Anyone with enough Mora can buy luxury. I want elegance. Grandeur. I want every arch, every column, every window to have purpose. I want visitors to wonder how such a place could exist.”

Kaveh’s pencil had already begun moving across the page.

“What about the location?”

“Oh, certainly not Sumeru City.” She dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “If I’m building my dream residence, I refuse to have neighbors peering through their windows. So, I’ve been looking around Chatrakam Cave.”

Kaveh paused.

“The land overlooking the river is beautiful. Peaceful enough to be secluded, but still close enough that guests won’t complain about the journey.” She rested her chin against her hand, smiling almost dreamily. “Imagine waking every morning to sunlight dancing across the water.”

Kaveh found himself imagining it. Lord Sangemah Bay surely had her vision clear. He felt like bringing all that nature alive into one building—the river reflecting polished marble, tall windows welcoming the dawn, terraces overflowing with flowers. A palace nestled naturally into the landscape rather than imposing itself upon it.

“I see it,” he murmured almost unconsciously.

“I knew you would. I only trust you for this, Master Architect Kaveh,” she folded her hands together as her smile widened. “So, surprise me.”

When Kaveh left the meeting, his notebook was overflowing with sketches, annotations, measurements, and ideas scribbled so hastily that even he struggled to decipher half of them. He walked all the way back to Sumeru City without realizing how far he’d come, stopping only when he reached the familiar gates of the Akademiya.

His hands were trembling from excitement. Finally. Finally. This is the moment for me. And over the following weeks, he declined nearly every other commission offered to him. Because all those smaller projects and renovations could wait—but this one couldn’t.

He spent days surveying the land around Chatrakam Cave until he knew every slope and every stone. He watched how sunlight shifted across the river from dawn until dusk, where the strongest winds blew during the rainy season, and how the surrounding cliffs framed the horizon. At night he returned to his drafting table only to realize morning had arrived before he’d slept.

As he watched another sheet of blank parchment slowly fill with ink, Kaveh found himself smiling without realizing it.

Perhaps this was it.

The beginning of creating beautiful things.

🏛️

Now, well, romance.

It wasn’t as though Kaveh hadn’t tried.

After the disaster that was Siraj—whom he still considered one of the worst decisions of his twenties—there had been others. Some kinder, some more attractive, some considerably better in bed, which, to Kaveh’s relief, proved that Siraj had simply been an asshole rather than an objective critic of his blowjob skill. But regardless of who they were, the pattern never changed. A first date became a second, a second occasionally became a third, and then, somehow, everything simply stopped. Sometimes they lost interest; most of the time Kaveh did. It was as though every relationship reached an invisible wall that Kaveh himself couldn’t see.

By then, Tighnari had become an unexpectedly reliable drinking companion.

They had met during the Palace of Alcazarzaray project, where Tighnari had spent an unreasonable amount of time reminding Kaveh not to disturb the surrounding ecosystem while Kaveh insisted that architecture and nature could, in fact, coexist. Somewhere between those arguments, they became friends. 

“I think you already know what you’re looking for,” Tighnari said one evening, swirling the last of his drink around his glass. “You just refuse to admit it.”

Kaveh frowned. “I don’t think I do.”

“You do.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t keep going on dates.”

“That’s exactly my point, duh.”

Tighnari rested his chin against his hand, watching Kaveh with the patient expression of someone who had spent far too many years studying both people and kalpatala lotuses.

“You keep meeting different people, hoping one of them will somehow fit into this… image you’ve already built in your head. Every time they don’t, you convince yourself it simply wasn’t meant to be.”

“What—I don’t have an image!”

“You do.”

“I don’t!” Kaveh hissed.

“Urgh. Kaveh. You’ve just buried it so deeply that even you forgot it was there!” Tighnari pointed to Kaveh’s chest, raising his voice.

“I think you’re only saying that because you’ve already found your person. Who’s that? Cy, uh?” Kaveh stared into his glass for a moment before shaking his head.

“Cyno.”

“Right. Cyno.” Kaveh pointed at him triumphantly. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. Easy for you to say.”

“I’ve never claimed it was easy for me, though.”

“Anyway. You should bring him next time.”

“I probably will.”

“And then we’ll start a proper friend group.” Kaveh leaned farther across the table, already visibly affected by the alcohol. “Do you know how lonely adulthood is? One by one everyone’s leaving. Jazari moved to the desert, and I heard he was preparing himself to sail to Liyue. Pharez is seldom in Sumeru anymore. Half my Akademiya friends are scattered across Teyvat and somehow I’m still here.”

“You’re making it sound tragic. I’ve spent all my life in Sumeru, and it’s all good.”

“But it is tragic! Like you see your friends moving around, going places, and you’re still here, drinking in the same bar that you used to get drunk in college. I am practically nowhere.”

“Stop making it dramatic, Kaveh. Look at the people in Akademiya. They’re rich and living their best life,” Tighnari took another sip before continuing. “Besides, you’re hardly alone. You know Nilou and Dunyarzad.”

“Oh come on. They’re a package deal.” Kaveh scoffed. 

“There you go.”

Kaveh nodded thoughtfully.

“If you want to, my boyfriend can also bring more people. Cyno also knows Candace.”

“The Village Keeper? From Aaru, right?”

“Mhm.”

“And if everyone’s free…” Kaveh’s face slowly brightened. “…that’s an actual group friend that we could make. Oh my god.”

“More or less.”

“Finally,” a grin spread across Kaveh’s face, softened around the edges by far too many glasses of wine. “I contributed to something beautiful.”

Tighnari looked at him for a long moment.

“What do you mean?”

Kaveh’s smile faltered. He lowered his gaze to the ripples inside his untouched drink, tracing the rim of the glass with one finger.

“I don’t know, I just,” he laughed once, though there was little humor in it. “It feels like I’ve spent my whole life watching beautiful things disappear. My baba. My maman leaving. Friends moving away.”

He paused.

“If this little group actually lasts,” his eyes wandered around the tavern before settling somewhere far beyond. “Then maybe I’ll have something beautiful that stays.”

Tighnari sighed, like he finally saw where all of this had been coming from.

“Kaveh,” he said gently, “I think your life has always been fuller than you allow yourself to believe. You’re so busy mourning the things you’ve lost that you rarely notice the ones still choosing to stay.”

Kaveh opened his mouth, trying to answer. Instead, he rested his forehead against the wooden table with a muffled groan.

“You know what? I’m too drunk for your philosophical conversations. Let’s continue tomorrow.”

“I don’t think you’ll remember any of this tomorrow.”

“Probably not.”

Within minutes, his breathing had evened out, fast asleep despite the noise of the tavern around them. Tighnari simply shook his head, draped Kaveh’s abandoned cloak over his shoulders, and silently finished the last of his drink.

🏛️

“What exactly were you thinking?”

The front door had barely finished swinging open before Lord Sangemah Bay’s voice filled the house. 

Kaveh had never seen her look so furious. She marched straight across the living room with a stack of reports clenched tightly in one hand, before throwing them onto the table hard enough for several loose pages to scatter across the floor.

