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It’s one of those rare days where Kaveh has remembered his key. He allows himself to feel a brief moment of victory on the doorstep, admiring the Kshahrewar lion swinging from the metal, then unlocks the door to his home.
“Alhaitham,” he calls, toeing off his shoes, “I brought dinner. Did you cook? You better have not, I’m not wasting a perfectly good meal on whatever you’ve decided counts as food this time. It’s Sunday and I need some rest from work. My clients are driving me mad.”
Almost predictably, there is no answer. Kaveh finishes hanging up his scarf and hauls his bag of food into the living room.
“I bought biryani,” he announces, “and rose kulfi, too, from that store on the corner, except it might have melted a bit from the heat, do we have space in the freezer?”
Still no answer. Kaveh rounds the corner to see Alhaitham lounging on their couch, noise-cancelling headphones on, writing intensely into a book. Kaveh watches, half fond, half amused at the little scrunch of concentration between his eyebrows, before glancing at the name of the book and frowning. He waves his hand in front of Alhaitham’s face, watching as Alhaitham taps the side of his headphones to turn off the noise cancellation in lieu of a greeting.
“Hello to you, too,” Kaveh says. He puts the steaming bag of food on their table and hurries to their refrigerator, preoccupied by the kulfi melting. “I bought biryani.”
“Thank you,” Alhaitham says. “Did you get-”
“Yes, yes, your extra chicken,” Kaveh says, haphazardly shoving the kulfi into the freezer and shutting the door. “I asked them to pack it on the side so it doesn’t get soggy.”
“Thank you,” Alhaitham repeats, sincere. Kaveh turns to smile at him, pulling the steaming container from the bag, but Alhaitham is already engrossed back in his book, firmly underlining something on the page. Kaveh’s previous questions come rushing back to mind.
“Why are you annotating An Introduction to Vedanagari Script ? Isn’t that a basic first-year text?”
Alhaitham doesn’t even look up. “I heard Isak from Aaru Village is quite proficient in Vedanagari now, both written and spoken, and he found this text especially helpful in mastering the fundamentals.”
Kaveh tries and fails to put a face to the name. “Isak?”
Alhaitham scribbles something else. “Short kid, reddish brown hair, reads a lot. He has a potential aptitude for languages.”
"Ah.” This part rings a bell. Isak had had his nose in a book while walking through Aaru Village, and had accidentally run smack into Alhaitham. He had apologised profusely, and his mother had also come up to say sorry, complaining about her son’s habits of reading and walking at the same time.
Alhaitham had brushed off the apology, saying, “I was like that too, at his age. It is a good habit to read.”
At the time, Kaveh had berated him for implying that Isak should continue multitasking. Even during examination season, Akademiya students avoided doing so, given the danger of tripping over a stray root or branch in Sumeru City. In the villages, amid sprawling greenery, one misstep could kill, and he had indignantly voiced as much to an unaffected Alhaitham.
"I am not suggesting he keep up a dangerous habit,” Alhaitham had said. “I simply think it is an admirable trait to be so engrossed in learning at such a young age.”
"Also,” he had added very seriously to a giggling Isak, “learning to be aware of and accurately judge peripheral vision is imperative to one’s survival.”
Alhaitham had brought a brochure for Haravatat scholarships to Aaru Village upon their next visit, tucked into his pocket where he thought Kaveh couldn’t see. Kaveh had privately written to Mr. Badawi, requesting for him to contact the Akademiya for a rack of resources about courses and funding support to be set up at the main entrance of the desert library. The Scribe of the Akademiya, he was sure, would have no qualms about this.
Mr. Badawi had responded enthusiastically, telling Kaveh he had reached out to the Scribe for the relevant materials. And the last time Kaveh wandered into Alhaitham’s office, ranting about a vexing client, he had spotted a freshly labelled tray for student funding applications, carefully tucked in a corner next to the Akademiya’s highest priority documents.
“It is my birthday in a week,” Alhaitham says now. “Paimon enjoyed the booklist I gave her, or so the Traveler told me a while ago. I thought it would be good to send a few advanced texts over.”
“We gave them coffee last year,” Kaveh remembers. “Why not something similar?”
