Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The storm wasn’t supposed to come tonight. 

But then again, neither was the fight. 

It started like it always did—sparks tossed casually across the kitchen table, sarcasm softened by the comfort of familiarity. A jab about the bills, a sigh about the clutter, some half-hearted remark about how Alhaitham always left his research notes in places no sane person would leave paper near tea. Kaveh had been barefoot, hair loose around his shoulders, voice a little too sharp because he hadn’t slept and the last letter from the Akademiya had come with another rejection. But tonight, the usual friction didn’t burn out.

It caught fire.

And it spread.

Alhaitham, nose buried in his book, had offered the usual clipped reply. 

“If clutter bothers you that much, maybe design better storage.”

Kaveh’s hand curled into a fist.

“Not everything can be solved with a logical workaround, Alhaitham.”

“And not every outburst needs to be theatrical.” Alhaitham snapped his book shut, for once setting it down. 

“But of course, you can’t go a single day without making everything a production.”

Kaveh laughed. Harsh. Bitter. “Says the man who hides behind silence and footnotes because he’s too scared to confront anything real.”

That was when it shifted. The tension in the room, normally tight and humming, suddenly cracked open.

Alhaitham stood slowly, deliberately. “You think you’re the only one who’s real because you wear your feelings like ornaments? That chaos is authenticity, and restraint is cowardice?” His voice rose, tight with fury now. “You think your suffering gives you moral high ground?”

Kaveh froze—but only for a second.

He turned to face him, eyes wide with disbelief, rage simmering just under the surface.

“No,” he spat. “I think being a cold, unfeeling bastard doesn’t make you wise—it just makes you alone.”

Alhaitham’s jaw tensed.

“You look down on me because I feel too much? Because I actually care? You act like emotions are weakness—like they make me lesser—but at least I’m not a hollowed-out shell hiding behind rationality because I’m too afraid to admit I need people.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Alhaitham snapped.

“Yeah,” Kaveh said, voice breaking into a laugh that sounded far too much like a sob, “you’ve made that painfully clear.”

He stepped forward, reckless now, eyes gleaming. “You talk like I’m the unstable one, but the truth is you’re just a coward. You hide in your logic because it’s easier than being accountable. Easier than being human.”

“And you,” Alhaitham snarled, “are delusional. You chase fantasies, call it hope, call it art, but it’s just ego dressed in self-pity. You are a man addicted to martyrdom. And I’m done playing savior.”

Kaveh inhaled sharply—shoulders rising, falling—then laughed again, emptier this time. “Savior?” he echoed, shaking his head. 

“You were never trying to save me, Alhaitham. You just wanted to prove you were better.”

He stepped back, eyes dimming.

“Well, congratulations. You win.”

He grabbed his things—hands fumbling—and bolted for the door.

“I’m done,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “You want your peace and quiet? Have it. I hope the silence keeps you warm.”

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t see Alhaitham flinch.

He only heard the rain crashing against the stone, and the sound of the door slamming shut behind him—final, echoing, like a verdict.

The storm didn’t wait.

By the time Kaveh stumbled into the street, the skies had opened wide, as if the world itself had decided to cry for him.

Wind tore at his robes, tangled his hair, bit at his skin like punishment. Rain soaked him through in seconds. He didn’t know where he was going—didn’t care. The anger still burned under his ribs, hot and sick, but something else simmered beneath it now.

Hurt.

Humiliation.

That old, familiar ache of never being enough.

The city blurred around him—lamps streaked like stars underwater, doors shuttered, people inside safe and dry while he wandered, soaked and shivering, down through winding alleys and into the open desert.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t want to stop.

Not until everything hurt so badly that he could forget the sound of Alhaitham’s voice saying, You are a man addicted to martyrdom.

As if he hadn’t bled for everything he had

As if he hadn’t tried.

The wind howled louder now, sand curling through the rain in gritty lashes. The air stung. His steps faltered. The stone gave way to dust, to mud, to wild earth.

Then—

A misstep. His foot caught a ridge.

He fell—hard.

Pain blossomed in his palms, his knees, his side. The rain didn’t stop. The world kept spinning.

Kaveh stayed down.

The strength to move, to stand, to scream—it was gone.  All of it.

His breathing stuttered. His fingers dug into the wet ground. The desert had turned to sludge beneath him.

This is what he thinks of me, Kaveh thought, teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached.

All this time, and I was just a disaster he tolerated.

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the black sky, lips parted, eyes stinging.

And somewhere, in that vast emptiness—

He passed out.

He woke up to the sound of crying.

Not thunder. Not wind.

But a child.

A child crying.

Kaveh jolted upright with a sharp inhale, mud sucking at his clothes as he moved. His hair clung to his face; his head throbbed. For a moment, he thought it had to be a hallucination. He was alone—he had to be.

But then he saw him.

A small child, seated barely an arm’s length away in the muddy ground. Shivering. Wailing.

So small.

Too small to be out here alone.

Kaveh scrambled upright, limbs screaming in protest. “Hey—hey, it’s okay, I—” He stopped.

The words caught in his throat.

The child’s hair, though drenched, was unmistakably silver-grey.

His skin, warm and sun-kissed.

His nose, sharp and straight. The shape of his mouth. The tilt of his brows.

Kaveh's heart stopped.

No. No, this is impossible.

But then the child opened his eyes.

Wide and painfully familiar.

Crimson eyes.

He staggered backward as if struck.

The child reached out with trembling fingers.

Kaveh didn't move.

He couldn’t.

He could only stare into a face he didn’t understand—one that shouldn’t exist.

Not in the middle of a desert.  

Not after the fight.  

Not after everything.

The child whimpered again, chubby hands pawing at the air like he expected—wanted—to be held.

Kaveh just stared, soaked through, heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. His mouth was dry despite the rain. His limbs heavy despite the adrenaline. 

Everything in him screamed that this wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.

Where did you come from?

There was no one else around. Just them and the storm’s fading breath. No tracks in the mud, no broken carriage wheels, no signs of life at all.

Only this child.

This small, crying thing with Alhaitham’s face and his own eyes, as if the gods themselves had stitched them together like some cruel joke.

Kaveh pressed a hand to his chest. It came away shaking.

The child hiccupped a sob.

And Kaveh—against all reason, against all instinct—moved.

He crawled forward, each motion tentative, as though approaching a wild animal.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice hoarse and raw. “Where’s your mother, huh? Where’s—where’s your family?” He looked around again, futilely, like someone might step out from behind the dune and shout surprise!

But no one came.

The child only cried harder.

Kaveh reached out slowly, gently, fingers brushing against a small shoulder slick with rain.

The child flinched at first—but then leaned in. Collapsed against him.

Kaveh let out a strangled breath as tiny arms clung to his soaked shirt. It was instinct, really. His body moved before his mind could stop it. He gathered the child into his arms—light, far too light—and held him close, warm despite the cold, shivering against his chest.

“You’re freezing,” Kaveh whispered, brushing wet hair from the child’s face. “You shouldn’t be out here. You—” His voice broke. 

“You shouldn’t even exist.”

But the child didn’t answer. Just buried his face against Kaveh’s neck and clung tighter.

And Kaveh—Kaveh finally let himself shake. Let his tears blur with the rain. Let the storm outside and the one inside blur into one, until he couldn’t tell which pain came from where.

He didn’t know what this was.

Didn’t know who this was.

But in that moment, under the weight of the sky and the echoes of a man he’d just left behind—

Kaveh chose.

He held the child tighter.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

The storm was still passing overhead. But beneath it, two strangers sat in the mud—one clinging to the other, and the other clinging to whatever pieces of himself hadn’t broken yet.

Chapter Text

The Grand Bazaar buzzed softly around him. 

Alhaitham was never fond of crowds, but something about the late afternoon hush—when the heat thinned the air and slowed everything down—made the space almost tolerable.

He was browsing, more out of habit than interest, when a small, steady presence parked itself beside him.

He glanced down.

A child stood there—tiny, probably a little older than two. Pale skin kissed faintly by the sun, ash-blond hair tousled by wind, and eyes—

Crimson.

Bright, gleaming, familiar.

The child blinked up at him. Curious and Calm.

Alhaitham stared, something ancient and cold unfurling in his stomach. He recognized those eyes. He had seen them burn across countless debates, arguments, moments too sharp to forget.

But the rest? The high cheekbones. The nose. The arch of the brow. It was like looking into a softened mirror.

“...Are you lost?” he asked.

The child tilted his head, then pointed to a stall down the way. 

“There.”

And as Alhaitham followed the direction of the tiny finger, his breath caught.

There—between the shifting people, pacing frantically—was Kaveh.

Still beautiful in that effortless way. Still wearing too much gold and too little practicality. But different. A little worn, a little sun-bitten. 

Softer in the edges, tighter around the eyes.

And when his gaze finally landed on them—on Alhaitham, standing beside the child—he froze.

...

...

...

Like he’d seen a ghost.

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham said calmly as the man rushed forward, scooping the boy into his arms.

“Don’t wander off like that, you—!” Kaveh stopped himself, eyes flicking between the child and Alhaitham. His face drained of color.

Alhaitham crossed his arms, voice deceptively neutral. “Yours?”

Kaveh’s throat worked. “Not—” His voice cracked. He cleared it. 

“Not like you’re thinking.”

Alhaiham raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

The resemblance between them was uncanny. Impossible to ignore. No rational explanation presented itself. Not yet.

The boy squirmed in Kaveh’s hold. “He was nice.”

“He?” Kaveh echoed, clearly flustered. “You talked to him?”

“I asked if he was lost,” Alhaitham said coolly. “Then he led me to you.”

Kaveh sighed. “Of course he did.”

Alhaitham studied the child again. “What’s his name?”

He hesitates, “Sahi,” Kaveh answered, holding him tighter than necessary. “His name is Sahi.”

Alhaitham nodded slowly. The silence stretched.

“You don’t believe me,” Kaveh said after a moment, trying and failing to sound defensive instead of afraid.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“But you’re thinking it. I can see it on your face.”

Alhaitham looked at Sahi again, those brilliant red eyes watching the world like it was something new. “His eyes,” he murmured, “are yours.”

“Coincidence.”

Alhaitham didn’t argue. “And the rest of his features?”

Silence.

Kaveh exhaled harshly. “Let it go.”

“You know I won’t,” Alhaitham replied, eyes narrowing. “Especially not when—”

“I said let it go,” Kaveh snapped, sharper this time. “I don’t owe you explanations.”

“You don’t,” Alhaitham admitted. “But I didn’t expect to see a child with my face and your eyes walking through the bazaar.”

“He’s not yours,” Kaveh bit out. “And he’s not mine either. Not like that.”

The moment the words left his mouth, regret flickered across his face.

Alhaitham caught it. “Then what is he to you?”

Another silence. Kaveh’s throat bobbed.

“Just someone I care for,” he said finally. “That’s all.”

Alhaitham studied him carefully. Kaveh looked older, more worn. 

But also... hollowed out. Like some part of him had been living in hiding too long.

And he wasn’t ready to let it out.

So Alhaitham nodded, stepping back. “Understood.”

Kaveh binked. Caught off guard by the sudden retreat.

Alhaitham didn’t press further. Didn’t push the way he used to. He simply looked at Sahi one last time, gaze unreadable.

“He’s quiet,” he murmured.

“He learns fast,” Kaveh replied, just above a whisper.

Alhaitham met his eyes. “So did you, once.”

And then he turned, blending back into the crowd, leaving Kaveh clutching the child tighter than before.

...

...

...

...