“I entrusted you with my dream project, Kaveh.” Her voice shook with anger. “And you decided to build it on land that’s now swallowing itself whole?”

Tighnari, who had arrived only moments earlier after another inspection of the site, bent to gather the fallen documents before speaking.

“With respect, Lord Sangemah Bay… this wasn’t negligence.”

She turned sharply toward him.

“The Withering doesn’t announce where it’ll appear. My rangers have been trying to contain it for months, but it spreads unpredictably. The construction site simply happened to fall within its path.”

“And that changes what, exactly?”

“It means this wasn’t his fault.”

“It became my problem regardless.”

Kaveh had rehearsed countless possibilities in his head over the past several days, but none of them had prepared him for standing in front of the client whose dream he had promised to build.

“I’m sorry—I really am,” his own voice sounded strangely distant. “I know that doesn’t undo the damage. I know how much you’ve invested into this project.”

Lord Sangemah Bay laughed bitterly.

“Do you have any idea how much Mora vanished the moment the Withering reached that site? Weeks of progress that was paid with Mora. My Mora.” She looked around the room before her gaze settled back on him. “This isn’t merely an inconvenience, Kaveh. It is a financial catastrophe!”

“Lord Sangemah Bay, really—I… I’m sorry.” Kaveh lowered his eyes. 

“As if apologies rebuild palaces,” she exhaled through her nose, visibly trying to steady herself. “When word spreads through Sumeru, they’ll remember exactly one thing. The architect of Akademiya, their light of Kshahrewar—”

Kaveh’s stomach twisted. Not the reputation. Anything but that. The Palace of Alcazarzaray wasn’t merely another commission for him. It was every late night spent sketching until sunrise just as equal as every dream he’d carried since entering Kshahrewar. It was supposed to be the building people remembered his name for.

“W-wait, Lord Sangemah Bay,” he heard himself say before he’d fully decided what he was going to say. “Let me finish it.”

She stared. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll finish the palace—I’ll pay all the difference, then build your place like how it was meant to be.”

Even Tighnari stopped breathing. “Kaveh—what?”

“I’ll borrow whatever remains from you, and I’ll repay every Mora. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Lord Sangemah Bay narrowed her eyes. From the side of his gaze, he knew Tighnari looked at him with surprise in his face. But Tighnari wouldn’t understand. No one would.

“You understand what you’re saying?”

“I do.”

“You’ll spend years paying that debt. Oh Kaveh, you may never recover financially.”

“I know—but please, just please,” his voice finally cracked as he looked directly at her. “I can’t let this palace die.”

Lord Sangemah Bay studied him in silence, as though trying to determine whether he was making the offer out of confidence or desperation.

“Fine. We’ll discuss the repayment later,” she scoffed as her eyes didn’t leave Kaveh. “Though I still have no idea how someone with your miserable finances intends to repay me.”

When the door finally closed behind her, the house became painfully quiet. Tighnari wouldn’t dare to start a word, and Kaveh was yet to understand his mind, but his gaze wandered around the room, this house that he was raised in.

There was the old dining table where they had once waited hours for a baba who never returned, the window where his maman used to spend entire afternoons sketching until the sunlight faded, the hallway where his baba would come home carrying another stack of Rtawahist books beneath one arm, smiling as though the world had never known sorrow. Dust had long claimed every surface. The rooms had grown too quiet, too still, as though the house itself had forgotten what it meant to be lived in. His maman had built another life across the sea, his baba had become nothing more than fading memories that Kaveh desperately replayed so he wouldn’t forget the sound of his voice, and this place had remained exactly as they left it—waiting for people who had no intention of returning.

“Kaveh.” Tighnari’s voice pulled him back.

“Nari—just. I know.”

Kaveh reached out and brushed his fingertips against the wooden frame of the doorway, the same one where his parents had marked his height every birthday before his baba passed away. He had spent years believing that memories lived inside walls, that if he preserved this house long enough, perhaps a part of his family would remain untouched by time. But houses were never beautiful because of the walls that held them together. They were beautiful because of the people who filled them with laughter, arguments, footsteps, and the promise that someone would always come home before dinner.

This house had stopped being beautiful a long time ago. Kaveh had already made peace with it.

When he finally looked back at Tighnari, there was a certainty in his eyes that frightened him more than tears ever could.

“I’ll sell it.”

🏛️

Kaveh lost all the beautiful things.

🏛️

“One more.”

Kaveh lazily raised two fingers without lifting his head from the polished wooden counter. The movement was enough for Lambad to recognize him before he even spoke.

“You’ve been here every night this week.”

“I’ve been here every night because most taverns close,” Kaveh mumbled into his folded arms. “If they stayed open twenty-four hours, I’d stop being your problem.”

Lambad sighed as he wiped another glass dry.

“I don’t think that’s how problems work.”

Kaveh let out a tired laugh that sounded more exhausted than amused.

“Come on. Just one more.”

“No.”

“Hey! I can pay!”

“I know you can.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“The issue,” Lambad replied patiently, “is that you’ve had enough wine.”

Kaveh groaned dramatically, dragging both hands down his face. Lambad set a glass of water in front of him instead.

“You need this.”

Kaveh eventually accepted the glass with a defeated sigh. As he took his gulp, the cold water tasted disappointingly sober.

Only a few weeks earlier, the Palace of Alcazarzaray had officially opened its doors. People had admired the place for every impossibly elegant corner it had, built exactly as he’d imagined they would. They called it miraculous. A masterpiece. Proof that Kaveh deserved every ounce of praise the Akademiya had ever given him.

No one knew that once the celebration ended, the architect who had built the grandest residence in Sumeru had nowhere to return to. His pockets were nearly empty, and his childhood home now belonged to someone else. His magnum opus stood proudly against the forest skyline while its creator spent another evening wondering whether taverns counted as temporary housing.

The irony would’ve been funny if it weren’t happening to him.

For a fleeting moment, Kaveh wondered whether this was simply how fate intended to balance itself. Every beautiful thing he created demanded something equally precious in return. Perhaps the Archons had simply decided he wasn’t meant to keep anything.

“Kaveh.”

The voice was low, familiar enough that it slipped through years of distance before Kaveh even looked up.

He froze as he saw the familiar figure. Silver hair and teal eyes, except neither resembled the boy he remembered.

The soft, round cheeks had long since disappeared, replaced by sharper features that made him look older than Kaveh expected. The Akademiya robes were gone as well, exchanged for dark, impeccably tailored clothes befitting someone who now held an important position within the institution. Even his shoulders looked broader.

Time had been kind to Alhaitham, it seemed.

“You—”

Alhaitham slid onto the stool beside him as though they hadn’t spent years pretending the other no longer existed.

“Good evening.”

“Mr. Scribe!” Lambad greeted warmly from behind the counter. “The usual?”

“Please.”

Kaveh blinked over the title. “Mr. Scribe?”

“I work for the Akademiya.”

“Huh. Of course you do.”

So. The awkward freshman Kaveh used to tease had become the Akademiya’s Scribe. Meanwhile. Well. Kaveh looked down at the watered-down drink in front of him.

“Congratulations.”

Alhaitham glanced sideways. “Kaveh.”

