Archive of Our Own

Dear

Hey

Hello

Al-Haitham,

Don’t think that because I’m writing this letter, it means I’ve forgiven you. Because I haven’t, for your information. I still think you’re an idiot a stubborn fool the worst goddamn bastard I’ve had the displeasure of meeting unnecessarily cruel going about this unfairly, to put it at the least. You and your greed. Is it not enough that you must maintain your lack of charity on account for your pride and project your own beliefs onto other people—must you spread your presence like a plague everywhere you go?

I feel stained, Al-Haitham, by the shadow you have left behind with me. There’s this phantom presence standing over my shoulder and scrabbling in my stomach and making me tear my hair out in frustration at night. I would think myself ill but I cannot attribute this terrible affliction to anything else but you. You removed your name from the thesis but I cannot tear you out of my life. It is a disgrace that makes me sick. I must already suffer being inextricably associated with you, but that is up to other people, and your lingering on my mind is no fault but my unfortunate own. Really, Al-Haitham? I do not want to think of your insufferable egoism more than my brain begs to ponder the topic.

All this to say that you left your toothbrush in my dorm, the one that you keep on the nights that you happened to stay over when the project dragged on for too long. How wonderful that you remembered to remove yourself from the thesis but you couldn’t be assed to throw out your trivial belongings. I don’t want to touch your disgusting spit-covered accessory, but you’ve left it in my bathroom and I have to look at it every time I open my medicine cabinet. Don’t come back to get it, though. I have no interest in seeing your face after everything that happened. Maybe I’ll invest in some disposable gloves for the matter.

Nevermind. I do not know why I am writing to you over something as inconsequential as a toothbrush when I can hardly keep my wits about me to not smear my handwriting as I shake with rage. Fuck you, Al-Haitham, and everything that you have taken away from me. Sometimes I wish I had never met you.

Your fr

Sincerely

Your

Kaveh

Kaveh,

I wonder if you consider this project to be a fantastic waste of your time. I remember that you would disparage me for all of the hours that I spent with my nose in the pages instead of attending lectures, and now look at you. You will not receive half the credit for the pieces of yourself that you put into our failure than if we had succeeded, but—war. Perhaps we are not predisposed to peace. Humans are born with teeth for devouring and you and I are no exception, nor would I describe you as gentle. You sit with a fire in your gas lamp and I should not be so surprised to see that we, as well, have gone up in flames. 

What a waste of oxygen. I’ve long told you that academia is no space for emotion. I do not want to hear of matters of the heart; I have no interest in anatomical study. You, however, may attempt to reconcile the two once more, and I will watch you cave under the weight. You ought to remember that excessive pressure does not always conceive diamonds, Kaveh.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

So much has happened and yet you are not here to hear about it. Every time I think that the edge of my anger has worn off, I remember the look in your eyes that day and your fierce obstinacy, and then I have to spend the next twenty minutes coaxing myself out of heightened nerves. Sometimes I wish that we were both not so quick to quit it, and perhaps could have tried harder, but in the wake of the moment I cannot blame myself for the words I said, and I imagine that neither can you. I meant what I said. It is only that the truth is ordinarily blunted, but the project brought out the worst in us. 

I think I was aware of that going into it, but I was hopeful that I could look your worst self in the eye and be able to stand him. I was foolish. I would perhaps ask you to set aside the part of yourself that longs for conflict, but that would be asking you to relinquish yourself. If you were not Al-Haitham, you would cease to exist. I suppose I knew that you would give me your usual spiel, but I was not prepared to hear all that you had to say on the matter of my philosophies and the compassion that I put into my work that you are so quick to sacrifice. If we had similar definitions of what it meant to be good then maybe we could have survived this.