Kaveh sat on the edge of their small apartment’s window, staring out at nothing as the city moved without him. Sahi was asleep in the corner, curled up with a threadbare plush toy. The moment he’d caught sight of Alhaitham’s face in the crowd, every defense he had carefully rebuilt had cracked.

He shouldn’t have frozen. Shouldn’t have stammered.

And yet… what could he have said?

Yes, I found a child who looks like both of us in the middle of a storm and decided to keep him, raise him, love him like my own?

No one would believe that. Not even Alhaitham.

Kaveh buried his face in his hands.

He had tried so hard to keep Sahi away from all of this.

...

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...

...

...

The market was crowded again the next day, though Kaveh managed to find a path between stalls with Sahi toddling beside him. His hand rested protectively on the boy’s back as he scanned the shelves—vegetables, bread, rice. The basics. Nothing indulgent.

He mentally tallied up the prices and grimaced. Essentials had gone up again.

At the front of the stall, the vendor gave him a bored look. “That’s thirty-four thousand mora.”

Kaveh reached into his satchel and counted out the clinking coins, only to feel his stomach sink. Twenty-nine. A breath caught in his throat. He went still, fingers curling tighter around the remaining coins.

Sahi looked up at him expectantly, hugging a small sack of grain.

Kaveh scanned the items quickly—some eggs, a loaf of bread, medicine, a small pouch of dried fruit he’d slipped in without thinking—Sahi’s favorite. And a roll of gauze and balm… his medicine.

He hesitated. His own pain had been getting worse again. But the thought of Sahi going without even one meal made his chest clench.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

“Take the balm out,” he told the vendor quietly. 

Before the vendor could respond, another voice cut in—calm, low, and far too familiar.

“I’ll cover the rest.”

Kaveh stiffened. He turned slowly.

Alhaitham stood just a step behind him, arms crossed, an unreadable look in his eyes. He wasn’t looming, wasn’t smug. Just… there. Present. Like the silence after thunder.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Kaveh said tightly.

“You didn’t have to.” Alhaitham stepped forward and placed the remaining coins on the stall’s counter. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing to me,” Kaveh hissed under his breath, eyes flashing. “I can handle it.”

Sahi, sensing the tension, looked up between them with wide, uncertain crimson eyes.

Alhaitham glanced at the boy. “He shouldn’t have to go without.” Kaveh’s jaw clenched. The words hit harder than they should have.

“I’m not incapable,” he muttered.

“I never said you were.”

There was a pause. Thick. Unspoken.

The vendor, clearly uncomfortable, finished packing the items and pushed the bag toward them. Kaveh grabbed it quickly, tucking it under one arm while reaching down to scoop Sahi up with the other.

“You don’t get to do this,” Kaveh said quietly, barely audible over the crowd.

“Do what?”

“Step in now. After years.” His voice trembled, more frustration than fury. “You don’t get to suddenly act like you care.”

Alhaitham didn’t flinch. “I never stopped.”

That made Kaveh go still. For a moment, everything in his face warred with itself—anger, guilt, doubt, pain. Then he looked away.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Sahi curled into Kaveh’s shoulder, quiet but watchful.

“I know,” Alhaitham said simply. 

Kaveh didn’t reply.

He just turned, walking briskly into the crowd, his grip on Sahi little tighter than before.

Chapter Text

Sahi swung his legs under the bench, feet far from reaching the ground. He clutched a wrapped sweet bread in both hands, taking careful bites the way Kaveh had taught him—small, polite, as if each crumb were worth more than gold.

Alhaitham sat across from him, arms loosely crossed, gaze unreadable.

Not staring. Just… observing. Like he did with everything else. The sky. The wind. The child in front of him who shouldn’t have been his, and yet—

“I like books,” Sahi said suddenly.

Alhaitham blinked.

“I figured,” he replied. “I saw you holding one upside-down once.”

Sahi puffed his cheeks. “That was a test.”

“A test?”

“To see if you were smart,” he said simply, as though it made perfect sense.

Alhaitham stared for a moment longer before his lips tugged into the ghost of a smile. “And?”

“You passed.”

The quiet between them stretched comfortably this time.

It had been three days since the market. Kaveh hadn’t come to find him, and Alhaitham hadn’t chased. But Sahi had wandered—again. Curious. Bold.

And somehow, he’d found him.

Kaveh would likely panic when he realized. But for now, the child was here, and Alhaitham… couldn’t bring himself to send him away.

“You have Kaveh’s eyes,” Alhaitham said eventually. “But the rest…”

“Looks like you.”

Alhaitham paused. “You noticed?”

Sahi tilted his head. “When I look in the mirror. I look at you.”

That simple. That unnerving.

“And what does Kaveh say?” Alhaitham asked, voice gentler.

Sahi played with the wax paper in his hands. “He says I don’t have to look like anyone to belong.”

A quiet breath left Alhaitham’s lungs, one he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“You feel like you belong to him?”

Sahi didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Even if you look like me?”

He shrugged. “He never made me feel like that was a bad thing.”

Something inside Alhaitham twisted.

Before he could respond, a voice cut sharply through the air.

“Sahi!”

Alhaitham looked up.

Kaveh stood a few paces away, breathless, shoulders tight, panic flickering behind his eyes. His gaze darted to the child, then fixed sharply on Alhaitham. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean for him to bother you,” Kaveh said, trying too hard to sound indifferent.

“He didn’t,” Alhaitham replied. “He just… found me.”

Kaveh crossed the space quickly and placed a hand on Sahi’s shoulder. The child leaned into him instinctively, unfazed.

“I was watching him the whole time,” Alhaitham added.

“I’m sure you were,” Kaveh muttered.

The silence that followed had edges.

“You still haven’t asked,” Alhaitham said at last.

Kaveh frowned. “Asked what?”

“If I want answers.”

Kaveh’s gaze wavered. “You already think you know.”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” Alhaitham said quietly.

Kaveh looked away. “I told you, I don’t owe you anything.”

“No,” Alhaitham agreed. “But you still haven’t said it.”

“Said what?”

“That you don’t owe him either.”

Kaveh flinched. “What?”

“I should take him home,” he said abruptly.

...

...

...

Alhaitham stood. “Let me see him again.”

Kaveh stiffened, but didn’t turn away just yet.

“I’m not asking you to explain,” Alhaitham said. “Not yet. Just… let me see him.”

Kaveh was quiet.

Then, softly, “You know this doesn’t change anything.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Sahi looked up at him again with those crimson eyes—Kaveh’s eyes—set into a face that was far too familiar.

And Kaveh walked away, holding the child’s hand.

...

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...

The walk home was slow.

Not because of distance, but because of the silence pressing between each of Kaveh’s footsteps—thick, heavy, unrelenting. Sahi clung to his hand, swinging their arms like nothing had shifted in the world. Like he hadn’t just been sitting across from a man Kaveh had spent years trying to forget.

Or maybe not forget. Just… bury.

The market crowd thinned behind them. The streets opened wider, quieter, until all that remained were low stone walls, tangled vines spilling over from terraces, and the gentle rhythm of Sumeru's breath in the distance.

“Did you like the sweet bread?” Kaveh asked eventually, his voice too soft, too strained.

Sahi nodded, crumbs still at the corner of his mouth. “He was nice.”

Kaveh’s jaw clenched. “He’s not a stranger you should be wandering off to.”

“He didn’t feel like a stranger,” Sahi said.

Kaveh didn’t respond.

His grip on the child’s hand tightened just a little—not enough to hurt, but enough to feel like an anchor. Like if he let go now, he might drift backward, straight into the past.

They turned down a familiar path, the modest home Kaveh had built with quiet hands slowly coming into view. The doorway framed in dried herbs. The windows left open for the breeze.

...

...

...

Sahi tugged his arm suddenly. “You’re sad.”

Kaveh paused mid-step. “No, I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

Kaveh looked down. Crimson eyes blinked back at him—his own reflection in another person. But when Sahi smiled, it was with a softness that didn’t belong to him.

That part… that part was undeniably Alhaitham.

He knelt slowly, brushing back Sahi’s hair, then gently wiping the crumbs from his cheek.

“You’re just imagining things,” Kaveh said, though the words sounded brittle even to himself.

Sahi didn’t press. Just nodded and let himself be ushered inside.

And when Kaveh closed the door behind them, he pressed his forehead to the wood, eyes shut tight, whispering to no one:

“I shouldn’t have let you see him...”

Because now that Alhaitham had seen, there was no turning back.

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...

...

The door clicked shut behind him, but the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful.

It was hollow.

Alhaitham stepped into his apartment with measured steps, letting muscle memory guide him as he shed his coat and gloves. The familiar weight of routine should’ve grounded him. Instead, every movement felt automatic. Distant.

The house hadn’t changed.

Everything was still in its place. The books alphabetized. The furniture unmoved. Not a speck of dust out of order.

But it felt… emptier.

Not because anything had been taken away—but because something had been gone for a long time.

Kaveh.

There was no clutter on the table. No half-drunk cup of tea cooling on the windows. No discarded sketches tucked under books where they didn’t belong. No muffled humming from the washroom. No footprints tracked in from the door.

Just stillness.

And it hadn't always been like this.

Alhaitham stood in the middle of his living room, the silence closing in like water around stone. His gaze landed on a corner of the wall—faint markings where Kaveh had once accidentally scuffed it moving a plant that didn’t survive a week. He had complained endlessly about the stain and yet never repainted it.

Alhaitham never did, either.

He sat down on the couch slowly, like lowering himself into memory. His hand rubbed at his jaw as his thoughts finally stopped circling and settled on one, unshakable image:

Sahi.

He had asked the boy’s name, and Kaveh had told him.

Those crimson eyes.

And everything else…

His own.

Alhaitham’s hands clenched faintly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His brows furrowed, eyes fixed on nothing. Logic tried to intervene—tried to offer an explanation, a loophole, something.

But it couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t just a resemblance. It was a reflection.

That boy’s face could have been a blend of memories. Of late nights, unspoken tenderness, and arguments that never needed to happen. It was Kaveh’s gaze through his bones. His nose. His cheekbones. His damn hair.

And yet—

It wasn’t possible.

They had never even—

No. They never went that far.

Not physically. Not biologically. Not in the way that could produce a child.

Alhaitham had been many things in his life: a scholar, a skeptic, a realist. But this? This tugged at the edge of reality in a way that mocked all of those titles.

How could a child exist like that?

It wasn’t just unnatural. It was impossible.

And yet…

He saw the way Kaveh held the boy. The way his hand automatically hovered near the child’s back when crossing the street. The way guilt flickered behind his eyes when he caught Alhaitham staring—guilt not of wrongdoing, but of fear. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being believed.

Because how could Kaveh explain something he couldn’t understand himself?

Alhaitham exhaled, slow and quiet.

The logic didn’t hold.

But the feeling wouldn’t go away.

Something about this wasn’t random. Wasn’t fate. Wasn’t coincidence.

It felt intentional.

Sahi was… not an answer. Not yet. But he was a question carved with their faces. One the universe had posed in silence.

And Alhaitham was tired of pretending not to hear it.

Chapter Text

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...

Kaveh had seen many strange things in the desert, but nothing ever unsettled him the way that child did.

He didn’t need to remember the details of that storm to know something had changed that night. The memories were fractured: howling winds, sand scraping skin raw, the sick crunch of stone when he fell. And then—

Crying.

He’d opened his eyes to find a baby nestled in the curve of a dune like the desert had delivered him in place of death. No trail, no carrier, no evidence of anyone else. Just… the child. Just those crimson eyes staring back at him, not yet capable of knowing the weight of existence.

Kaveh didn’t understand it then. He still didn’t.

But something ancient and stubborn bloomed in his chest as he wrapped the baby in trembling arms and carried him out of the storm, step after agonizing step.