“What?”

“Are you alright?”

“None of your business.” Kaveh barked out a dry laugh.

Alhaitham accepted the glass Lambad placed before him, taking only a small sip before setting it back down.

“I imagine,” Alhaitham continued evenly, “that you no longer consider me your friend. You may even prefer thinking of me as a stranger.”

Alhaitham folded his hands loosely around his glass.

“Consider this a conversation with a stranger. Are you alright, Kaveh?”

A stranger? As much as Alhaitham was not a friend, he was also not a stranger. Kaveh didn't know what category he would put him in. But a stranger would've been far too foreign. He knew too much about Alhaitham to know him as just a stranger.

But he had no choice for the night. And for this specific meltdown, Kaveh thought, maybe this blurred line between a friend and a stranger was the one that he needed.

“Yeah. Strangers are easier to talk to.”

Then, almost against his own will, Kaveh started talking—about the palace, the withering, then the debt. With it came all the things that came further down the nostalgia. He spoke about the house and the memories that now went into dust, sold to another soul. 

The words spilled out in pieces, years of frustration and grief unraveling between one drink and the next. Kaveh talked until he no longer remembered where one story ended, and another began. About beauty. About loss. About chasing ideals so relentlessly that he’d forgotten how to live outside of them.

Alhaitham looked at him for a long moment.

“How has realizing your ideals gone for you?”

Kaveh laughed, though it sounded hollow.

“At least I have my magnum opus.”

Alhaitham regarded him quietly before answering. 

“You also have nowhere to sleep tonight.”

“I’m an architect. I’ll build another house.” Kaveh smiled weakly.

Then Alhaitham reached into his coat pocket and placed a small brass key onto the counter between them. The metal made the faintest sound against the wood.

“Live with me.”

Kaveh stared at it for a while, then at Alhaitham. His expression remained unchanged.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m serious.”

“Why?” He looked from the key to Alhaitham once again, unable to make sense of either.

“Do you remember our research? The Akademiya approved funding for the research center. You never answered their letters, so they reassigned the property only to me.”

Kaveh blinked, remembering those days when he decided to ignore every Akademiya letter involving the past research, and the name Alhaitham. At that time, too, he was in no need of another property. No wonder he let this one slide.

“I renovated it into a house, a simple one. I moved out of my grandmother’s place, and it became my home now. It’s close to the Akademiya and large enough for two people.”

“I can’t accept charity like this—Alhaitham, sorry.”

“I expected you’d say that,” Alhaitham sounded almost amused, then he continued. “Then pay rent.”

“How much?”

“As much as you can afford.”

For reasons Kaveh couldn’t explain, his vision blurred. He knew Alhaitham had always hated pity, and this wasn’t it. As simple as it sounded, as logical as he always had been, he was simply making room. As though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“I won’t wait for an answer,” Alhaitham said, standing from his seat. “The key will remain here.”

Kaveh stayed long after Lambad had begun wiping down empty tables and Alhaitham left him behind. The brass key remained untouched between his hands, catching the warm glow of the tavern lights whenever he turned it over. It was well past midnight when he finally found himself standing before the front door of a house beneath the Akademiya.

His fingers trembled as he slid the key into the lock, and the mechanism clicked as he turned the key.

Inside, only a single lamp remained lit. 

Alhaitham had fallen asleep on the divan, an open book resting face-down across his chest, as though he had intended to wait just a little longer before giving up for the night.

🏛️

“You guys live together?!”

Tighnari’s voice rang across Puspa Café loudly enough that several nearby tables turned to look. Kaveh nearly choked on his drink, frantically waving both hands for him to lower his voice.

“Shh!” he hissed. “Would you keep it down? People are going to get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?” Tighnari didn’t look remotely apologetic for saying that. Kaveh scoffed.

“I mean…” Kaveh rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the steam rising from his coffee infinitely more interesting than making eye contact. “It’s been… a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Uhm. Months?” Kaveh coughed into his fist. “ Actually. Almost a year.”

The silence that followed was somehow louder than Tighnari’s outburst.

“You’ve been living with Alhaitham for almost a year, and you’re only telling me now?”

Kaveh let out a long, defeated sigh before dropping his forehead onto the table.

“I know.”

“You absolute idiot—I thought you were still renting somewhere!”

“I was! Okay. Not really. I was renting Lambad’s—”

“And then?”

“And then long story short, he gave me a key to my—unofficially, my house, but I rejected it during my Akademiya days because I already had a house at that time! So technically, I am like,  renting my own house. With Alhaitham’s name on the lease, of course.”

“Archons. Devi Kusanali. Kaveh.”

“I was on my lowest point, okay. Excuse the fuck out of me!” He finally lifted his head again, cheeks tinged pink despite himself.

“You know how it sounds. ‘Hey, remember the guy I told to fuck off years ago? Well, I live with him now.’”

“I know, I know! Which is why I want you to lower your fucking voice right now.”

“It wasn’t exactly a conversation starter anyway,” Tighnari leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “But, you know, I was actually planning to bring Cyno over to your place one of these days.”

“Really?” Kaveh brightened immediately.

“Now I’m reconsidering.”

“Ah—why?”

“Telling Cyno that we’re visiting the Acting Grand Sage’s Scribe isn’t exactly an appealing proposal.”

“They’re not on good terms?” Kaveh frowned.

Tighnari let out a thoughtful hum. He looked around back and forth as he leaned forward, whispering the reason. “Cyno is… skeptical.”

“Of Alhaitham?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ve met him a handful of times,” Tighnari continued. “I’m not saying Alhaitham’s a bad person. But the way he speaks…” He searched for the right wording. “…requires a certain level of patience. Sometimes.”

Kaveh couldn’t help laughing. Of course. Most of the time, he could only imagine how people would handle dealing with Alhaitham. Kaveh patted himself on the back a lot for actually being patient enough with him.

“That’s one way to put it, I know.”

“Cyno possesses many admirable qualities—but Alhaitham always finds a way to jab at his ego. Especially when it comes to his work.”

Kaveh traced circles along the rim of his cup. While Tighnari got a point, for some reason, he felt the need to, uh, clarify a little.

“He really isn’t that bad,” Kaveh looked up to Tighnari. “I know he comes across as… well.”

“Insufferable?”

“I’d say blunt is the right word for him.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“They’re not.” Kaveh smiled to himself. “But he’s not all Akademiya, you know.”

“Oh?”

“People assume he only reads books and criticizes everyone around him, but…” He paused, realizing halfway through the sentence that he was already searching for excuses on Alhaitham’s behalf. “He’s… different once you actually know him.”

“You’re defending him.” Tighnari’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m just correcting your misconception—why are you grinning? It’s not the same thing!”

“Mhm,” and Tighnari still grinned, if not wider. “Defending him like he’s your man already.”

“He is not—” Kaveh nearly knocked over his coffee. “Don’t start. There is hot coffee on the table I am telling you.”

“Not even doing anything.”

Kaveh groaned loud enough to earn another curious glance from a nearby table. It prompted Tighnari to chuckle before taking another sip of his tea.