No. No use thinking of what could have been when we are forced to confront the pieces as they fall. This afternoon, my rage was blunted but the time I’ve spent stupidly reminiscing has sharpened the blade against the whetstone. How am I supposed to tell you about my post-graduation plans when we are no longer speaking? I think it is worse that I can walk the path to your dorm room blind but I must sit with the knowledge that I cannot do so anymore. I’ve been finding other spaces to waste my time. I wonder—will you attend my graduation? You would have to go out of your way to sit in, I imagine. 

If you are to attend, then you will hear of the various nominations and accolades I am sure to be awarded. I even have a job lined up straight out of school, unlike many of my peers, who look upon me with envy. It is a generous offer. I’ve been granted a magnanimous amount of liberty with the design and an unbelievable budget. My client is the Lord Sangemah Bay—have you heard of her? You always have your ear open for the gossip around the city, so I would imagine that you may have chanced upon her name before. I had not, but I did a little bit of digging and discovered that she is behind many of the newer buildings around the city as well as the driving force in much of the mercantile world. Takes a liking to the fresh minds of recent Akademiya graduates and whatever can rake in the most mora.

I assume I will be busy enough overseeing this project for a good chunk of years. I hope I will not think of you, but the mind is often disposed to carving out unnecessary space even for the projects we have given up on pursuing. I am not in pursuit of you any longer, Al-Haitham. I waste my ink and my parchment and my time writing letters, but I will not send them. I swear it. I will not have my words wasted on you as well. Besides, if I were to send these off, then who’s to say that you would even read them? If you were writing me letters, which I highly doubt, then I do not think that I would even rip open the envelope. I am a preoccupied man, and I would not waste my time any further on whatever insults you are so inclined as to deliver to me, in this hypothetical situation in which you grant me the same amount of attention that I continue to do for you, as unfortunate as it is.

At least, I hope I would not. Read your letters. If you were to write them, which I hope you would not. Let us both forget each other, no?

Kaveh

Kaveh,

I must admit that I find your theatrics to be both wholly unsurprising and additionally contradictorily expected of you. Many weeks have passed, and yet I have not seen hide or tail of you in any of the halls or your most frequent haunts. I haven’t sought you out if that fact should be of comfort to you, but at the times that I happen to pass those corners you like to hide in I have not caught a glimpse of you. Maybe you really are applying your whole self to your studies in the month leading up to your graduation, though I still would think it strange that you haven’t returned to Lambad’s even once. Really, Kaveh. Are you not beneath running away? I did not think you were a coward.

Perhaps I must give you the mercy of supposing that there are several other stomping grounds that you inhabit. You are a rather well-known person, after all, and I can imagine that you have more knowledge of the city than I do or more than I have ever deigned to explore. I suppose that would be a perfectly acceptable explanation as to why I have not seen you as of late, but I think it a rather slim coincidence that this happens to occur after the debacle that was our thesis. Again, your theatrics, Kaveh. You have already said enough with your words, and still, you find it prudent to make it that much more obvious with your actions. I assure you that I get the point of it.

I have heard of your pursuits not from you but from a few classmates of mine who possess big mouths. I used to harbor the satisfaction of already knowing all of the gossip that shrouds your reputation before it spreads through the grapevine, but now I must hear of it secondhand like all of the other students in the Akademiya. You are spoken of very often, and I am sure that must please you. In fact, I have not heard so much talk of my own name until our project together, which must have been the doing of my affiliation with you. The dissolution of our research, as I am sure you are aware, caused quite a few ripples within the student body. No matter how discreet some of my peers believe themselves to be, they must only know my name and not my face because they appeared to be unaware of my presence standing in neighboring aisles in the library. 

Whatever impact that our failed thesis had has since been replaced with news of your latest accomplishments. I hear that you have been scouted by a very high-profile client, and you are to design what should be the most exciting new feature of Sumeru City’s architectural scene since the construction of the pinnacle of the Akademiya itself. Some kind of palace, castle, or mansion, I hear. Something of the sort. 