It wasn’t logic. It wasn’t reason. It was instinct—and something deeper.

Now, days—weeks?—later, he found himself seated in a dim, borrowed room in a border village that didn't ask questions. The child, still small and oddly calm, curled up beside him, his small hand fisting the edge of Kaveh’s coat like it was the only anchor in the world.

They asked for a name.

"Just something for the records," the clerk had said kindly, gesturing to the blank line on the paper. "So we know what to call him."

Kaveh stared.

It shouldn't have been hard. He could design intricate structures with nothing but a pencil and a headache, sketch entire cities with names more poetic than practical—but this?

This was harder than any blueprint.

Because names carried weight. Names meant things. And this wasn’t just anyone.

This child… he looked like someone Kaveh had tried so hard to forget. Someone who haunted his quietest moments. The hair. The bone structure. That maddeningly familiar silence.

But the eyes—they were Kaveh’s. Crimson, alive with too much awareness for someone so small.

He tried a few names under his breath:

“Sarem?” Too sharp.

“Naveed?” Too soft.

“Haitham—”

He choked.

No. He couldn’t. That was cruel.

Kaveh looked down at the boy, who had somehow fallen asleep with his little fist still clutching fabric, like he knew what it meant to be left behind.

Something clenched in Kaveh’s chest. He knew that feeling.

He knew it too well.

He remembered being six—maybe seven—standing alone in the polished atrium of his family’s estate, watching his mother disappear behind ornate doors with her new husband. A man who looked at Kaveh like he was an inconvenience. Like he was a mistake from a previous draft.

“You’re a big boy now,” his mother had said, smoothing his hair, trying to sound excited for him. “You’ll manage just fine on your own.”

He hadn’t cried. Not when she left. Not even when the staff stopped looking him in the eye. He swallowed every ache and called it independence. He had to. There was no one else.

So when he saw that child in the sand, alone and wailing, he felt something snap loose inside him.

He wouldn’t repeat what had been done to him.

He let out a slow breath, the pencil hovering above the paper. His hand trembled.

Then, as if called forth by something deeper than memory, he wrote:

Sahi.

A name that meant awake.

It wasn’t just the way the child resembled both him and Alhaitham. It was something harder to name—like grief that had taken shape and waited for him in the storm.

Sahi was a mystery, one Kaveh didn’t have the answers to.

But he knew one thing: he wouldn’t let the child be abandoned again.

Not like he had been.

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...

At first, Kaveh thought Sahi was just quiet—maybe even shy. He didn’t babble like other children. He listened. Watched. Absorbed. But when he finally began to speak, the way he spoke startled Kaveh more than the silence that came before.

Simple words, but too deliberate.

“Hot.”

“Not safe.”

“You’re sad.”

The last one had stunned him. Kaveh had just returned from a long, miserable afternoon searching for commissions that didn’t exist. He hadn’t said a word, just slumped into a seat and held his face in his hands.

And then—

A small hand on his knee.

A pair of wide, crimson eyes staring up at him.

“You’re sad,” Sahi had said.

Not asked. Stated. Like he knew it already. Like he had seen it before.

As time passed, Sahi didn’t just speak. He questioned. Observed. Pointed out inconsistencies in things Kaveh said—“But last time you said the sun doesn’t move, Baba.”

At first, Kaveh laughed it off, proud but weary. But there were moments that caught him off guard. Sharp statements spoken with alarming calmness. The kind of calm that didn’t belong on a child so small.

One morning, while Kaveh was sketching ideas for a modest house commission, Sahi sat across from him, feet swinging off a stool too high for his size. He pointed at a part of the structure and said, “That load-bearing wall seems inefficient. Isn’t the support offset?”

Kaveh froze, pencil mid-line.

He stared at the boy. “Where did you learn that?”

Sahi blinked, then shrugged. “You said it once. I remembered.”

It wasn’t just intelligence—it was the way he spoke. Measured. Detached. Too composed. Like—

Like him.

Sometimes Kaveh would say something emotionally charged—“I can’t believe they raised the rent again!”—and Sahi would respond, flatly:

“Then we’ll adapt. It’s not optimal, but it’s not catastrophic.”

The voice was smaller, higher, still that of a child—but the cadence, the confidence… it shook him.

He didn’t know whether to be proud, afraid, or heartbroken.

Sahi was intelligent. Too intelligent. Kaveh had to remind himself this wasn’t Alhaitham’s child. It couldn’t be. And yet, when Sahi furrowed his brows in thought, or folded his arms and leaned into silence, Kaveh sometimes forgot who he was looking at.

...

...

There were days when Sahi would sit by the window, legs tucked beneath him, hands folded in thought, staring out into the desert like he was pondering something far too big for his age.

And Kaveh would see it again—that bizarre overlap. His eyes. His expression. Two halves of something that shouldn't exist.

“Who are you really…?” Kaveh whispered once, late into the night, as Sahi snored softly on the straw bed beside him.

Of course, there was no answer. There never had been.

And yet, Sahi always looked at him like he knew more than he could say.

As if he had always been meant to be there.

Chapter Text

I like the sounds in the market.

The squish when people pick up fruits, the soft rustling of clothes brushing together, the hum of voices, like a swarm of bees. I tried to count the bees once. But I never could. It was too many, I think. So I stopped.

I hold Baba’s sleeve. I always do. It’s the way I know I won’t get lost in the crowd. Baba doesn’t mind. His sleeve feels like home. Safe.

But today, Baba is quiet.

He’s holding a little brown pouch. He shakes it once, then makes a face. A sad face. Like when I draw a picture, and it’s wrong, and he doesn’t want to say it’s wrong, but he knows it is.

Not enough.

I look at the medicine in the basket. I look at the fruit that I love so much in Baba’s hand. Then I look at Baba’s face. He doesn’t know what to do.

I don’t know either.

I reach up, tugging at his sleeve. “I don’t need it, Baba,” I whisper. 

Baba looks down at me. His eyes are soft, but they don’t smile. They’re sad. And I don’t like when his eyes look sad. It makes me feel like I did something wrong.

I stay quiet, holding on tight to his sleeve.

Then a voice breaks through the air.

“I’ll cover it.”

I look up.

The man is standing there. Tall. His face is sharp, like the edge of a book. His voice is cold, but not mean. Just... serious. Like he doesn’t need to shout to make people listen.

I’ve seen him before. Once. Maybe twice. I remember his face. His nose. His mouth. His eyes.

But it’s not just his face that’s familiar. His hair is like mine. His skin is the same color. His mouth curves in the same way as Baba’s. And his eyes...

I look at his eyes.

They’re like Baba’s. But not.

I don’t know what to do, so I hide behind Baba’s leg. I just look at him. His eyes keep watching me.

Baba doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then he finally speaks. His voice is tight, like something heavy is sitting in his chest.

“Alhaitham.”

The name feels heavy, too. Like a secret that doesn’t want to be shared.

The air between us feels heavy. Thick. Like there’s something I’m not supposed to say. But I don’t know what it is.

Alhaitham’s eyes linger on me. His gaze is different. Not like other people. Not like they’re looking at a child. He’s looking at me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he knows what I am.

I don’t say anything.

I just stay quiet, tucked in beside Baba.

...

...

...

Sometimes I see other kids.

They walk with two grown-ups. One on each side, holding both their hands. They laugh louder than me. They don’t stare too long at the things they don’t understand. They don’t… wonder as much, maybe.

I wonder a lot.

I wonder if it’s always supposed to be one man and one lady. That’s what I see most. The people at the fruit stall, the ones at the toy shop, even the little girl who waved at me once—they all had a man and a lady holding their hands.

I only have Baba.

And I don’t mind.

Baba’s enough. Baba is so much. He sings to me when I can’t sleep. He wraps my scarf right. He fixes my shoes even when he says he’s tired. He always makes sure I eat before him.

But then… there was that man.

The one who looked like me. Not just a little. A lot.

His eyes weren’t like mine, but his face? His hair? His nose?

I’ve seen mirrors before. It felt a little like that. A weird mirror where I wasn’t the only one.

Could he be…?

I look up at Baba again. He’s thinking hard. He does that when we’re quiet. I think we’re the same that way.

I want to ask.

But I don’t.

I just look back at the family with two parents and a little boy in the middle who has both of their eyes.

Then I look at Baba. Then I think of the man with the green eyes.

If I have Baba’s eyes and that man’s face…

Does that mean something?

I don’t know how it could. It’s not like Baba and him are together. I don’t think they ever were. I’ve never seen two men like that. Not here.

Maybe I’m different?

Maybe I’m not supposed to ask yet.

But someday… I’ll know.

I hold Baba’s hand tighter.

I don’t want two people. I just want him.

But it would still be nice… if that man looked at me again.

Like he saw me.

Like he was wondering, too.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a quick trip—just new sandals.

Sahi had outgrown the pair from last season. Kaveh hadn’t noticed until the boy tripped over himself twice that morning, the leather straps digging into his heel. He’d knelt down and murmured apologies, cradling Sahi’s small foot and whispering promises of something better, something that wouldn’t hurt.

Now he was at the market, thumb brushing over worn coins tucked in his palm. He’d counted them earlier. Twice. They’d be enough. Barely. If he didn’t eat out this week. Or maybe next.

Kaveh exhaled through his nose. “Just sandals,” he muttered to himself, “not a palace.”

He found a pair—sturdy, soft on the inside, and just the right size. Sahi was perched on a low stool nearby, swinging his legs, watching other children pass by with their parents. Some clung to their mothers’ skirts. Others tugged at their fathers’ hands.

Sahi only looked.

Kaveh knelt and slipped the sandals onto his feet. “There. Comfortable?”

Sahi nodded, then tilted his head. “You’re not getting anything for you?”

Kaveh smiled—strained but warm. “No need. Baba’s fine.”

The vendor called out the price, and Kaveh handed over the exact change. No more, no less. Just enough.

He turned, ready to leave. But his steps faltered.

Because of course, there he was.

Alhaitham.

Standing not far off, one hand in his coat pocket, a book under his arm, and that unreadable look on his face again. Like he hadn’t followed them. Like he just… happened to be there. Again.

Kaveh froze. His jaw tensed. He tried to walk past, pretended not to notice.

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham said.

That tone. Not commanding. Not cold. Just plain and steady.

Kaveh sighed and turned around slowly. “What is it this time? Don’t tell me you’re going to offer to pay again.”

...

...

“No,” Alhaitham said. “You made it clear that bothered you.”

Kaveh crossed his arms, shifting slightly in front of Sahi without realizing it. A silent shield. “Then why are you here?”

Alhaitham tilted his head. “I was on my way back from the Akademiya.”

“Of course,” Kaveh muttered. “Of all the routes you could’ve taken.”

Alhaitham’s gaze flicked down. “New sandals?”

“What, are you keeping inventory now?” Kaveh snapped.

“They were needed,” Alhaitham replied flatly. “He was limping the last time.”

Kaveh opened his mouth, then shut it. He hadn’t noticed that Alhaitham was paying such close attention. It unnerved him.

...

...

...

“He has your eyes,” Alhaitham added quietly. “But... he doesn’t watch people the way you do.”

Kaveh raised a brow. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“It’s an observation.”

“Well, then stop observing.”

Alhaitham didn’t react to the hostility. “I just thought you’d prefer sandals that didn’t bite at the heel.”

“And I got them,” Kaveh said tightly. “On my own.”

Silence.

Then, a tug at his sleeve. “Baba… I’m thirsty.”

Kaveh glanced at the nearest stall, lips thinning. He had no mora left. He was about to say they’d wait until they got home, when—

“There’s a café nearby,” Alhaitham said. “I’ll buy him something.”