“Just so you know, though, Cyno and Alhaitham have actually gotten into a physical fight before.”

“You’re—what?” Alhaitham? In a physical fight? Interesting. Maybe since he got his vision? “What happened, though?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” Tighnari shrugged. “I only know Dehya stepped in before either of them could make things considerably worse.”

“Dehya?”

“Candace’s girlfriend. The flame-mane?”

“Oh! Okay wow. Then it must be a serious fight.” Kaveh rubbed his temples.

“It was. But I might be biased if I tell you too much of it. You should ask him yourself.”

“As if,” Kaveh let out a deep sigh. He leaned forward across the table with exaggerated desperation. “But don’t let that stop you from visiting, okay? I would love to have a guest some other times.”

“You’re that lonely?” Tighnari laughed it off.

“Very.”

“Even though you literally live with another person?”

Kaveh let out the most dramatic sigh he could manage—like Tighnari didn’t know how obvious the answer was. “Do you have any idea what it’s like living with Alhaitham?”

“Peaceful?”

“It’s like living with a statue! He comes home at five, then he reads, cooks, and sleeps. The next morning he works, reads, cooks, and sleeps. All that routine and you put that on a fucking repeat. Do you know how boring it is?”

“And the conversations?”

Kaveh looked down at his untouched pastry. They did have conversations every now and then. But it wasn’t like—meaningful. Most of the time it was just a natural bickering between the two. Or just Alhaitham being insufferable, Kaveh being annoying. Was that even a conversation?

“Well—we used to talk a lot during our younger days, but now that things have changed, there may be or may not be things that we have in common. We realized our differences, and that’s it.”

Back in the Akademiya, conversations had always found them somehow. They argued over their research, debated over philosophy, but it was kind of a debate that took them both into having a late dinner together. Or walking side by side to the House of Daena. There had always been something to say.

Now they lived beneath the same roof; on some evenings, they shared dinner in complete silence. Other nights Alhaitham disappeared into his study while Kaveh buried himself in blueprints until they both forgot the other was home. A lot of times Kaveh wanted to open his mouth and ask, how was your day at work? But Alhaitham was—no, he wouldn’t appreciate this kind of question, so Kaveh kept that in, and for the better of both, silence was the most comfortable one for them.

“I believe you guys talk, but not in the way you guys used to converse in the Akademiya, right?”

“Yeah,” Kaveh sighed, looking at his untouched Ajilenakh Cake as he played with the fork. “I mean—I tried to open some conversation, but I don’t think Alhaitham enjoyed the talk.”

Tighnari looked at Kaveh for a long while, then he dropped his hands to his side.

“I am not an expert, nor do I know Alhaitham so much, but,” he glanced at Kaveh, hoping that the latter would meet his eyes. “I think you just haven’t figured it out yet.”

Kaveh frowned.

“Figured out what?” 

🏛️

It looked like Alhaitham was the one who hadn’t had it figured out.

“Do you seriously think this is beautiful?”

Kaveh stood in the middle of the living room with both hands planted on his hips, staring at a newly purchased bookshelf as though it had personally offended him. The thing was made of dark wood with brass detailing, sturdy enough to survive a century, but Alhaitham had somehow managed to pair it with a faded green armchair, a deep crimson rug, and curtains in a shade of blue that Kaveh was fairly certain shouldn’t exist in the same room.

Alhaitham barely spared it a glance from where he sat reading.

“It functions.”

“That’s your defense?”

“I fail to see the issue.” Alhaitham turned another page, ignoring Kaveh.

“The issue,” Kaveh exclaimed, gesturing so dramatically that he nearly knocked over a flower vase, “is that none of these colors belong together. Look at this room! It has no harmony. Not even—a goddamn focal point. You have somehow managed to make every piece of furniture argue with the others.”

“It hasn’t affected their functionality, has it?”

“It affects my functionality!”

“I wasn’t aware your ability to walk depended on color coordination.”

Kaveh pinched the bridge of his nose—because he knew this was going to be another long, round argument that ended nowhere.

“Archons—preserve me.”

“I don’t believe they’re interested.” Alhaitham hummed.

“You—you know what? You could at least buy something that matches. If you like green, then go with all green.”

“I don’t really see colors like that. Besides, it already matches.”

“Kusanali. Matches with what?”

“The purpose.”

“That sentence doesn’t even make sense!” Kaveh stared, feeling his anger rising up again—and he didn’t feel like losing, not over this ridiculous interior design.

“It makes perfect sense.”

“No, it makes sense to you, which is an entirely different thing!”

Alhaitham finally looked up from his book.

“You’re literally rich—you can buy literally any furniture in the whole Teyvat, and you still choose this—the abomination of a bookshelf. I want to know how your mind actually works. Must’ve been a hideous place.”

“That doesn’t obligate me to spend Mora unnecessarily.”

“But replacing this would hardly put a dent in your wallet!”

“Just because I can afford something doesn’t mean I should buy it, right?”

Kaveh opened his mouth, but refused to push further. He wouldn’t argue with Alhaitham about money—no, never. He knew better not to go over that topic because his debt would’ve been the first strike to go for. So he threw his hands into the air before marching dramatically towards his room.

“You know what? Whatever. Enjoy living inside whatever architectural disaster you’ve created.”

“I have been for years.”

“Infuriating man!”

His bedroom door shut with enough force to make one of the picture frames rattle.

Kaveh let out a long breath as he collapsed backward onto the mattress.

Sometimes he genuinely wondered how two people could disagree on something as fundamental as beauty. Alhaitham appreciated efficiency, but Kaveh appreciated feeling. To Alhaitham, a chair existed to be sat on. To Kaveh, it was also meant to belong.

The thought lingered as he rolled onto his side, his gaze absentmindedly falling toward the small nightstand beside the bed.

His paint box sat neatly where he’d left it. Kaveh frowned.

Wait. No, this was not where he’d left it.

He distinctly remembered abandoning everything in the living room that morning after spending hours experimenting with color palettes for a commission. Brushes had been soaking in a jar and tubes of paint scattered across the floor. He had planned to clean the mess eventually. 

(Though eventually had simply not arrived, but he promised to clean it up.)

He pushed himself upright.

“…Alhaitham!”

Footsteps approached a moment later. Alhaitham appeared at the doorway, still holding the book he’d apparently never put down.

“Yes?”

“Did you touch my paints?”

“I did.”

“Huh? Why? I mean—I would clean it up eventually.” Kaveh narrowed his eyes.

“And that eventually never came. They were covering half the living room.”

“I was using them!”

“You had finished using them, I remember,” Alhaitham nodded toward the wooden box. “I cleaned everything and returned your supplies.”

Kaveh immediately crouched beside the nightstand, lifting the lid with more urgency than he intended. The familiar scent of oil paint greeted him. He reached instinctively for the row of brushes first.

The finest liner brush—the one he’d nearly cried over after saving for months—was resting exactly where it belonged, its bristles freshly cleaned and carefully reshaped. Beside it lay the broader flat brushes arranged from largest to smallest, not haphazardly tossed inside as Kaveh himself often did when exhausted, but aligned almost perfectly.