I am sure it will be grand and ostentatious and will be a great feat indeed, if you are still attempting to reconcile beauty with function. I would like to see it if only for the fact that you can finally stop scribbling your arguments in the books in the House of Daena and instead be able to simply present your work as proof itself, which will save all of the ears of those around you as they instead feast their eyes. I know for a fact how longwinded you can become on those spiels and lectures.

That drama of yours attracted to you quite the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that has already afforded you some degree of reputation, and should you fulfill the expectations upon you, will write your name down for students of Kshahrewar and beyond to read in textbooks for years to come. I have already heard talk of reserving you a lecture space and an Akademiya payroll after your manor has been designed and built. So I suppose I should not disdain this pride of yours that has changed your life, even though it is the very thing that keeps you out of my sight and prevents me from hearing one word out of your mouth.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

I’ve just graduated, and now I’m inebriated, so you must excuse me for the impertinence. It is so late that the moon has begun to give way once again to the sun, and the wax from my candle has melted and pooled at the bottom of its holder. And somehow I am drawn to my paper, and to my ink. There are many things running through my mind, especially as I am now an official Kshahrewar graduate, but perhaps the oddest one of them all is the thought of you.

I suppose I am just used to updating you on every single little occurrence in my life, and as of late—for obvious reasons—I have not had that pleasure. Or displeasure, since conversing with you is often an exasperating task. Nevertheless, my mind seeks yours. Does yours do the same? Sometimes my heart betrays me. Archons, I know even now that I will wake again once afternoon has come upon us, and when I find this letter I’ll read it over and wince and set it aside with all of the other letters that will never be sent. All of this talking and talking to what is practically the void. Your presence is like that; selfish, somehow, managing to consume me even in its absence. You’ve consumed me, and I’m still picking the pieces of myself back up.

How dare you not be at my graduation, Al-Haitham. Could you not set aside a modicum of your pride and attend, even just for the ceremony? I would not ask you to stay for the afterparty, nor would I want to hear your empty congratulations. It’s only that you’ve been there for so many of my late night study sessions and coffee runs to the cafeteria from the library that I feel as though I owe part of my persistence to you, and you can’t even do me the honor of your attendance. It’s been two long years of knowing you—two years that happened to be some of the most difficult ones in my life, and now you are just gone, bereft. I wonder—was I not supposed to come back changed, stained? I iron my robes and they come back wrinkled. I hold candles to my skin and the tattoo does not burn itself off. I wash my hands ten times each night and still, I am not absolved of you.

Kaveh

Kaveh,

I was at your graduation. I would ask you to forgive me, but I do not think I have been sorry for anything since I was a young child. I was in the outskirts of the crowd, toward the back, if you are curious. You were but a small blob on the stage. Don’t advise me to get spectacles. I did not need to see more than the color of your hair to identify you among the other drab graduates. The cheers for your name being called were interesting—all students hoping to get on your good side since you are somewhat of a celebrity, I am sure. I did not stay very much longer after that.

I would offer my congratulations, but I am sure you would not accept them, and I am certain I would not say anything you do not already know, so I will not unnecessarily flatter you. Make a decent attempt to not get swept up in the tide of your newfound adulthood, will you?

Al-Haitham

Kaveh,

I realized it was summertime when I went to the market and saw imported fruits from Inazuma. It reminded me of a year ago when you got drunk and ordered five crates of produce that you hopelessly and nevertheless arrogantly attempted to finish. I remember that it did not work. I also remember that you gave out an endless amount of cakes that you baked with the fruits before they spoiled and that they were as hard as rocks. I ought to sue you for the cost of my dental work. I reckon that my molars still ache a little if you press them at the wrong angle.

It’s quite easy to get caught up in the passage of time, especially when all of my days seem to be repeats of the last. If we had continued working together, perhaps the peer reviews for our research would be wrapping up right around now. I haven’t heard as much about our unfinished work now that I’ve taken my name off of the thesis, but a few letters still make their way into my mail. The dates stamped on those are some of the only reminders of time that I have now that you are not here, annoying me by my side and marking the progress of the days.