Kaveh stiffened. “No.”

“I didn’t offer for you.”

Kaveh shot him a glare. “Then don’t.”

Alhaitham didn’t move. He merely looked at Sahi again—unblinking, unreadable, but not cold.

It was quiet for a moment. The sort of quiet that settled heavily on Kaveh’s shoulders.

Then Alhaitham said, “If I walk away right now, will he stop looking over his shoulder for me?”

Kaveh faltered.

“I see it,” Alhaitham continued, tone neutral. “Every time. Like he's waiting for something.”

Kaveh looked down at Sahi, who stared up at him with quiet expectation. Trusting. Hopeful. Wanting.

He swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. But this isn’t charity. And don’t think this means anything.”

Alhaitham gave no reply. He only turned, leading the way ahead as if he already knew Kaveh would follow.

...

...

...

The café hadn’t changed.

Kaveh stood at the threshold longer than necessary, letting the warmth and scent of roasted coffee beans melt over him. It was nostalgic, almost cruelly so. This place used to be a backdrop to his rushed mornings, the same mornings where he'd juggle rolled blueprints and sleepless nights—always grabbing a cup for himself, sometimes a second for Alhaitham if he felt particularly generous.

Now, it was different. Now, he had Sahi. And today, they were here because the child had outgrown his sandals again.

He slipped into the seat across from them like it was natural. Like it didn’t weigh the air down around Kaveh’s chest. Like nothing had changed.

Kaveh didn’t say a word. He just sat beside Sahi, passed him his fruit tea, and kept his eyes fixed on the cup in his hands.

Sahi, however, had other things on his mind.

He sat with his tiny fingers curled around the glass, his gaze bouncing across the café—not with wonder, but with something deeper. Calculating. Almost… searching.

“Some families look the same.”

Alhaitham turned toward him. “What do you mean?”

The boy nodded toward a nearby table. “There’s a mama and a papa and their little one. You can tell.”

Kaveh followed the gesture. It was a young couple with a toddler.

Sahi then turned his gaze toward their own table, eyes lingering on Kaveh, then on Alhaitham. “We don’t look the same. But it… feels similar.” he said softly. “But also… not.”

Alhaitham tilted his head. “Why not?”

The boy’s brow furrowed as he thought about it. “Because… Baba is a guy. And you’re a man too.”

...

...

Kaveh felt his breath catch. A prickle climbed up the back of his neck.

“I see mamas and papas together,” Sahi went on softly, “but I have Baba. And now… you.” 

Alhaitham tilted his head. “And what am I?”

...

...

...

Sahi blinked once. “I don’t know yet.”

That silenced them both.

The air thickened.

Kaveh gripped the cup in his hands a little too tightly, knuckles white. There were things he’d learned to expect from Sahi—sharp questions, quiet observations, and an intelligence that never quite matched his age. But every time the boy opened his mouth, Kaveh couldn’t help but feel like the ground might shift beneath him.

“How old are you?” Alhaitham asked after a moment, his tone calm but watching.

“Two and a half,” Sahi answered easily.

Alhaitham’s brows lifted slightly, not in disbelief, but in intrigue. “You speak very well for your age.”

Sahi nodded. “I listen a lot. And I think a lot, too.”

There it was again—that quiet sharpness. Not prideful. Not showy. Just honest.

Kaveh’s throat tightened. “He’s… always been like that,” he murmured. “Even before he could form full sentences. It was like… he already knew how to understand.”

He didn’t know why he said that aloud.

Maybe because Alhaitham was already thinking it. Maybe because part of him wanted someone else to feel the unease he did.

Sahi turned to his drink again, but Kaveh caught the way his eyes flicked toward other tables. Watching, comparing.

Sometimes, Kaveh wondered if the child already understood things he couldn’t explain. Things even he, an adult, didn’t understand.

A child with his eyes.

A child with Alhaitham’s face.

And a voice that was far too old.

“I don’t think I’m like other kids,” Sahi said suddenly, the words dropped into the quiet like a pebble into still water.

Alhaitham didn’t reply right away. He looked at the boy long and hard. “Why do you think that?”

Sahi shrugged, glancing between the two men. “I just feel it sometimes.”

Kaveh wanted to reach for him. He didn’t.

Instead, he just sat there, caught in that same storm of emotions—tension, guilt, and something strange he couldn't name.

Love, maybe.

Or fear.

Because no matter how much he told himself Sahi was just a child…

Every day, he said something that made Kaveh feel like someone was watching through him.

Someone older. Someone who knew them both.

...

...

...

...

...

The café door whispered closed behind them, shutting out the warmth of shared drinks and quiet conversation. Afternoon light spilled across the stone streets, turning everything gold for a fleeting moment. Kaveh adjusted the satchel on his shoulder, his expression unreadable, his posture a little more stiff than it had been when they first arrived.

Alhaitham walked a few steps behind, his gaze not on Kaveh, nor on the winding street ahead—but on the child walking between them.

Sahi’s small hand was looped loosely around Kaveh’s fingers, swinging with each step, his little boots clicking gently against the path. He wasn’t speaking, but he didn’t seem sullen either. Just… thoughtful. Observing. The way he often was.

It should have ended there—a natural place to part ways. No ceremony, no promise of next time. That’s how they always worked, didn’t they? Clean breaks. Quiet severances.

Kaveh cleared his throat softly, slowing near the bend in the street.

“Well…” he started, brushing his hair back with an oddly nervous gesture. “We should get going.”

Alhaitham nodded, arms crossed, saying nothing. He didn’t want to prolong this, but some part of him hesitated. Watching them go felt too much like losing something. Again.

Before Kaveh could say more, a voice rang out—not from either of them, but somewhere off to the right.

“Excuse me, dear patrons! A moment of your time!”

A woman in Akademiya robes bustled through the thinning crowd, a wide smile on her face and an armful of fliers fluttering like leaves around her.

“The Festival of Radiant Steps is returning to the Grand Bazaar!” she chirped, slipping a paper into Kaveh’s hand before he could protest. “This year, headlined by the one and only Nilou!”

Kaveh stared blankly at the flyer. Lanterns, ribbons, petals tossed into the air. The blur of motion that once meant celebration. The kind of joy that had started to feel… distant.

“We don’t have time for this,” he muttered, almost to himself, already folding the paper in half. His voice had taken on that clipped edge he used when he wanted to retreat. “We need to—”

But his words were cut off.

Not by Alhaitham.

Not by another flyer.

But by a sudden, gentle weight at the hem of his cloak.

Kaveh looked down.

Sahi wasn’t pulling. Just holding it. Two tiny hands, clasped around the fabric like an anchor. His head was tilted slightly upward, his expression open and hopeful in a way that made Kaveh’s chest ache.

“…Can we go?” Sahi asked quietly, as though unsure he was allowed to. “I’ve never… seen something like that before.”

The words were so simple, so pure in their curiosity. And yet they landed like a stone in the center of Kaveh’s chest.

He didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t. There was too much twisting inside him—memories of tight budgets, late nights, cities that didn’t care. He’d worked so hard to build a life around survival that he hadn’t realized when he stopped seeking joy.

Sahi had asked for very little in his short life. A warm place to sleep. A hand to hold. And now—this.

He looked sideways.

Alhaitham hadn’t moved. He wasn’t watching Kaveh this time, but Sahi. And though his face remained mostly still, there was something unreadable behind his eyes. Something that looked like quiet wonder. Or perhaps disbelief.

Kaveh had barely taken two steps away when a voice, smooth and neutral, interrupted behind him.

“You shouldn’t let him go without seeing it.”

Kaveh turned halfway, surprised Alhaitham had spoken. “What?”

Alhaitham took a slow step forward, his arms now tucked behind his back, posture relaxed but his gaze piercing. “The festival. It’s educational, in a way. Culture. Exposure to traditions. Formative experiences for a child.”

Kaveh stared, brows drawn, eyes narrowed. “Since when do you care about traditions?”

...

...

“I don’t,” Alhaitham replied evenly. “But he might. He’s curious. Observant.”

“And that suddenly means you know what’s best for him?” There was a sharpness in Kaveh’s tone, defensive by instinct. His fingers twitched near the fabric of his cloak, where Sahi’s tiny hands still clutched with hesitant hope.

“I’m not making a decision,” Alhaitham said calmly. “I’m only pointing out that saying no now might be… unfair. He doesn’t ask for much, does he?”

Kaveh faltered.

Alhaitham took one more step closer. “You brought him this far. Letting him see more of the world is part of it, isn’t it?”

There was a long pause. Then—

“…This has nothing to do with you,” Kaveh muttered, quieter than before.

Alhaitham looked down at Sahi, who was watching them both with eyes too crimson, too knowing.

“No,” Alhaitham said. “But he does.”

Kaveh flinched slightly. Something unspoken twisted in his chest.

Sahi blinked up at the two of them, unaware of the undercurrent but sensitive to the tension. “Are we going?”

Kaveh sighed, his voice softer than before. “Do you really want to go?”

Sahi nodded. “I do.”

And before Kaveh could argue again, Alhaitham spoke up once more, pulling something from his coat. A few folded Mora notes—neat, exact.

“Here,” he said, holding them out.

Kaveh bristled. “Absolutely not.”

“You’ll need food. Festival prices are inflated,” Alhaitham replied, as though reading from a brochure.

“I said—”

“It’s for him, not you.”

Kaveh looked at the coins. Then at Alhaitham. Then at Sahi.

His shoulders slumped—defeated, not in the argument, but by something deeper. Guilt. Confusion. The kind of helplessness you can’t yell your way out of.

He took the money. Slowly. Begrudgingly.

And Alhaitham didn’t smile, but there was something softer in the way he stepped back again, giving space.

“I’ll be around,” he said simply.

Kaveh didn’t ask what that meant.

But as they turned to leave, Sahi paused, looking up at Alhaitham, his voice light:

“Do you want to come too?”

Sahi’s voice was soft, yet it seemed to still the air around them.

Kaveh tensed. He didn’t look at Alhaitham, didn’t know how to. The question wasn’t meant to sting, but it did—somewhere deep.

Alhaitham said nothing at first. Sahi looked between them, his small hand gripping Kaveh’s cloak tighter.

“It would feel nice,” he added, almost like a whisper.

And for a brief moment, neither man could find it in themselves to walk away.

Chapter Text

The festival was alive with colors and sounds that filled the air like a warm embrace. The bright lights, the laughter, the music—it was everything Kaveh had almost forgotten. He hadn’t been to something like this in years, especially not with someone else in tow. But here he was, with Sahi at his side, and Alhaitham right behind them.

Sahi’s small hand tugged eagerly at Kaveh’s sleeve, eyes wide with wonder as they passed each food stall. “Baba, look! Look at the lights!”

Kaveh smiled faintly but felt an unfamiliar knot twist in his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy this—he did—but there was something about this scene, about the presence of Alhaitham, that made him uneasy. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They weren’t supposed to be a family, at least not in the way Sahi might think.

“Should we get something to eat?” Kaveh asked, trying to steer the attention elsewhere. It was a nice distraction, even though the question was mostly directed at himself.

Sahi’s eyes brightened. “Yes, yes!” He bounced a little on his feet, tugging Kaveh forward to the next stall with bright, vibrant colors.

Kaveh’s gaze flicked to Alhaitham for a moment. He wanted to say something, anything to break the silence between them, but he couldn’t. The words felt lodged somewhere in his throat. They had been walking like this for some time now—side by side, but never quite together.