Then the paint tubes, he counted. Titanium White, Yellow Ochre, Burnt Sienna, Viridian, Ultramarine. Every tube had been wiped clean before being returned to the box. Even the caps, usually stained with dried paint after one of Kaveh’s frantic painting sessions, looked spotless.

His charcoal pencils had been bundled together with a piece of twine. The palette knife had been wrapped in cloth so it wouldn’t scratch the wooden case. Even the tiny graphite sharpener—small enough that Kaveh misplaced it at least twice a week—sat tucked into its own little compartment.

It was considerably more organized than Kaveh had ever managed himself.

“Oh—I… Thank you.”

“What was that?” Alhaitham called.

“I said thank you. Hey! You heard me for the first time!” Kaveh looked up as he protested

“I don’t believe I did.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I think earnest gratitude deserves to be expressed thrice,” Alhaitham’s expression remained perfectly straight—annoyingly straight. “So one more time, please?”

“Ugh, just go! Go back to arranging your—horrendous furniture. You need to master the art of interior designing before you have the eye for it.” Kaveh clicked his tongue as he waved him toward the hallway.

Kaveh swore that he saw Alhaitham’s lips curl upward before he left. Halfway through the doorway, though, he paused.

“Kaveh.”

“What now?”

Alhaitham glanced once toward the carefully organized paint box, then he said, gently: “Consider this one as my path to mastery too.”

“W-what mastery?”

Before Kaveh could formulate a retort, Alhaitham continued walking down the hallway as though he hadn’t said anything remarkable at all, leaving Kaveh in agape.

🏛️

“I will move out.”

Tighnari didn’t even bother looking up from his cup. Certainly this wasn’t something that he felt the need to be surprised about. Call it another Monday.

“Are we ignoring debt now?” Tighnari responded plainly.

Kaveh leaned farther across the café table, determination written all over his face.

“Watch me, Tighnari. I will move out and let that man suffer when all his books end up scattered everywhere.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past two and a half years,” a slow sigh escaped Tighnari; he finally met Kaveh’s eyes. “I’m afraid you’re enjoying his company.”

“He’s so—”

The words caught in his throat. He stopped himself, pressing his lips into a thin line before exhaling through his nose.

“No. Never mind,” he shook his head. “You know what? My therapist told me I should work on my anger management.”

“I think that’s sound advice.”

“So I’m not going to insult him. But just so you know, he’s still the most annoying person I’ve ever met. I feel like the universe is playing a prank on us.”

Tighnari raised an eyebrow, taking a light sip from his cup. “Very mature.”

“I just…” Kaveh slumped against the back of his chair. “I want to move somewhere beautiful. Somewhere with flowers everywhere, big windows, sunlight, maybe a little garden…”

“Kaveh.”

“Hm?”

“You need to stop this beautiful-things obsession.”

“Hey,” Kaveh frowned. “That hurts.” 

“No, seriously—I know. I know you like beautiful things, you dream of beautiful things, and I don’t—I am not as pragmatic as Alhaitham, but I want you to look me in the eye and tell me there’s nothing beautiful in your life right now.” 

Kaveh surely didn’t know what Tighnari was talking about. He seriously couldn’t tell something beautiful in his life. A family that had long gone. A friend—well, they’re alright, but mediocre. His job was nothing but an endless commission that nowadays felt more like an obligation than a passion.

“There is nothing beautiful in my life right now.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Kaveh spread his hands helplessly.

“What is beautiful about my life?” he asked. “I live with the most annoying roommate imaginable, my commissions are mediocre these days, sure, the Palace of Alcazarzaray turned out beautiful, but that’s already behind me. And the place I live in…”

He let out an exaggerated groan.

“…came with Alhaitham.”

“There.”

“What?”

Tighnari gave him a look that seemed almost painfully obvious. “Don’t you think Alhaitham is—”

“What?”

Tighnari closed his eyes for a brief second.

“Lord Kusanali—”

“What? I still don’t get it. And you keep bringing up my maman's lecture about companionship—I have none of that.”

“Archons—what? Kaveh! Because she was right.”

“And you are my companion.”

“Yes,” Tighnari nodded, his ears lowered in sympathy. “But you have so much more than that.”

Kaveh frowned, genuinely confused. What is more? What’s there that he can’t see? 

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Okay.” He folded his arms. “If you’re trying to imply something about Alhaitham…” He shook his head firmly. “He did nothing.”

Tighnari waited. Like he expected Kaveh to hit some sort of realization, but one’s obliviousness happened to remain there until Archons knew when.

“He offered you a home, Kaveh.”

“That was one of those situations where helping me was simply the decent thing to do.”

“Kaveh…” Tighnari pinched the bridge of his nose, looking every bit like someone who had grown tired of explaining the same thing over and over again. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Keep depriving yourself of beautiful things.”

“What does that even mean?” Kaveh frowned, a little offended.

“If you’re determined to ignore the elephant in the room,” Tighnari let out one last sigh. “Then I suppose you’ll never see it.”

🏛️

“We should be talking about the Acting Grand Sage’s coup in the Akademiya. Can I do that for this thesis?”

Kaveh blinked once. He slowly lowered the stack of assignments he had been organizing onto his desk and looked between the two students standing expectantly before him.

“I’m sorry?”

His students—Hawa nudged Arash with her elbow as though encouraging him to continue. Arash cleared his throat.

“I mean, Professor Kaveh, we were thinking that maybe we could analyze how Sumeru’s architectural layout supported the coup? Like… the movement through the House of Daena, the confinement of the sages, the spatial—”

“What?” Kaveh stared at them in genuine disbelief. “This is Introduction to Architecture.”

“Yes, Professor. We understand.”

“So explain to me,” he said, folding his arms, “what exactly the coup has to do with introductory architectural principles?”

The two students exchanged an uncertain glance, then Hawa opened her mouth to come up with her reason: “We thought it would be interesting?”

“I’m sure it would, Professor. Please, trust us!” Arash replied.

“I still don’t get it. I am afraid that you wouldn’t get much from it too.”

Stubborn, Arash tried once more. “We could talk about how the buildings themselves influenced—”

“If your thesis requires discussing politics for more than half a page, you’ve probably enrolled in the wrong course,” Kaveh uttered, which made the room fall quiet. “You might want to take that proposal to Vahumana instead.”

“Professor—”

“I certainly won’t stop you. Does this come from the Acting Grand Sage himself?”

Before either student could attempt another explanation, another voice drifted in from the classroom doorway.

“It wasn’t my suggestion.”

As the three of them turned, Alhaitham stood just outside the room, one hand still resting lightly against the open door.

“But I agree with Professor Kaveh,” his gaze shifted briefly toward the students. “If you’re determined to write about the coup, this isn’t the class for it.”

The recognition dawned almost instantly. Ever since the coup, well, Alhaitham had gained such a name that made him somehow—famous and infamous at the same time. But the students in Akademiya tend to put respect on his name, especially the Haravatat.

“Mr. Alhaitham!”

Both students straightened so quickly they nearly knocked their chairs over.

“The Acting Grand Sage.” Kaveh hissed.