I haven’t heard much of you, so I suppose you must be busy doing whatever it is you Kshahrewar graduates do. I haven’t heard from you, either, though that’s to be expected.

Al-Haitham

Kaveh,

I hear that the Palace of Alcazarzaray is grand, and I hear that the Lord Sangemah Bay is pleased. I do not hear nearly as much about the architect himself, however, and it only makes me wonder whether reality has begun to sink in yet. You keep busy hours, do you not? Perhaps that is why I have not heard from you at all. I must admit that I thought you would surrender first and send the first letter. There is no letter.

It is very much like you to replace one project with another. I figure that you left to work on the palace as soon as you graduated, trading in your graduation robes for the blueprints immediately. Is it too much for you to sit and take in the world around you? Read a book that hasn’t been assigned for a class? Or is it too much for you to sit with your thoughts? You may think that just because we haven’t spoken in months I do not know you anymore, but I had a lot of time to educate myself on the topic of you. Throwing yourself into your work and your ideals isn’t going to help you realize them any sooner. Your palace may be going well, but something will have to give.

I suppose I should not concern myself with that any longer. I won’t be there to watch, whatever comes to be of you. It is no longer my business nor my job to tend to your affairs.

Al-Haitham

Kaveh,

The new term has begun, and already oblivious students are asking me about you. Kshahrewar, of course. They probably think that they can get a brush with fame by associating with me, but would they still feel the same if they knew how cross you get in the early mornings without a cup of coffee?

I do not like that there are still those that conflate the two of us. Even though I thought our failure of a research project to be a widely known fact. I blame this on you, Kaveh.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

I thought I was successful in waving away any unwanted preoccupations with your existence, but I have a break forced upon me and my mind has unnecessarily wandered in your direction. I think it is because I can’t help thinking of the rest of my graduating class and all of the people I have crossed paths with and whether they hear my name through the mouths of the city folk. Sometimes I even hear of myself, and it is surprising. It seems that my shadow has grown more formidable in reputation while I am underground, working at the foundations.

Do you ever think of me? No, that is a stupid question. You were so quick to remove any trace of your presence from our project that I wouldn’t be surprised if you were somehow surgically capable of removing any of the memories we shared together. Cold, unfeeling man. You’ve always disdained my emotions; you would probably be bored by these sentiments. It is a good thing I am not mailing off any of these letters then, no?

I went to the tavern on my first day of break, and there I was accosted by a fellow who seemed to be, from what I gathered, delivering books to your place. He was under the impression that I lived there as well, or that I was set to live there, and was in fact very confused when I corrected his misunderstanding. It must have been about that property that the Akademiya offered to us through the project. I know for a fact that my name is not on that lease, but it appears that my presence still graces your doorstep. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so quick as to legally remove myself—we could have rented out the space and shared the extra income.

I still can’t believe that I went out for one night and was approached by the topic of you. The audacity of you, Al-Haitham. Can’t a man have one evening’s worth of privacy?

Kaveh

Kaveh,

Nilou asked about you today. You should pay a visit to the city to see her so she doesn’t bother me with any more pointless inquiries.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

Can you please leave my thoughts? I am tired of looking at stained glass in the market and wondering how your opinion of the color palette might affect my choices. I miss when I was not aware of your existence. It is tiring, you see, to think of such things when I am on the clock. Lord Sangemah Bay certainly does not care whether you approve of the shade of teal that I am considering.

I should not care. I do not care. I do not care. I don’t, but the phantom of your supremely judgmental self looks over my shoulder while I am in the market and hums in disapproval. It’s a very nice color. It will look nice in the summer when the sun turns a molten golden right as it is about to set through the mountains, so I do not need to think of any of your poor opinions when it comes to beauty, which you have never had a firm grasp on.