Alhaitham, as always, was the picture of composure, walking slightly behind them. His eyes never seemed to stray from Kaveh and Sahi, though his expression remained unreadable. Kaveh couldn’t bring himself to look at him for too long. He didn’t want to feel like this—awkward, restless. It didn’t help that every time their paths crossed, it was like there was a door they couldn’t quite open, a conversation they weren’t yet ready to have.

Sahi’s bright laughter broke through Kaveh’s thoughts as he tugged at Kaveh’s sleeve again. “Baba, can we get the sweet one? The one with all the sugar?”

Kaveh chuckled despite himself and nodded, reaching for the bag of mora Alhaitham had given him earlier. He had hesitated, the bag heavy in his hand, but now it seemed like the right thing to do. Sahi was having fun, and that was all that mattered. Besides, he thought, his throat tightening slightly, it’s not like Alhaitham would mind.

He handed over the mora, and the vendor smiled at him before handing Sahi a handful of sweet treats. Kaveh could feel Alhaitham’s gaze on him, but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he focused on the joy in Sahi’s face as he took the candy, his small hands clutching them tightly.

“We’re going to have a good time today, right, Baba?” Sahi asked, looking up at him with those bright crimson eyes, eyes that reminded him so much of his own.

“Of course,” Kaveh replied, though there was a quiet heaviness to his voice. “We’re going to have a great time.”

As they wandered deeper into the festival, Kaveh couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, that things were—off. They were together, sure, but it didn’t feel like it should. He hadn’t planned on this. He hadn’t planned on himself and Alhaitham, even less on what this might mean for Sahi.

They passed through more stalls, and soon, they found themselves in front of a large stage where a few performers were dancing. The music swirled in the air, and Sahi clapped his hands excitedly, pulling Kaveh toward the front. The child’s joy was undeniable, infectious, and Kaveh felt his heart soften, even if the pang of awkwardness still gnawed at him.

Sahi tugged at Alhaitham’s sleeve then, his small voice soft but insistent. “Can you stay with us, too?”

Kaveh’s breath caught in his throat. That simple, innocent question, the way Sahi asked it, almost like it was the most natural thing in the world. Could Alhaitham stay with them, too?

Kaveh bit his lip, eyes darting from Sahi to Alhaitham, then back to the child. He couldn’t bring himself to say what he was thinking. He couldn’t—because what if it wasn’t true? What if this wasn’t something they could sustain? He glanced quickly at Alhaitham, but the scribe’s face remained as unreadable as always.

Instead, Kaveh’s voice came out strained. “It’s not that simple, Sahi.”

Sahi looked confused for a moment, and Kaveh wished he could explain, could tell him that sometimes things just... didn’t work out the way they should. But instead, he reached down and ruffled Sahi’s hair. “Let’s just enjoy today, okay?”

Sahi seemed satisfied with that, nodding enthusiastically. But Kaveh couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in his chest, the uncertainty about what was happening between him, Alhaitham, and Sahi. He wanted to make this work for Sahi’s sake, but what did that even mean? Could they truly become something more, or was this just a fleeting moment in time?

As Sahi ran off to have some fun, Kaveh’s gaze lingered on Alhaitham for a second too long. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met, and Kaveh couldn’t quite read the look on Alhaitham’s face.

Was this just for today? Or would this last?

...

...

...

As Kaveh turned away from the stage, still trying to collect himself after Sahi’s innocent question and the emotions it stirred, he didn’t expect to hear a very familiar voice calling out behind him.

“Well, well. I thought I was hallucinating.”

Kaveh turned just in time to see a pair of ears perk up above the crowd, followed by the unmistakable sight of Tighnari, arms crossed, smirking with an amused glint in his eyes. Beside him, Collei waved excitedly. And of course, trailing just behind was Cyno, who looked like he had just arrived with a punchline already locked and loaded.

“Oh Archons,” Kaveh muttered under his breath.

Tighnari walked up, raising a brow. “Didn’t expect to see the two of you together at a festival of all things. Is the world finally healing?”

Kaveh attempted to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “Funny. I could say the same seeing you here.”

Alhaitham gave a simple nod in greeting, calm and unbothered as ever. “We just happened to run into each other. It’s not like we came together.”

“Right,” Tighnari drawled, clearly unconvinced.

“Because running into each other and then continuing to hang out together doesn’t mean anything at all.”

Kaveh was about to shoot back a witty retort—maybe something about Tighnari being nosy—when Collei suddenly leaned sideways, peering curiously around Kaveh’s legs.

...

...

...

“Um… is that a kid?” she whispered.

Tighnari followed her gaze, and that was when he saw Sahi—bright crimson eyes, holding tightly onto Kaveh’s cloak with one hand and sticky festival candy in the other.

...

...

...

Tighnari’s jaw dropped. “You—You had a child?!”

“Not biologically,” Kaveh said way too fast.

“...That’s not denying anything,” Cyno pointed out.

“I’m serious!” Kaveh added, flustered now, arms waving. “I'm telling the truth!”

“Are we sure?” Cyno said with the most serious tone imaginable. “The resemblance is suspicious.”

Kaveh looked like he was about to combust. “Cyno. I swear to the Gods—”

Meanwhile, Tighnari crouched to get a better look at Sahi, who blinked at him calmly before offering him a half-melted candy.

...

...

...

Tighnari blinked. “...He has your eyes.”

“And your face,” Cyno added, glancing at Alhaitham now.

...

...

...

The silence that followed was deafening.

...

...

...

“I didn’t do anything,” Alhaitham said coolly.

“Oh, clearly,” Tighnari muttered. “You just accidentally manifested a child together.”

Kaveh was about to yell something—anything—when Sahi tugged at his sleeve and asked sweetly, “Baba, are they your friends?”

“Acquaintances,” Kaveh gritted through his teeth.

“Acquaintances who seem very concerned about this tiny mystery child,” Tighnari added. “What’s his name?”

“Sahi,” Alhaitham answered this time, voice smooth, as if the entire situation wasn’t spiraling into absurdity.

Tighnari narrowed his eyes at them. “Well, Sahi seems lovely. But I think the two of you have some explaining to do. Maybe after the festival?”

Kaveh let out the most exhausted sigh of his life. “Can’t we just enjoy one night without interrogations?”

“Not when you show up with a tiny lookalike after going missing for 2 years,” Cyno said flatly.

“You didn’t even bring a dad joke!” Kaveh hissed.

“I’m saving it for when you two actually admit something.”

...

...

...

Kaveh groaned into his hands. Sahi, on the other hand, happily held up his candy to Collei. “You can have one if you want.”

Collei smiled, crouching to his level. “Thanks! You’re so sweet. Where did you learn to share like that?”

Sahi looked up at Kaveh with a proud smile.

“Baba said it’s good to be nice. Even if people are a little annoying.”

Kaveh choked.

Alhaitham looked almost amused. Almost.

Tighnari, evidently shocked, trails off, “Oh...”

Cyno nodded solemnly. “Definitely Kaveh’s kid.”

...

...

...

...

The festival carried on with its lively hum, and Kaveh, despite his lingering discomfort, found himself caught in the motions. They had wandered around the grounds, taking in the vibrant lights, the cheerful music, and the warmth of the crowds. Kaveh couldn’t help but feel a bit nostalgic, a bit too nostalgic—like stepping into an old memory that didn’t quite fit him anymore.

His gaze flickered occasionally to Sahi, his little one, who was happily playing with Collei and the other children. Sahi's laughter, as innocent and pure as it always was, made Kaveh’s chest tighten with a mixture of guilt and warmth.

And then there was Alhaitham. Who was always just… there. By his side, moving as naturally as the air itself. 

Like nothing had happened at all.

Kaveh had become so used to it over the course of the day. Too used to it. His every decision seemed to align with Alhaitham’s suggestions without question. It was like falling into old patterns—patterns he’d thought long buried under years of frustration and distance.

Kaveh rubbed his forehead, trying to shake the unease that had settled there. They’d barely spent any time apart. Whether it was finding food, sharing a table, or watching Sahi’s enthusiasm.

Alhaitham was just there.

And for some reason, Kaveh felt like it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d spent two years trying to push away that sense of normalcy they once had, but here it was, creeping back in. The ease with which they moved together—like they had before.

He wanted to pull back, to create distance, but something about seeing Sahi so happy, so free, made him push that thought down. If Sahi was happy, if he was enjoying this moment, Kaveh couldn’t ruin it. He just couldn’t. But there was still something unsettling about it all.

“Are you all right?” Alhaitham asked, his voice calm but with that sharp edge of observance that Kaveh hated, especially now. Kaveh was certain Alhaitham could feel the tension, even if he didn’t comment on it.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Kaveh forced a smile, trying to mask the discomfort swirling inside him.

Alhaitham glanced at him sideways, but didn’t comment further. Instead, his attention shifted toward the group of children ahead, where Sahi had just handed Collei the flower crown he’d made.

“That child is certainly… precocious,” Alhaitham said, almost as if testing the waters.

Kaveh’s mind snapped back to the moment. “Sahi is something else,” he agreed, a tightness to his voice that he couldn’t quite explain. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling uncomfortably exposed. He hadn’t intended for his thoughts to spill out like that.

Alhaitham didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just chose not to. He gave a rare, small smile as he observed Sahi with Collei.

Kaveh sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He should’ve expected this. Should’ve known he’d end up in this position where he couldn’t easily back out of the situation. Not with Sahi’s joy so bright, and not with Alhaitham… being Alhaitham.

But maybe it was inevitable. He had always known that. Kaveh glanced over at Sahi, running ahead to chase Collei, laughing freely. And as much as he tried to avoid the thoughts that bubbled up, there was a part of him—a small, reluctant part—that was okay with it.

He just couldn’t admit it yet.

And as they stood there, watching Sahi’s carefree joy, Kaveh knew the feeling of unease he had was less about the festival, and more about how quickly he had fallen back into old rhythms with Alhaitham. And how badly he wanted to avoid it, but how much he was allowing it to happen.

Chapter Text

Kaveh sat still, watching from where he was seated as Collei gently tugged Sahi along toward the crowd. The two laughed—Collei speaking animatedly while Sahi’s wide crimson eyes soaked in everything like sunlight on stone. They looked content.

And yet, his chest felt heavier than it should.

The festival still buzzed around them. Colorful lights, distant music, and the scent of grilled meat and floral syrup in the air. But for some reason…

It all dulled.

...

...

...

...

...

Something tugged at the back of his mind. A weightless whisper. A hush beneath the hum of voices. It wasn’t loud—but it wasn’t far either. Just beneath the noise.

Soft.

The clock winds tight…

Kaveh blinked.

He turned slightly, trying not to seem unsettled. “Alhaitham,” he murmured, quiet enough that only the man beside him would hear. 

“Did you… hear that?”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow, his hand pausing as he sipped tea. 

Alhaitham, for once, looked up from his cup. “Hear what?”

Kaveh’s lips parted, but—

The ground tilted.

His vision twisted like wet paper, smeared and sliding. His knees buckled before he could make sense of it.

"Kaveh—?"

That voice—Alhaitham’s—was the last thing he registered before the darkness swallowed him whole.

...

...

...

...

The warmth of the festival slipped away.

...

...

...

...

Rain.

It hit the stone with sharp, cold rhythm.

Kaveh opened his eyes to dim skies and gray clouds.

The scent of petrichor clung to his skin. He was back there. That one place. The one from years ago—the night everything changed.

That fight. That argument.

The rain.

Sahi.

But now it was… different. The world felt paused. Hollow. Like a dream.

And in the distance—a flicker of light.

Drawn forward, he walked.

Each step echoed strangely, like the world had forgotten how to make sound. The light danced between corners until it stopped beneath an overgrown stone arch.

That’s where he saw her.

Not Sahi.