“There is nothing more valuable than the gift of knowledge.”
Kaveh feels offended. “You sat down with me and tried all those beans! You even helped me package them!”
“I must admit, there are benefits to caffeine on the road,” Alhaitham says. “I thought it might be useful for the Traveler, especially given the richness of Sumeru’s coffee varieties. And I enjoyed determining the best ones with you. Paimon, however, is an entirely different matter.”
Kaveh ignores the little skip and jump that his heart does. “So you’re gifting Paimon and not the Traveler?”
“I suppose if Paimon has access to more knowledge, this will benefit the Traveler as well. I am sure the Traveler already has the inquisitive mind of a true scholar, or they would not have survived so long in Teyvat with their circumstances. Armed with Paimon’s inventory and literacy, it would aid their journey twofold.”
“And you’ve chosen An Introduction to Vedanagari Script for light reading?”
“It is always beneficial to read. Or, perhaps, in Paimon’s case, to start reading. You of all people should understand the importance of literacy.”
“Of course I do,” Kaveh huffs. “And I’m sure Paimon can read.”
“There is a difference between being literate and being well-read.”
“Don’t you think the Traveler is going to be mildly confused about Paimon receiving Haravatat textbooks?”
Alhaitham snorts at this. “If anything, I think the Traveler will be amused. And will encourage Paimon’s perusal, if they truly understand the values of Sumeru.”
It’s Kaveh’s turn to laugh. “I think the Traveler is preoccupied with matters beyond a Sumerian language.”
“Well,” Alhaitham says, “I trust them.”
“You haven’t really answered my question,” Kaveh notes.
“You haven’t really asked one.”
Kaveh rolls his eyes. “Why on your birthday? The Traveler, I understand, but wouldn’t it be more appropriate to give Paimon a present on her own birthday?”
“I do not know Paimon’s birthday. I am not sure Paimon or even the Traveler know it, either.”
There’s a beat of silence. Kaveh frowns, about to say something else.
Then Alhaitham admits, quietly, sincerely, “My grandmother used to give me books on my birthday. I found it a useful resource for pursuing my interests and my eventual admission to the Akademiya. I thought Paimon, having a budding interest, might want to do the same.”
Kaveh is suddenly filled with a rush of surprised affection. For a scholar of language, Alhaitham prefers concrete action to empty platitudes, constant reason to wavering emotion. To most, he only expresses an intellectual curiosity in matters, somewhat bereft of personal investment. Kaveh himself has spent years on the receiving end of Alhaitham’s relentless pursuit of knowledge at the cost of sentimentality and common politeness. Outwardly, Alhaitham is simply a believer in the importance of education, just like any other child of Sumeru.
In this gift, though, Kaveh can read between the lines. In this gift, Alhaitham is offering what he believes to be the most precious treasure in the world. His own years of learning and love from his grandmother, made tangible by his own hand, available on the off-chance that Paimon would want to pursue any inquiry. The same way he had regularly checked in on the kids in the villages, brought Isak new fountain pens, given Collei armfuls of the best notebooks. The same way he had made time to manage the desert library’s correspondence with the House of Daena. Knowledge is an asset in Sumeru, and yet Alhaitham shares it freely with these children, generous with scholars’ most guarded wealth. Here, in the nation of wisdom, in the cause closest to both his heart and mind, Alhaitham is saying he cares.
Kaveh unwittingly reaches out to cup Alhaitham’s face, thumb brushing over his cheek fondly, admiringly. Alhaitham leans into the touch, gaze still fixated on the page. The quiet washes over both of them, save the pages of the book rustling softly.
Kaveh almost says something a little too foolish, a little too honest, like you would be a wonderful father.
“Perhaps,” he says instead, “I can also gift Paimon some of my favourite books on the history of architecture. Maybe some of the ones on the fundamentals of design, too. I suppose she and Traveler may find it interesting, since they are always going back and forth between nations. There’s one on Fontainian pillars we always issue as secondary reading in first-year classes.”
Alhaitham fixes him with a deadpan stare. “Don’t corrupt her with your nonsense, Kshahrewar.”
Kaveh laughs, clear and bright, competition and affection sparking in his veins all at once. “Watch me.”