I got the glass out of some strange sense of spite and the notion that you would have argued with me on it. Perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps you would have said that the color suits the palace best, and then I wouldn’t have wanted to choose it if it meant agreeing with you. No matter, because that is the material that I purchased and there is no going about it. The color reminds me oddly of your eyes now that I think of it.

Kaveh

Kaveh,

The Mahamatra is trying very desperately to recruit me. I find it amusing. I am not sure why they think that I of all people would be suited for such a job when I barely get up to study in the library, but they attempt to do so nonetheless. They remind me of those solicitors who knock at your door and attempt to sell to you what is a poorly disguised cult, except this is worse because it is a government organization and I am tired of having to fend off their calls to my door. They’ve already got Cyno, and maybe that is why they think they can get to me.

It is of no matter. I already have plans lined up for when I graduate, which is coming upon me sooner than I realized. My third year is almost over, and most of my thesis is finalized. It won’t be much longer before I graduate and am thrust into the world, and then I will work until I am dead, excluding weekends. How exciting. It won’t be as impactful as your job, but I will certainly get paid a good amount for a lot less effort.

Pondering the future is so much work. At the very least, I do not have to worry about paying the mortgage since that project of ours got me that property. And so close to the workplace as well. Tell me, Kaveh, do you ever plan on returning to the city, or are you having fun running from your past? You can’t escape it forever. You still have ghostly chains rooting you to this place, to the Akademiya, even to that house that you still haven’t set a single foot inside of yet. You test the limits and think not of the inevitable backlash.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

I am writing fewer letters to you, so I think that means I am healing. I guess it’s also because I haven’t even had time to myself to think very much. I’ve been ever so busy calling up importers and doing foreign transactions and dealing with all the dread parts of the architectural process now that the design has been finalized and all of the materials selected. The construction will begin very soon. It’ll take another year or so, and then the project will be finished and I shall be paid and then I will have to find another job to occupy my time. I’ve already gotten more offers than I can juggle, however, so I don’t anticipate there being trouble on that end. The Akademiya has even contacted me wondering whether I would be available to teach a few seminars. I told them to get back to me in five years.

It certainly is strange relating all of the major events in my life to you months after they occur, but I suppose I shouldn’t be doing even that considering we’ve been no-contact. I don’t know why it is so impossible to shake you off my shoulders, Al-Haitham. Even when I am busy. Even when I am not. Even when I am trying to get through my meals and drift to sleep. I’d talk to my therapist about it, but I haven’t had the time to get in touch with one to dissect why a year-and-a-half of friendship impacted my life in this way. I could really use the professional help, you know.

It makes me angry to think that you could be out there without a passing thought of me while I am living my life and still hung up on the past. My jaw clenches when I think about how easy it was for you to throw away our relationship like that, and then my muscles ache and I have to force myself to think of other things, like who I am to contact next and when my client is going to visit me next. Is it that easy? Is it that easy, Al-Haitham, or am I just concocting false scenarios to give myself a harder time?

I can’t tell if it would hurt more if you were to answer or if you did not.

Kaveh

Kaveh,

I have just returned from a research expedition in Fontaine to investigate some ancient runes that were recently found in the ocean. There, I remembered that your mother moved to the nation, so that is why I am writing to you now. It was a beautiful place, though I did not always agree with the food. I can see why your mother would leave for Fontaine. I, on the other hand, much prefer the simplicity of home and the easy comfort of the city.

It was a place I had never experienced with you, but even during my minimal exploration, I thought of what you would think of the buildings and the aquatic transportation system. I imagined that you would enjoy the food more than I did since you have always been more partial to foods with crema and cheese. How irritating. I did not ask you to follow me to Fontaine.