But a little girl.

She stood still in the rain, barefoot on the wet stone. Hair pale like unlit lanterns. Skin nearly translucent. And eyes—green and wide and impossible.

She stared at him.

And then, she began to speak. Her voice didn’t come from her mouth,

but from everywhere.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight…

A gift divine must not be hoarded…

…or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight…

A gift divine must not be hoarded…

…or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight...

A gift divine must not be hoarded…

…or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight...

A gift divine must not be hoarded...

…or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight…

A gift divine must not be hoarded…

…or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight…

A gift divine must not be hoarded...

…or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight...

A gift divine must not be hoarded…

…or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight...

A gift divine must not be hoarded...

…or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

He stood frozen. The rain soaked through his clothes, but he barely noticed.

“What does that mean?” he whispered.

The girl said nothing. She only stared—and repeated the words again, and again, as if the answer was tucked between them, if only he could decipher it.

He took a step forward.

And the dream broke.

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

“Baba!”

Sahi’s small hands grabbed at his sleeve, terrified. Kaveh blinked rapidly, vision clearing just enough to see Alhaitham kneeling beside him, hand steadying his back.

“Calm down,” Alhaitham said. His voice was low, but tight with concern. “You fainted...”

Kaveh tried to sit up, but his limbs shook.

“I… I heard something,” he managed to say, breath shallow. “Before I fell. Someone was talking—no, whispering—and then I—”

“Move—”

Tighnari’s voice cut in, sharp with urgency as he pushed through the crowd, Cyno right behind him.

“What happened?” Tighnari asked, dropping to a crouch as he scanned Kaveh’s complexion.

“He just dropped,” Alhaitham muttered. “Mid-sentence.”

“I’m fine,” Kaveh insisted, but his voice wavered.

Cyno frowned, arms crossed. “You don’t look fine. You’ve gone two years without a word, show up with your ex-roommate and a kid who looks suspiciously like you both, and now you're fainting in the middle of a festival?”

Tighnari didn’t laugh. “We’re going to talk after this,” he said firmly, his tail twitching. “Properly. This isn't something to brush off.”

Kaveh stared at the ground, Sahi still clutching him tightly.

His heart was still thundering, but not from the fall.

A warning?

...Or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

...

...

...

The small wooden table creaked under Kaveh’s weight as he leaned forward, elbows pressed hard to the surface like it might keep him grounded. His hair clung slightly to his temples, still damp from the earlier chaos. Sahi sat close beside him, visibly tense, clutching the hem of Kaveh’s sleeve.

Tighnari knelt in front of him, his medical kit open, fingers moving with practiced ease as he checked Kaveh’s pulse and gently pried information from him.

"You fainted," Tighnari said, voice calm but firm. "What's going on?”

Kaveh hesitated.

“It wasn’t just fainting,” he murmured, eyes not quite meeting anyone’s. “There was a voice. Like a whisper, but not from outside. 

It felt… ancient. Heavy.”

Alhaitham, standing across the table with arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. “And what did it say?”

Kaveh inhaled shakily. “A few lines. Over and over. Like it was echoing inside me.”

He swallowed.

“The thread wears thin,

The clock winds tight,

 A gift divine must not be hoarded…

...Something along those lines.”

Sahi blinked up at him, clearly confused. “What does it mean, Baba?”

Kaveh forced a small smile, brushing Sahi’s hair gently. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Probably nothing.”

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

Collei, who had been lingering near the door with a hand on the frame, quietly stepped closer. “Hey, Sahi,” she said gently, crouching down to his level, “how about we take a little stroll? Just around the garden. I bet the festival lights are still glowing.”

Sahi looked at Kaveh, hesitant, until Kaveh gave him a small nod. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here.”

Once the door clicked shut behind them, the air shifted.

Kaveh rubbed his temples, finally allowing his shoulders to sag.

“It's like that day...” he muttered. “It felt real. But at the same time it didn't... The rain… the street… It was the night I found him.”

Tighnari looked at him sharply. “You mean Sahi.”

Kaveh gave a faint nod. “I didn’t want to say anything, not in front of him. But something about that whisper—it felt tied to him. I don’t have proof. Just… a feeling.”

Alhaitham, arms still crossed, spoke lowly. “Like a riddle.”

Kaveh glanced at him. “You think it’s a message?”

“I think it’s a clue,” Alhaitham replied. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t random. If it were me—” he paused, adjusting the angle of his arms, “—I’d consider the source, the symbols, the moment it appeared. Dreams like this don’t just happen. Not in Teyvat.”

Tighnari added quietly, “And not when the child in question looks like both of you but came from neither.”

...

...

...

Silence pressed on them again.

Kaveh sighed, frustrated. “He’s just a kid. I’m not going to make him feel like he was... made for something else.”

“You don’t have to,” Alhaitham said, his voice unusually soft. “But if the stars—or the Gods—did have a hand in his arrival, ignoring it won’t protect him either.”

Kaveh looked down at the table, fingers curling slightly into the grain.

“He has my eyes,” he whispered. “But sometimes, when he’s quiet—when he looks at me like he’s watching something unfold—I swear I see you.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer at first. Then, quietly: “Maybe that’s the point.”

The silence that followed lingered a little too long. The kind that hovered not because no one had anything to say, but because too much had been left unsaid.

Kaveh shifted slightly, one hand rubbing his wrist.

Alhaitham spoke again, low, not quite looking at him.

“I wasn’t supposed to see you again.”

Kaveh’s breath caught. “What?”

“I tried to let it go,” Alhaitham said flatly, but his voice lacked its usual edge. “That night. I made peace with it. Or at least I convinced myself I had. You were gone. I assumed you didn’t want to be found.”

Tighnari, seated across the table, gave a subtle glance at Cyno—eyebrow raised.

Alhaitham continued, “But then… Sahi showed up.”

He didn’t say where, or how. Only that it happened.

“I don’t know what drew him to me. Or why I didn’t push him away like I usually would’ve.” He let out a breath, like the words had been sitting on his chest. “I’m not… good with children. I don’t seek them out. I don’t know how to talk to them.”

“And yet,” Kaveh murmured.

“And yet,” Alhaitham echoed. “There was something about him. I couldn’t explain it. Not just the resemblance. Not just your eyes. It was like—” he hesitated, then said it anyway, “—like he carried something between us. A tether. A pull. Every time I tried to step away, it was like he’d already circled back. Like some kind of… magnet.”

At that, Tighnari’s ears twitched. He stared at Alhaitham, then slowly turned to Kaveh, expression unreadable but undeniably intrigued.

Cyno simply sipped his tea, eyes narrowed, like he was mentally filing everything away for later.

“I ignored it,” Alhaitham admitted. “Assumed it was coincidence. But after today, after what you saw... maybe it wasn’t.”

Kaveh swallowed. “You think the dream is connected.”

“I think everything is,” Alhaitham said. “The timing. The words. Him.”

He paused, then added under his breath, “Maybe the answer’s in the riddle. Or maybe… he is the riddle.”

...

...

...

...

Tighnari gave a soft, stunned exhale. “Okay… That was… unusually sentimental. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m being rational,” Alhaitham replied, not missing a beat.

“That’s debatable,” Cyno murmured.

Then—

“I’m sorry,” Cyno cut in more loudly, holding up a hand, expression unreadable. “Just to clarify—are we seriously not considering that you two might have a child in secret?”

Kaveh’s jaw dropped. Tighnari choked on a breath.

“W-What?” Kaveh sputtered.

“I’m just saying,” Cyno went on, voice flat as ever. “Elemental energy. Forbidden Akademiya research. Secret lab baby. Stranger things have happened.”

“You’ve been reading too many serialized scrolls,” Tighnari muttered.

Cyno ignored him. “I mean, if it weren’t biologically impossible, I’d be more suspicious. But since it is… I’m forced to consider either divine intervention or—” he paused, then added dryly, “—a really elaborate prank.”

A moment of stunned silence.

“…Was that your attempt at humor?” Kaveh blinked.

“Yes.” Cyno didn’t even flinch. “I’m trying to lighten the mood.”

“You have to stop doing that,” Tighnari said, rubbing his forehead.

Alhaitham let out a quiet, almost imperceptible exhale. If one squinted, it might’ve passed as amusement.

...

...

...

Kaveh pressed a hand to his face, somewhere between groaning and laughing under his breath. “Stars help me.”

Still, beneath the flicker of levity, that tension hadn’t left. The kind that clung to unsolved things. To words not yet spoken. To the look Alhaitham had given him—direct, strange, and hauntingly soft.

The thread wasn’t just wearing thin.

It was leading somewhere.

Chapter Text

The road home was quieter than Kaveh remembered. Maybe it was the hour, or maybe it was everything that had happened.

He walked slowly, cradling Sahi against his shoulder. The boy had fallen asleep shortly after they left the festival, his breathing soft and even now. Kaveh kept a hand on his back, steady and protective.

Yesterday had been simple. Normal. But now?

It was as if something had shifted—like a thread had been pulled loose, and he didn’t know how long before it unraveled completely.

“Take care of him,” Tighnari had said before they left. There had been a gentleness in his voice Kaveh hadn’t expected.

Even Cyno, half-serious, half-horrified at what he’d heard, only managed a quiet, “Let us know if anything else happens.”

And Alhaitham—

They had lingered at the street corner longer than they needed to.

“You’re sure you don’t need help getting back?” Alhaitham had asked, gaze flicking toward the sleeping child.

“I’ve carried him this far,” Kaveh muttered, adjusting his grip on Sahi. “Not the first time.”

Alhaitham hummed. “He’s heavier than he looks.”

“Yeah. That’s how it feels with most things that matter.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—just full of things neither of them could say out loud yet.

...

...

...

Kaveh shifted Sahi carefully. 

“Goodnight, Alhaitham.”

And just like that, Alhaitham felt his heart stop. 

But in good way.

“Goodnight, Kaveh...”

...

...

...

As Kaveh turned to leave, something hung in the air—something different than the last time they parted. The distance between them didn’t feel as sharp, as final. Not quite a beginning, but no longer an ending either.

Something had changed. Not suddenly, but slowly. Naturally.

Maybe it was Sahi. Maybe it was time.

Kaveh didn’t dare look back—but he didn’t have to.

He knew Alhaitham was still standing there.

.

.

.

.

I blinked. Where am I? I wasn’t in my bed. I wasn’t even at home anymore. It felt like floating on soft clouds, but my feet were on the ground.

Everything around me was so... shiny! The ground wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t hard either. It kinda sparkled, like stars, but they weren’t in the sky. They were all around me. I looked up. It wasn’t a sky, not like how I know. It was all light. Weird light.

“Baba?” I said, but it wasn’t loud. Just inside my head. Maybe I was dreaming. But I didn’t feel sleepy.

I wanted to call again, but it didn’t feel right. The word was like... stuck in me. I felt it, but I didn’t really say it.

Where’s Baba?

I looked around, but it was all quiet. So quiet. The air felt heavy, like it was waiting for something to happen. I wanted to move, but I didn’t know where to go.

Then I saw her.

She wasn’t tall like Baba. 

She was small, like me. But not like me. 

She was glowing, her hair all shiny like moonlight. And her eyes were green. Like the leaves Baba talks about when he says the trees are awake. Her eyes were big and bright, and she was looking right at me.

“Baba?” I said, but my voice didn’t sound the same. It felt... soft, like it wasn’t really my voice.

She didn’t talk right away. She just looked at me, waiting, like she was expecting me to say something more.

And then, her voice came, but it didn’t come from her mouth. It was inside my head. Like a whisper that wasn’t a whisper.

“Awake, little one.”