“We’re sorry, Professor Kaveh—” Both of them resigned, quickly packing their stuff. “We’ll revise our proposal.”

The pair hurried from the room with considerably more urgency than they had entered it. Only after their footsteps disappeared down the hallway did Kaveh let out an amused snort.

“Well, well,” he gathered the remaining papers into a neat stack, tapping their edges against the desk until they aligned perfectly. “Look who’s here. The Grand Sage.”

Alhaitham stepped inside, approaching Kaveh at his professor desk.

“The Acting Grand Sage.” Alhaitham corrected.

Kaveh rolled his eyes.

“So,” he continued sorting his lecture notes into leather folders. “How’s your prestigious new position?”

“Horrible.”

“Really?”

“I submitted my resignation.”

“Already?” Kaveh laughed. Of course this lazy bum wouldn’t go all the way to be as far as a Grand Sage.

“I never wanted the position.”

“You know half the Akademiya would kill for that title.”

“Then they’re welcome to it,” Alhaitham heaved a long sigh. “I’ve informed Nahida. I hope she accepts it soon.”

Kaveh shook his head in disbelief. Only Alhaitham could speak about becoming Acting Grand Sage as though he’d accidentally accepted extra paperwork.

“So,” Kaveh said as he slid the last bundle of lecture notes into his satchel and gathered the scattered sheets across his desk into a single neat stack. “What brings His Excellency, the Acting Grand Sage himself, all the way to my humble classroom? Don’t tell me you’ve come to audit my teaching.”

“It’s five,” Alhaitham replied simply. “Time to go home. If I hadn’t come, you would’ve stopped by Lambad’s, ordered a drink, stayed until they closed, and complained the entire walk back because you had to make it home in the dark.”

Kaveh stared at him for a second before letting out an offended scoff.

“Those are awfully specific accusations.”

“They’re my observations.”

“I’m an adult, Alhaitham.” He slung the satchel over one shoulder with perhaps a little more force than necessary. “I can decide how I spend my evenings.”

“You can,” Alhaitham agreed without argument. “But you also tend to skip dinner whenever you decide Lambad’s is a better destination than home.”

Kaveh clicked his tongue. The annoying part wasn’t that Alhaitham had said it—it was that he couldn’t even deny it. More often than not, one drink became two, then another conversation with Lambad, another excuse to linger in the tavern until closing time. By the time he remembered food, Alhaitham had cleaned their kitchen already, and Kaveh groaned just to think about the bother of cleaning it up in the morning.

“Fine,” he muttered, giving in with considerably less dignity than he’d hoped. “But if I go home this early, what exactly am I supposed to do? Stare at the walls until bedtime?”

“Work on your commission, if you still have the energy.”

“I’ve already spent the whole day working.”

“Then don’t. I wouldn’t really do that either.”

The answer came so matter-of-factly that Kaveh almost laughed.

“You’re making it sound as though people are allowed hobbies nowadays. Jobs are crazy, Alhaitham.”

“They are. But you can still do your hobby if you have the time.”

“And what brilliant hobby do you suggest for me, then?”

Alhaitham considered the question only briefly.

“You haven’t painted in a while, actually.”

Kaveh’s hands stopped in the middle of fastening his satchel.

“Paint?”

“You used to enjoy it.”

“I know I enjoy it. I am still enjoying it.”

“You’ve been too busy to make time for it.”

There wasn’t a hint of accusation in Alhaitham’s voice. It seemed like Alhaitham had quietly noticed the untouched paint box sitting in Kaveh’s room for weeks, the empty canvases in the corner of the room.

“You should paint again.”

For reasons Kaveh couldn’t quite explain, warmth crept up the back of his neck. He quickly looked away under the pretense of adjusting the strap on his satchel, suddenly finding the worn leather far more interesting than meeting Alhaitham’s eyes.

“You just don’t want me to skip dinner.”

“I never did,” Alhaitham replied. “You simply have a habit of forgetting to eat.”

The remark was delivered with the same calm certainty as always, but this time Kaveh didn’t have the heart to argue back.

“Finish packing, Kaveh. We’re going home.”

“Yes, yes.”

Kaveh shoved the last of his lecture notes into his satchel before following Alhaitham out of the classroom. By then, the afternoon lectures had long since ended, leaving the Akademiya corridors alive with students exchanging hurried conversations before descending toward Sumeru City. A few familiar faces greeted Kaveh as they passed. Others nodded respectfully toward Alhaitham ever since he bore the new title. Some simply watched them walk side by side, their gazes lingering just a second longer than politeness required, as though the sight of the famed Light of Kshahrewar returning home beside the Acting Grand Sage remained a curiosity even after all these years. Nowadays, Kaveh had stopped wondering what stories people invented about them. If they wished to gossip, they were welcome to fill in the blanks however they pleased.

They had nearly reached the stairs leading down into the city when Kaveh slowed his steps ever so slightly. His stomach rumbled.

“Can we get biryani?”

Alhaitham glanced at him. “You said you’d cook yesterday.”

“I did,” Kaveh admitted without shame. “I forgot.”

Alhaitham looked at him for a quick while as he sighed, but Kaveh took it as his confirmation. Kaveh scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck before offering the closest thing he had to an apologetic smile.

The food vendor greeted them before they had even reached the stall, already reaching for the same paper wrappers he always used whenever the two of them came by after work.

“The usual?”

“The usual,” Kaveh answered, brightening immediately.

The old man worked with practiced hands, scooping fragrant rice and neatly arranging the side dishes before pausing just as he reached for another wrapper.

“For two?”

Back then, such a question would turn him into a mess. A ball of anxiousness as overthinking struck him at night: people will know. But now, Kaveh really just—let that question and wonder slip naturally into the conversation as much as they pleased. Even though his lips parted instinctively, ready to explain that no, they weren’t—whatever the vendor might have assumed they were—the words never came. Instead, after the briefest hesitation, he simply nodded.

“Yes.”

The vendor smiled to himself, wrapped the second portion without another question, and handed the parcel over. Beside him, Alhaitham neither corrected the misunderstanding nor acknowledged it. He merely paid, thanked the vendor, and continued walking.

Look me in the eye and tell me there’s nothing beautiful in your life right now.

Perhaps he wanted to believe what Tighnari said. But grief had taught Kaveh to distrust permanence. Every beautiful thing he had ever loved had eventually slipped through his fingers, and so he had learned to protect himself by convincing his heart that nothing was ever meant to stay. It was easier to translate kindness into obligation, generosity into practicality, companionship into mere convenience. 

Alhaitham had offered him a place to live because it made financial sense. He reminded Kaveh to eat because any decent roommate would. He cleaned scattered paintbrushes because he disliked disorder. There was always another explanation, another reason that asked less of Kaveh than hope ever could.

Kaveh wouldn’t hope. The shooting star failed him that night. This one would just be the same.

Hope asked him to believe that perhaps someone had looked at all the jagged edges he carried and decided to stay anyway. Huh, that would be impossible. He did nothing but deserve to be loved.

And if Kaveh ever allowed himself to call that beautiful, then he would also have to confront the oldest fear he had ever known: that one day, he might lose this, too.