The people there were very fond of theatre and performances. You would fit right in. I remember some of your dramatics. You should go whenever you are done with that project of yours. Visit the countryside. Take a break before you drive yourself straight into a quarter-life crisis with the rate you’re going. You won’t take my advice—you never have, so it is good that you are not on the receiving side of this letter to hear it since it will only go to waste. How bothersome it is to care about things that are outside of my control.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

Aren’t you supposed to graduate soon? I walked through the market today, and I saw all of the graduation gifts and products that the vendors like to push whenever this time of year comes around again. You know, in a moment of weakness, I thought of purchasing some cheesy mug that you would surely hate and sending it to you in congratulations. And then I remembered that you didn’t give me any such courtesy, so I put the mug down. It would collect dust anyway. We as a society should work on our consumerism and materialism. In fact, you should be thanking me for thanking me for having the foresight to not gift you something that won’t be put to use at all.

I say that as if I am not wasting my parchment, ink, and time by sitting here in my precious free time and jotting down my thoughts to you as if I even intend to mail them off. Imagine that. Hah. I’d like to see your face if you read any of these stupid sentiments—have you forgotten about me? Would they be an unwelcome reminder, or drag you back into the past? Would you be happy? Touched? Perturbed? Maybe you would be freaked out that I still remember your dorm number. I could get there with my eyes closed and drunk—I have before, which is how I know that I could do it. I still can, I figure. Very soon you will not have any dorms to speak of, so it is no matter.

Congratulations on your graduation. There will be no mug, and there will be no sappy letter, but I am sure to think of you the day of, and perhaps even when you cross that stage. Maybe you will catch a chill when I do, and then you will know that somebody, even if you have no family in that audience, is still thinking of you.

Disgusting. That makes me a little nauseous.

Kaveh

Kaveh,

I have graduated. I will work a desk job for fifty years, and then I will retire peacefully and spend my time reading books and cultivating squash in the back, and then I will die. Nothing very grand, but at least I am getting paid a nice amount to take naps in some of the nicer parts of the Akademiya and do my own research on company time. I’m sure you would have something to say about it if you were here—something about how with my intellect and capability, I could have done something more significant with my life and made more of an impact on people’s lives for the sake of those who can’t do it for themselves, especially with my ties in the Akademiya—but you are not here.

Well. That’s all there is to it.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

The palace is going to be finished in a month or so. I haven’t really thought about it, both because I haven’t had the time to and because entertaining the thought sends me into an anxious frenzy that I usually calm with alcohol, but I have no booze to cancel out the nerves because the project is about to be finished.

It is surreal. I have dedicated so many years and effort to this ordeal, and soon it will all be over, and the tide will return to normal. Perhaps I will be able to float without having to frantically work to keep my head above water, especially now that I have established myself as a competent architect.

There are other things, of course, that I have to worry about other than the finalization of the palace, like my next work and where I am to live and all the doors that are opening before me now that people are catching wind of the project. There are things that I haven’t admitted to a single soul, not even myself. I keep finding myself pulling out fresh sheaths of parchment as if I am to go and write them down for you, and then I catch myself and put it back. Seeing it in ink would make it too real.

I should go before I write anything I will regret. I have a meeting soon anyway.

Kaveh

Al-Haitham,

I lied. I’m back again, and I have had wine, even though I can’t afford the sleep lost or the hangover I will wake up with in the morning. Though it might be worth it if I can’t think of anything else except for my impending headache.

I entered this project with a lot of expectations on my shoulders as a fresh graduate of the Akademiya and the Light of Kshahrewar. Too many, perhaps—nobody but Lambad knows how often I have turned to drink to alleviate the pressure.

I think a lot of it had to do with proving something to myself. I wanted to achieve greatness, so I did. I wanted to aim for the skies and reach the cosmos, so I did. I wanted to build something that justifies the air I breathe and the space I take up and the heavy weight of my existence, so I worked myself to the bone and sacrificed more than just my body and mind to come out with something to show for it on the other end. I’ve made my contribution to society. I’ve built something that some people can only dream of accomplishing within their lifetime. I thought I would be happier. I thought I would be a lot richer. I thought that I could donate part of my fortune to children living in the slums of the city, and then I could concentrate efforts on building libraries for the disadvantaged.