Little one? But... she was small too, wasn’t she? Why was she calling me little?

“But... you’re little too,” I said, kinda confused. 

She smiled. It wasn’t a funny smile. More like she knew something I didn’t.

"Where am I?” I asked, because I needed to know. My tummy felt weird.

She didn’t answer right away. She just kept staring, like I was supposed to understand. I didn’t. But she said something again, like a secret.

“A thread ties you,” she said, looking at me with those green eyes. 

“A thread that pulls you to where you need to be.”

A thread? A thread? I didn’t get it.

“I don’t see a thread,” I said, trying to look around. Maybe it was behind me. But there was nothing there.

She smiled again, but this time, I felt it wasn’t a smile for fun. It was a smile like... she already knew. “The thread is inside you,” she said. “It pulls you to the place you’re supposed to be.”

Inside me? What? But I was already here.

I took a step, but the ground felt funny, and I stopped.

The little girl looked at me like she knew I was confused, but I wasn’t sure what to ask. “I don’t get it,” I said.

She just nodded slowly, like she was telling me something I would understand later. “Soon, little one. You’ll know when it’s time.”

I frowned. “But I want to know now.”

She didn’t say anything after that. She just looked at me like she knew. Then she spoke again, but this time her voice was quieter, softer.

“Sleep now, Sahi...” she says my name.

Sleep? But I wasn’t tired. I didn’t feel sleepy. But the more she said it, the more my eyes felt heavy. I blinked again, and the world started to get blurry, like a dream I couldn’t hold on to.

I felt the weight of sleep pulling me, and even though I didn’t want to go, I closed my eyes anyway.

...

...

...

...

When I woke up, Baba was already in the kitchen.

He always hums when he’s cooking—sometimes the tune is made up, sometimes it's the one I hum when I’m helping—but today, he wasn’t humming at all. Just clinking pans, and clanking dishes. And quiet. Really quiet.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up on the bed. The light from the window made little squares on the floor. I stared at them for a bit. Usually, I’d jump right up and go hug Baba from behind while he cooks. But today… I didn’t feel like jumping.

Baba turned around when he saw me. His smile was there. The one with the soft eyes.

“Good morning, Sahi,” he said. He tried to sound happy.

But something was wrong. His smile was a little bit slower than usual. Like it took more work to make.

“Morning, Baba,” I said back. My chest felt kind of tight, like I forgot to breathe when I was sleeping.

He brought me breakfast. He made my favorite—flatbread with jam and the little scrambled eggs with herbs on top. I love those. I really do. But… I didn’t feel so hungry.

He noticed. His eyes always notice everything. But he didn’t say anything. Just gave me a soft pat on the head and sat down across from me.

We didn’t talk much that morning. And not the next one. Or the one after that. Baba kept looking at the window like something was waiting outside, but nothing ever was.

I thought maybe he was just sleepy. But then I started noticing other things, too.

He started holding my hand a little tighter when we walked outside. 

He started checking my temperature a lot. Even when I wasn’t sick. 

He started reading books with a crinkle in his forehead like the words were bothering him.

Sometimes… I’d look up at him, and he’d be staring into nothing. Eyes heavy. Mouth a little frown. Like he was trying not to think about something.

I didn’t like it.

Every time I saw him like that, something inside my chest would pinch. Just a little. Like a tiny string pulling me from the inside. It hurt more when Baba was sad. I think that’s weird. Maybe it’s because I don’t eat my carrots sometimes. That’s probably it. Baba says carrots help you grow strong, and maybe my chest wasn’t strong enough.

But still... it never used to happen before.

Then one day… I was just sitting in the living room. Baba was out speaking with Mister Tighnari. I was coloring a picture of the forest Baba's sketched for me.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

It was the clock on the wall. The one that makes the soft little noises every second. I’ve heard it before. A lot. I never really noticed it. It was just there.

But now… the sound felt loud. Too loud.

I dropped my crayon and looked at it.

Tick.

Tick.

It sounded like footsteps. But not the kind that walks. The kind that chases. The kind that gets closer even when you don’t move.

I just stared at it. And the longer I looked, the louder it felt. Like it wasn’t in the room anymore—it was in me.

Then I remembered.

The clock winds tight.

Baba said that. Or maybe I heard it… that night. At the festival. When he was talking with Mister Tighnari and the others.

I didn’t know what it meant.

But now, with every tick, I felt like something was crawling into my chest again. Not just the pinch. It was like the string inside me was twisting.

I covered my ears. It didn’t help.

I closed my eyes. Still. It didn't help.

The sound stayed. Even when I tried to make it stop.

Why did it hurt?

Why did it feel like something was waking up?

Chapter Text

...

...

...

It started with silence.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that trickled in like something was missing—like a song cut short before the last note.

Kaveh had only stepped out of the room for a moment. Just a glass of water. Just a breath. But when he returned, the glass slipped from his hand before he even noticed his fingers letting go.

“Sahi?”

The child was curled up on the floor. Right beside the carpet. Not crying. Not moving.

“Sahi—!”

He dropped to his knees so fast it scraped the wood, voice rising before he could stop himself.

Kaveh couldn’t even see straight. His hands hovered helplessly, shaking harder now. His lungs refused to work. All he could see was—

Rain. A green-eyed girl. Words like a curse.

The thread wears thin. The clock winds tight.

A gift divine must not be hoarded…

He’d heard them. Over and over. They echoed through the shadows of that dream, following him into the day like a warning. But now, seeing Sahi’s tiny frame shivering in silence—

What if it hadn’t been a dream?

What if it was a countdown?

...

...

...

....

"Kaveh!"

Tighnari's voice cut through the panic like a sharp breeze. He was already kneeling beside Sahi, calm and focused, even as the boy whimpered softly, curled into himself.

“Kaveh—breathe,” Tighnari ordered.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t breathe.

"Look at me," Tighnari said, firmly but not unkind. "You’re panicking, and that’s understandable. But I need you to take a breath. In, then out. Can you do that for me?"

Kaveh didn’t answer right away, but his shoulders shook as he sucked in a shaky breath. Then another. Tighnari, without waiting longer, reached out to check Sahi’s pulse—his gloved fingers gently pressing against the boy’s wrist.

His pulse.

It was fast.

Too fast.

Like he’d just run across the city and was trying to hold the whole sky in his lungs.

Tighnari’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t say it out loud.

"Okay… no visible injury. No fever either. His breathing’s tight, but not shallow. Pulse is rapid. Did anything happen earlier?"

"I—I don’t know," Kaveh stammered, kneeling down at last, brushing Sahi’s hair back from his damp forehead. "He was fine. We ate together, he colored for a bit. Then I was in the kitchen and when I came back out—he was just on the floor like this. Archons, I didn’t—I didn’t see anything—"

"Hey, hey. You're doing what you can. That’s what matters right now."

...

...

...

Tighnari took a deep breath and looked down at the child again, brushing his thumb gently across Sahi’s temple.

"I think it’s best if we take him to my place," he said after a moment. "I have more equipment there. I can monitor him properly, keep him stable. Whatever this is—it’s not something I want to gamble with."

Kaveh looked up, pale and dazed.

"You think he’s…?"

"He’s alive, Kaveh." Tighnari’s voice was steady. Assured. "But something’s putting stress on his body. Maybe mental. Maybe more. You’re not in the right shape to be handling this alone either."

He gave Kaveh a look—gentle but firm. "You need to be there for him, but not like this. Let me take over the medical side for now. You stay with him. That’s your job right now."

Kaveh swallowed hard and nodded.

His hands still shook as he lifted Sahi into his arms.

...

...

...

...

...

Alhaitham sat at his desk, alone in the quiet apartment.

The same one that once felt too crowded with sound, complaints, color. Now it was just still. Even the breeze through the windows didn’t rustle the pages on his shelf anymore.

His coffee had gone cold.

He hadn’t taken a sip—just kept staring at it. The cup sat on the desk like a forgotten thought. Or maybe like a pause in a sentence he didn’t know how to finish.

His fingers tapped once, twice, then stopped. The silence was louder than any noise.

His mind had gone back to the festival again.

The laughter. The lights. The warmth.

Kaveh.

And the child.

And then—that moment.

When they bid their goodbyes.

Kaveh turned, brushing a lock of golden hair behind his ear with a tired but soft smile.

Goodnight, Alhaitham.

Just that. No scolding, no bickering. Just a goodnight.

But it had done something. Something inconvenient.

Alhaitham remembered the exact second his heart had pulsed too fast, then stopped all at once. For the briefest breath, he thought he’d missed something in reality—time stalling.

Yet it didn’t feel bad. Not like how unexpected emotions usually did.

It felt… good.

Full, even. Like something he’d forgotten to miss had quietly returned to its rightful place.

He shouldn't be reading into it. He knew better. And yet…

Everything felt different now.

Ever since that day.

Ever since that child looked at him with those bright crimson eyes and asked him a question like they already knew the answer.

Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, arms folded as he exhaled slowly through his nose. His gaze drifted upward.

Kaveh’s voice echoed in his mind—not from moment he chased and called for Sahi running around, but from that time he fainted.

The thread wears thin…

The clock winds tight…

A gift divine must not be hoarded…

...or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.

He had dismissed it as dream-speak at first. Something born from exhaustion or hallucination. But those lines had lingered.

No.

They haunted him now.

He stood up abruptly, crossing the room to his shelves. His fingers grazed the dusty spines of books untouched since Kaveh left—books they used to argue about, debate over, and sometimes fall asleep beside.

He pulled one, then another. Flipping through pages. Ancient prose, metaphysical treatises, scholarly speculations on divine intervention, elemental phenomena, soul convergence—

Nothing concrete.

A few references to borrowed time, sacred threads, celestial debts—but vague, scattered, like trying to build a picture from shards of broken glass.

He closed the final book with a dull thud.

This wouldn’t be enough.

If answers existed, they'd be in the restricted sections of the Akademiya. Or buried beneath archives only accessible to higher scholars.

Good thing he had the access.

He was the Acting Grand Sage, after all.

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes, the weight of those cryptic words still echoing in his head. He didn’t like chasing unknowns—but this one wasn’t just theory. It was personal.

Whatever this “gift divine” was…

Whoever Sahi truly was…

...

...

...

Just as Alhaitham reached for the door, the Akasha earpiece flickered to life—a sudden buzz breaking the silence of the room.

“Alhaitham.”

He stopped cold. The voice was unmistakable.

“Cyno?”

There was a pause—brief, but sharp, like a knife being drawn.

“I wouldn’t be talking to you like this if it wasn’t serious.” His voice was low. Urgent. “It’s Kaveh. And the child.”

Alhaitham’s fingers curled slightly at his side.

“Sahi?”

“Yes.” A breath, clipped. “The boy collapsed. Tighnari’s doing what he can, but… it’s not just the kid. Kaveh’s barely holding it together.”

...

...

...

Alhaitham’s heart lurched. A beat skipped.

...

...

...

The room suddenly felt smaller. He could feel the tightness return to his chest. His hand trembled—but only slightly.

Cyno’s voice dropped lower, colder.

“If you’re going to keep standing there like stone, fine. But don’t pretend you’re not listening.”

Buzz.  

—

Signal cut.

Chapter Text

The forest air was thick with the scent of moss and faint traces of medicine. Leaves rustled gently underfoot, the distant chirps of duskbirds echoing through the trees—soft, peaceful. But the moment Alhaitham stepped through the canopy-shaded trail and into the clearing, the quiet shattered.

There—beneath the overhang of Tighnari’s modest research outpost—he saw them.

Kaveh sat crouched, knees pressed to the ground as if the earth itself had buckled beneath him. His hands were trembling, one clenched into his coat, the other resting gently atop a small, motionless form.