🏛️

They had barely made it halfway down the road with warm packets of biryani in hand when someone called out from behind.

“Now this I didn’t expect.”

Kaveh turned first, only to find Dehya walking toward them with her usual confident stride of a flame-mane, another woman beside her whose composed smile contrasted almost perfectly with Dehya’s infectious grin.

“So you two really do get along.” Dehya folded her arms before gesturing proudly to the woman at her side. “Oh—and meet Candace. The love of my life.”

“I’ve met Candace,” Alhaitham said before Kaveh could even open his mouth.

Kaveh immediately looked at him.

“Since when do you know more people than I do?”

“They’ve worked together before,” Candace answered with a laugh, saving Alhaitham the trouble. “It’s nice seeing you again, Kaveh.”

“There you go,” Dehya chuckled. “Small world. So, what are you two up to?”

Kaveh raised the paper bag between them.

“Food.”

“Food?”

“We were supposed to cook.”

“He forgot,” Alhaitham repeated flatly.

“We were supposed to cook,” Dehya’s grin only widened. “We.”

Kaveh groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Candace hid a smile behind her hand while Dehya looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“Well,” Dehya continued, “if you two don’t have plans afterward, Lambad’s is giving out free drinks tonight. The mercenaries are celebrating a successful commission.”

“Free drinks?” Kaveh’s eyes immediately brightened, already sounding tempted enough that he was halfway to changing directions.

“No, thank you,” Alhaitham answered before Kaveh could say anything else.

Kaveh turned to him in disbelief. “I have plans?”

“You have a commission,” Alhaitham reminded him evenly. “And class tomorrow morning.”

“Also right.”

Dehya let out an amused whistle, folding her arms across her chest as she looked between the two of them. “Would you look at that. Speaking for your husband already.”

“We are not.”

The denial escaped Kaveh almost instinctively, loud enough that a passing scholar glanced over for a brief second before continuing on his way. Candace couldn’t help laughing at the sheer panic in his voice, while Dehya only looked more entertained.

“I’m sorry,” Kaveh sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as though admitting defeat. “I really do have class tomorrow morning. I should probably stick to the boring routine at home.”

“Boring?” Candace echoed with an amused smile. “I can’t imagine living with the Acting Grand Sage is all that boring.”

“Acting,” Alhaitham corrected automatically.

“My apologies,” Candace replied with perfect composure. “The Acting Grand Sage.”

Kaveh let out a long groan. “I asked him that exact question earlier. If I’m going home this early, what am I even supposed to do? What do you two usually do after work?”

The moment the question left Kaveh’s mouth, Dehya turned toward Candace with a grin so mischievous that Candace already knew exactly where this was going.

“Well.”

“Dehya.”

“I was just going to answer honestly.”

“Dehya.”

“What? He asked.”

Candace let out a resigned sigh, the sort that suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d had to deal with whatever ridiculous answer Dehya was about to give. “Go on, then.”

“Oh, you know.”

Dehya didn’t elaborate any further, merely waggling her brows with far too much confidence, and—that look. The implication hit Kaveh almost embarrassingly fast, heat rushing straight to his face until even his ears felt warm.

“Well, clearly we’re not doing that!”

His protest came out louder than intended, prompting Candace to laugh as she gave Dehya a light punch on the shoulder.

“I told you.”

“What?” Dehya replied with an innocent shrug that fooled absolutely no one. “It was a perfectly reasonable answer.”

“It absolutely wasn’t.”

Kaveh let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine before covering his face with one hand. “You know what? We’re going home. Right now.”

“I think that’s for the best,” Candace replied through another laugh, giving the two of them a small wave. “Goodbye.”

“See you.”

Kaveh didn’t wait for another opportunity to be embarrassed. He turned on his heel and started walking, clutching the warm paper bag of biryani against his chest while silently praying Dehya wouldn’t call after him again. Behind him, he could hear Alhaitham linger for only a moment to exchange a few conversations—Kaveh didn’t even want to know—before following at his usual unhurried pace.

His face remained unbearably warm all the way home, and he decided then and there that if Dehya ever brought this conversation up again, he was simply going to pretend he had never met her.

🏛️

“That is beautiful.”

Kaveh looked up from his canvas just as Alhaitham’s voice broke the comfortable silence filling the house. The sunset spilled through the windows, catching the streaks of orange and gold he’d been layering onto the branches of the Divine Tree, and for a brief moment he simply stared back before realizing Alhaitham had been talking about the painting.

“Oh,” warmth immediately crept onto his cheeks. “Thank you.”

Alhaitham’s lips curved ever so slightly. “That’s a lot of ‘thank you’ lately.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Kaveh huffed, setting his brush down with exaggerated indignation. “See? I knew your compliments weren’t genuine. You’re just trying to piss me off.” He pointed accusingly at him before waving a dismissive hand. “Go back to your boring routine or whatever. That book—what is it? Constellations? Why are you even reading a Rtawahist book?”

“I read almost everything,” Alhaitham replied, glancing down at the open pages in his hand. “Although you’re right. This one doesn’t intrigue me very much.”

“So?”

“I’ll find something else.”

“Like what?” Kaveh tilted his head.

“The book?” Alhaitham looked up. “Or the activity?”

The faint amusement in his voice—Kaveh felt the heat climb all the way to his ears.

“Don’t—what are you…” He pointed at Alhaitham again, thoroughly flustered now. “We’re not doing whatever Dehya was implying.”

“Was I implying anything?”

“No—but!” A beat. “…Fuck you.”

He turned around far more dramatically than necessary and reached for his brush, only to stop halfway through the motion. He frowned, looked around the table, then beneath the palette, then beside the easel. His brush had somehow disappeared.

“Where did I…”

Behind him, Alhaitham simply watched in silence for a while before closing the book in his hands and sliding it back onto the shelf.

“Don’t overthink it.”

“What?”

“You have two options.”

Kaveh finally looked over.

“You can leave it alone.”

“Or?”

“You can act on it.”

“What?” Kaveh abandoned the search for his brush altogether and marched across the room until he was standing directly in front of Alhaitham, hands planted firmly on his hips. “Act on what?”

A laugh escaped Alhaitham before he could stop it.

“As someone who graduated from the Akademiya with honors,” he said, “I’m genuinely surprised you’re still this oblivious.”

Kaveh frowned harder.

“Figure out what? You and Tighnari keep saying that. Figure what out? What exactly am I supposed to understand? Stop talking in riddles and just tell me already, because I swear by the Archons if this is another one of your stupid intellectual metaphors—”

Alhaitham didn’t let him finish. Like he’d realized there was no explanation concise enough for Kaveh to accept and words had simply stopped being the most efficient method. Either way, he reached up and cupped Kaveh’s cheek with a gentleness so uncharacteristic it stole the rest of Kaveh’s protests before they could leave his mouth, then closed the remaining distance between them. 

The kiss was brief—soft enough that Kaveh barely had time to register the warmth of another pair of lips against his own before Alhaitham pulled away again—but it was enough to leave the room suspended in complete silence. Kaveh stood frozen where he was, staring at him with wide eyes as every coherent thought quietly abandoned his mind all at once.