They were idealized lies. I am destitute, Al-Haitham. I have nothing to show for it, not even my own satisfaction. There was a complication with the palace and the land and the Withering—I do not want to speak of it, for I do not think that the rot was contained to just the property but it also ate at my very being. To put it simply, I used most of my own savings to salvage the project, and now I have given pivotal years of my life only to come out with a debt that I will spend half a lifetime staving off. Archons, it is bleak when I put it like that.

It was desperation. Desperation to prove that I could follow through, desperation to build my reputation in front of other potential clients, desperation to show that I, along with my palace, am not a failure. I am so afraid of failure, Al-Haitham, that I swallowed my pride and ruined myself to realize ideals that I should’ve known were near impossible from the beginning.

The worst thing I can say right now is that you were right. I have made too many promises, and now I am bending under the weight. It is getting unbearable. I just—I do not know what to do, Al-Haitham. I do not know what to do.

Kaveh

Kaveh,

I hear that the Palace of Alcazarzaray has been completed. I suppose congratulations are in order. People tell me that it is beautiful, that it is the greatest feat of architecture that has been constructed in the last century. I’m sure they are exaggerating, but it is no little compliment to you, Kaveh. One day, perhaps I will go and see it for myself, and then I can tell you the truth undiluted by other people’s hyperboles.

What are you to do next? I hear that quite a few people are conspiring to capture your attention next. One of the sages even told me that he’s interested in commissioning you for an elaborate greenhouse out on the outskirts of the city, balanced over the river. Good luck with that. You’ve certainly made quite the name for yourself, enough so that you can pick and choose your clients. I grudgingly admit that it is rather impressive for you to have done so at such a young age.

It has only been a couple of days since the palace’s completion, so I suspect that you will turn up in the city again sooner or later. Hm.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

I have this inkling that I am about to be kicked out of the place I’ve been renting during the duration of the palace’s construction. I don’t blame the landlord—I mean, it’s not as if I would want to keep offering my property to a tenant who can no longer pay the rent. I’m at a point where I’m selling a lot of my belongings. A man only needs two or three outfits, no? And surely I can survive without some of my nicer charcoal pencils. It is unfortunate…

As kind as Lambad is, I don’t think that he would take it very well if I made his tavern my new resting place. I’ll have to figure something out. The thought of living on the street is unbearable, especially since my name is one that finally has weight to it. I can’t be seen in that way, or else I will never get any more clients, and all my hopes of paying off my debt will be extinguished. I could go to Fontaine to live with my mother, but nobody there knows of Kaveh, and by the time I pick myself back up and return to Sumeru, nobody here will remember me either.

It is a conundrum, to be sure. I sound upbeat about the whole ordeal, but that is only because if I let myself feel any of the gloom tiptoeing in the corner of my mind, then I will never be able to dig myself out. Well. How have you been, these days?

Kaveh

Kaveh,

When will you return home?

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham,

I hate to ask this, but—

Nevermind.

Kaveh

Kaveh,

You were a pitiful sight to see that night in the tavern. What happened to your pride, or did you swallow it back like you did all of those glasses of wine? This isn’t the Kaveh that I know. The Kaveh of my memory would have the honor to admit when he had made mistakes, and even honorable men accept kindness when it is offered. In fact, it may make a man more respectable indeed when he welcomes generosity, or else it may be seen as a slight. You wouldn’t want to be rude, would you?

Besides, this house was once partly yours. Your name was on the lease. There is another room down the hall that has been unoccupied ever since I moved in, and there is plenty of space for you to do your business without either of us bothering each other. In fact, it would be advantageous for me to collect a little bit of rent every month and have an extra hand to help cook and clean here and there. Don’t think of it as charity. You know I am not a charitable man.

Stop overthinking things, Kaveh, and come home. I’ve enclosed a second copy of the keys in this envelope.

Al-Haitham