Oh.

That was what everyone had been talking about.

🏛️

Alhaitham is beautiful. 

🏛️

“What do you think about companionship, Alhaitham?”

The question came into the stillness of their bedroom. Kaveh sat between Alhaitham’s legs, his back resting comfortably against his chest while Alhaitham absentmindedly combed gentle fingers through the loose strands of blond hair that had escaped his braid. Alhaitham hummed a tune to his ear.

“I think it gives life meaning.”

Kaveh smiled faintly.

“My maman used to tell me to look for companionship.” His fingers idly traced circles against Alhaitham’s forearm wrapped around his waist. “She said people weren’t meant to carry life alone.”

“And?”

“I think…” He hesitated. “I turned out differently.”

“How so?”

“I don’t think companionship was ever what I was looking for,” Kaveh sighed as Alhaitham waited with anticipation. “It was beautiful things.”

“My parents. The family they built together. The Palace of Alcazarzaray. Every time I found something beautiful, I wanted to protect it with everything I had.” Kaveh let out a quiet laugh, though there was little humor in it. “Then they disappeared anyway.”

“So I convinced myself beauty had an expiration date. That it always demanded something in return. Like sacrifice. I had to deal with grief and loneliness for most of my life.”

He looked down at his own hands, the hands of the artist that never stopped creating.

“I thought, if I stopped calling things beautiful maybe they wouldn’t hurt so much when they were gone.”

“And now?” Alhaitham asked at last.

“Now?” He laughed under his breath. “There’s nothing particularly beautiful about my life. I’m still paying debt. My maman lives across the sea. I live in your house.” He smiled bitterly. “Sometimes I still feel like the architect who built a palace and somehow failed at everything else.”

Alhaitham rested his chin lightly atop Kaveh’s head.

“When I was younger,” he began, “I never questioned the life I had.”

Kaveh remained quiet, listening attentively to Alhaitham.

“I never knew my parents. My grandmother raised me, and that was enough. I wasn’t searching for extraordinary things. I expected a simple life: study, graduate, work, grow old, and eventually disappear like everyone else.”

“Of course that’s your life philosophy.” Kaveh couldn’t help snorting.

“It was,” Alhaitham’s hand absentmindedly found Kaveh’s again, intertwining their fingers. “Then you introduced yourself in the House of Daena.”

Kaveh groaned. “Oh, don’t remind me!”

“You were loud and persistent. But you were also impossible to ignore.” A smile tugged faintly at Alhaitham’s lips.

“I spent most of my life believing beauty was merely an object of observation. Like a sunset. You acknowledge why people admire it, perhaps even understand the atmospheric conditions that create those colors, but eventually the sun sets anyway. Architecture was much the same. I could appreciate proportion, symmetry, structural integrity, yet appreciation never required attachment. It was simply recognition.”

He paused. “Then I met someone who carried all of that into every room he entered.”

Kaveh felt warmth immediately rise to his face.

“Haitham…”

“I finally understood why people stopped to admire sunsets,” Alhaitham continued as though he hadn’t noticed the interruption. “Why artists devote their entire lives trying to recreate flowers on canvas. Why poets insisted on writing metaphors that made very little logical sense. You were loud enough to disturb every quiet routine I’d built for myself. You argued over things I considered trivial, talked to strangers as though you’d known them for years, complained about ugly furniture with alarming conviction, and somehow managed to make every room feel inhabited.”

He looked down at their intertwined hands before continuing. 

“Beauty stopped being something I observed. It became something that interrupted me,” he lowered his head just enough to press a lingering kiss against Kaveh’s hair. “Because I had fallen in love with something beautiful.”

Kaveh buried his face in his hands. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Then if I have to ask you a question: what are the most beautiful things that happened in your life now, Kaveh?”

Kaveh lowered his hands slowly before looking back over his shoulder.

“You,” his answer came without hesitation. “Don’t make me think about it. It’s you.”

“You’re the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me, Alhaitham. That’s why I’m terrified all the time.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve lost every beautiful thing I’ve ever loved. My baba. My family. My home. Every time I finally think I’ve found something worth keeping…” He laughed weakly. “…I’m always waiting for the day it’ll disappear too.”

Alhaitham was quiet for a long moment before letting out a small sigh. 

“No,” he said simply. “That’s why Tighnari kept telling you to look at the bigger picture.” 

Reaching toward the nightstand, he picked up the small hand mirror resting there and placed it carefully into Kaveh’s hands. 

“Look.”

Kaveh lowered his gaze, only to frown almost immediately. 

“My braid’s a mess.” He instinctively reached up to touch it before Alhaitham called his name again, patient but firm enough to stop him. 

“Kaveh.” A quiet groan escaped him. 

“Fine!” He finally lifted the mirror properly, though not without one last mutter. “I knew it looked weird.”

His own reflection looked back at him. Golden hair sat messier than usual after spending the evening tucked beneath Alhaitham’s chin, a few loose strands framing eyes still glassy with tears that refused to dry completely. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the face staring back—only the traces of years that grief had left behind, scars invisible to everyone but himself. 

Alhaitham reached up then, cupping his cheek with familiar gentleness until Kaveh’s eyes shifted from his own reflection to meet Alhaitham’s through the mirror. 

“Tell me what you see.”

Kaveh opened his mouth, only to realize there was nothing he could say. He looked at himself for what felt like the first time in years, and all at once the reflection ceased to be merely a face in the mirror. 

It was the little boy who had stood outside his house until his arms grew tired from waving at a baba who would never come home. It was the child who had learned to grow up inside a house where silence echoed louder than laughter, the son who smiled as he watched his maman sail toward another life because loving her meant letting her go. It was the architect who had built a palace worthy of becoming legend, the man who had loved too deeply, forgiven too easily, and given too much of himself every single time, as though kindness were the only thing grief had failed to take away from him.

Somewhere between mourning his baba, chasing impossible ideals, and searching endlessly for beautiful things that never seemed to stay, Kaveh had forgotten to look at the one person who had endured every loss and still found reasons to keep creating, to keep loving, to keep believing there was beauty left in the world. He had spent so many years measuring beauty by what remained beside him that he never once considered the possibility that beauty could also be the one who survived after everything else was gone.

Alhaitham’s thumb brushed quietly beneath his eyes, catching the tears before they could fall. 

“Kaveh,” he murmured, his voice so gentle it almost broke him, “you’ve spent your whole life mourning beautiful things.” His gaze never left Kaveh’s reflection. “You never realized you were one of them.”

The mirror blurred before Kaveh could bear another second of looking at it. He lowered it onto the bedside table with trembling hands, then turned without another word and buried his face against Alhaitham’s chest, the sob that escaped him sounding almost unfamiliar after years of swallowing every hurt in silence. Alhaitham simply held him closer, saying nothing, because there was nothing left to explain.

Beautiful things did disappear—some of them were only ever borrowed for a little while.

But if Kaveh believed beautiful things deserved to be cherished with all his heart, then perhaps, after all these years, it was finally time to believe that he deserved that love too.

🏛️

Kaveh is beautiful.

I am beautiful.