Sahi.

The child’s face was pale, lips parted, and his breath shallow. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead like dew on wilting petals, and though he was still, his tiny fingers twitched now and then—almost like he was dreaming something he couldn’t wake from.

Alhaitham froze.

And then the sound reached him. Not the chirps or the wind—but Kaveh’s voice.

He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t sobbing. He was whispering—shaking, terrified whispers and words clinging to each breath like they were all he had left.

“Breathe, Sahi... Just a little longer. Please…”

His voice cracked on the last word. And something inside Alhaitham cracked with it.

He moved forward instinctively.

Tighnari stood nearby, bent over with steady hands, examining Sahi’s pulse again. His ears twitched slightly as he noticed Alhaitham’s approach, but he didn’t look up—his attention remained fixed on the child. Still, he spoke low, sharp, and urgent.

“You’re here.”

Alhaitham nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave Kaveh.

“What happened?” he asked, though his voice lacked its usual calm. “Is he—?”

“Not stable,” Tighnari cut in quickly. “Not yet. Pulse is rapid, irregular. He’s not responding to normal stimuli. Whatever this is, it’s not an ordinary fever.”

Alhaitham knelt beside them slowly, hesitating only when he caught the full view of Kaveh’s expression. He looked… hollow. Like the panic had eaten through him entirely and left only nerves and breath and grief.

“Kaveh,” he said, gently.

No response.

Kaveh’s eyes were distant, glazed with panic. He wasn’t even looking at Sahi anymore—he was staring past him. Or through him. At a memory. A nightmare.

Alhaitham reached out, cautiously resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Kaveh,” he repeated, firmer this time. “I’m here.”

And that—finally—broke the trance.

Kaveh blinked hard, like waking from underwater. His head whipped toward him, eyes red and wild.

“You—” His voice cracked again. “Where were you?”

The words weren’t meant to accuse. Not entirely. But they were heavy with something else—fear, helplessness, a deep longing masked in anger.

Before Alhaitham could answer, Kaveh dropped his gaze again and curled slightly inward, his voice barely above a whisper:

“He’s not waking up.”

...

...

...

...

Kaveh was quiet for a long while after Alhaitham spoke. His gaze was fixed on Sahi—small, pale, unmoving. His expression was the kind that made Alhaitham feel… ill-equipped.

He didn’t have the language to fix this. But maybe that wasn’t what Kaveh needed.

Still, Alhaitham tried.

“He’s strong,” he said quietly. “He’ll pull through.”

“You don’t know that,” Kaveh replied without looking at him. His voice was soft but sharp—too sharp. “You’re not a healer.”

“No. I’m not.” Alhaitham’s voice remained level. “But you raised him, didn’t you? You know what he’s like. That stubbornness didn’t just come from nowhere.”

Kaveh let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but not quite. His hand brushed through Sahi’s hair, fingers trembling. “He’s too young to be stubborn. He should’ve had time to grow into that…”

Alhaitham watched the way Kaveh’s shoulders curved inward like a collapsing structure. A moment passed before Kaveh spoke again.

“I’m scared,” he confessed. “I keep remembering that dream—the rain, the whisper, those words. I keep thinking… what if I misunderstood? What if I wasn’t meant to keep him? What if all this time, I was just holding onto something the stars were always meant to take back?”

His voice cracked at the end. He tried to blink away the tears, but they clung.

Alhaitham didn’t move to touch him. He only spoke—gently.

“You didn’t misunderstand.”

Kaveh shook his head. “What if I already lost? What if everything I’ve done wasn’t enough?”

Alhaitham paused. Then, “Then let me carry the weight now.”

That made Kaveh glance at him, warily.

Kaveh turned away quickly, lips pressing together, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Alhaitham looked as if he might say something—but the words never came. He only met Kaveh’s eyes and held them there.

The silence only grew.

...

...

Behind them, Tighnari’s voice rang out. “We’re ready to move. I’ll need help carrying him—gently.

Alhaitham rose and extended a hand down to Kaveh.

This time, he took it.

...

...

...

...

Tighnari had gone quiet inside the tent, his silhouette moving with careful precision—gathering supplies, adjusting Sahi’s bedding, checking pulse after pulse. The soft rustle of leaves overhead felt like whispers now, brushing across a silence that had settled thick between the two men left outside.

Kaveh sat on a low bench, back hunched, palms pressed against his knees to stop the trembling. His hair, usually perfectly brushed, hung in loose waves, undone by panic and the wind. He hadn't said a word since Tighnari left. His eyes—bloodshot and hollow—stared down at the dirt as if the earth might part and offer him the quiet he craved.

Alhaitham didn’t sit at first. He stood nearby with his arms folded, silent, his gaze flickering between the tent flap and Kaveh’s hunched figure. For a long moment, all he did was watch.

Eventually, he moved.

He sat on a flat stone nearby—within reach, but not intruding. Not yet. His voice, when it came, was soft. Uncharacteristically so.

“Tighnari’s doing everything he can.”

Kaveh didn’t answer.

Alhaitham tried again. “Sahi’s strong. You said so yourself.”

Still nothing.

Then—finally—Kaveh breathed, “Why does it feel like I’m going to lose him anyway?”

Alhaitham’s eyes softened. “You’re not.”

Kaveh looked up at him, and there it was—anguish written in every line of his face. “You can’t promise that.”

“No,” Alhaitham admitted, quiet. “I can’t.”

Silence fell again, this time heavier. But not empty.

Kaveh exhaled slowly, his hand gripping his chest as though trying to steady his racing heart. “It keeps haunting me... I can't shake them.”

Kaveh’s voice trembled as he stared into nothing, the words falling from his lips like a curse etched into his soul.

“The thread wears thin… The clock winds tight… A gift divine must not be hoarded…”

He faltered, breath catching in his throat. His next words escaped in a whisper, raw and reverent.

“Or else the stars reclaim what’s borrowed.”

Alhaitham’s gaze dropped, his jaw tight. “I’ve memorized it too. I thought I could logic my way through it, maybe decode it like a text. But…” He trailed off.

“It’s not just a riddle, is it?” Kaveh said. “It’s a warning.”

“Yes,” Alhaitham murmured. “And it terrifies you.”

Kaveh’s lips trembled. He laughed, bitter. “Everything terrifies me right now.”

A pause.

“Even me?” Alhaitham asked quietly.

Kaveh didn’t answer right away. He looked away, eyes distant. “You... remind me of too many things I don’t want to face.”

Alhaitham nodded. “That’s fair.”

There was a beat. Then—

“You disappeared,” he said, softer this time. “After our fight. No letters. No messages. Not even a trace. I didn’t know if you were dead.”

Kaveh’s hand clenched. “I wasn’t dead.”

“You might as well have been,” Alhaitham murmured.

Kaveh flinched.

“I woke up to silence. For two years.”

“I thought I had to leave,” Kaveh said, voice trembling now. “You wouldn’t have stopped me.”

“You didn’t even give me the chance.”

“Liar. You wanted to be right.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond to the barb. He just looked at him. Quiet.

Kaveh stared back—furious, aching, exhausted. And slowly… slowly, the anger faded.

A silence settled. Heavy. Wounded.

“I was too proud to admit how much I needed you back then,” Alhaitham continued. “And too stupid to realize I wasn’t the only one hurting.”

Kaveh’s eyes shimmered.

“I’m still trying to figure it out,” Alhaitham admitted. “What this means. What Sahi is. What we are. But I want to try. Again. Differently this time.”

Kaveh looked down, gripping the edge of the bench tightly.

“I don’t know if I can,” he whispered. “Not right now. I feel like if I open up again, even just a little… I’ll fall apart.”

Alhaitham stood, slowly walked over.

...

...

...

...

He crouched beside him.

“Then fall.”

He said not as a command, but an invitation.

Kaveh stared at him, stunned. And for a moment, his lip trembled again—like he might cry—but he bit it back.

The tent behind them rustled.

The moment ended—but it didn’t disappear.

It lingered.

And maybe, for the first time in a long while, it held hope?

...

...

...

The hours passed slow, like syrup in cold weather. Inside the tent, the world seemed wrapped in gauze—muted voices, hushed footsteps, the soft hum of Sumeru’s forest dusk settling in.

Tighnari worked in near silence, the occasional scribble of notes or gentle click of tools the only proof of time moving. Kaveh stayed at Sahi’s side, brushing hair from his forehead with unsteady fingers, while Alhaitham lingered nearby, reading vitals, scanning pages from Tighnari’s books, and trying to understand. Anything. Everything.

Sahi hadn’t stirred much. His fever spiked and dipped unpredictably. His pulse—still quick, still too fast for someone not moving—worried them all.

Tighnari had never seen symptoms like this. “It’s not a virus. Nor a parasite. He’s not physically poisoned either. But something’s overwhelming his body. It’s as if… it’s responding to something greater. Something else.” He frowned, tail flicking in unease. “I need more time. And more context.”

Alhaitham nodded and stepped aside, letting Kaveh settle in again. It had been hours since either of them truly rested, but neither of them suggested leaving. Instead, they simply… alternated. Like clockwork. Unspoken.

At one point, Collei slipped in with a tray of warm food—soup, flatbread, herbal tea—and a quiet smile. “I made enough for both of you… and Tighnari,” she said gently.

Kaveh offered a grateful look. Alhaitham muttered his thanks.

Later, when Kaveh finally leaned back and let Alhaitham sit by the cot again, the two found themselves just… watching Sahi together.

Alhaitham held a cool cloth to the boy’s forehead, murmuring something softly—something Kaveh couldn’t hear.

He glanced over. “What did you say to him?”

Alhaitham didn’t lift his eyes. “Just telling him that we’re here.”

Silence lingered—a breath suspended between them.

Kaveh watched him, the ache in his chest stirring. The words were simple, but something in them echoed too deeply. He couldn’t tell if it was comfort, or the beginning of something unraveling.

 .  .  .

.  .  .

Later, as the night deepened, Kaveh found himself watching Alhaitham again—how carefully he adjusted Sahi’s blanket, how focused he looked reading through Tighnari’s scrawled notes. The years hadn’t changed that part of him. Always sharp. Always trying to understand things no one else could.

“You haven’t changed as much as I thought,” Kaveh said suddenly.

Alhaitham glanced up. “Is that… good or bad?”

Kaveh tilted his head, eyes a little too tired to be playful. “I don’t know yet.”

Alhaitham nodded. That was fair.

And though the space between them wasn’t healed—not yet, not completely—something had begun to stitch.

As the quiet stretched on, Kaveh clutched the warmth in his arms, the weight of fear still pressing on his chest—but beneath it, their hearts beat in tandem, tethered by something he no longer dared to name.

Chapter Text

.

.

.

The days passed slowly, and though there was a visible shift in the air—Sahi’s pulse was normalizing, and his breathing was less strained—his eyes still remained closed. Kaveh and Alhaitham continued to monitor the child together, both of them settling into the grim routine of waiting, hoping for something more, but nothing came.

Kaveh’s emotions remained a maelstrom—he had barely slept, barely eaten. There were quiet moments of peace when they watched Sahi side by side, and during these moments, Alhaitham would catch a glimpse of Kaveh’s usual sharpness, the fleeting sense of composure, but it was always quickly followed by the deep fatigue that weighed on his shoulders.

Tighnari had received a case of liquor from a patient as a thank you for his care. It wasn’t rare—he had patients from all walks of life—but tonight, it seemed to hold some form of promise to Kaveh. He’d been so tightly wound for so long. The idea of a brief release from the weight of the world, of forgetting just for a moment, pulled him like gravity.

Alhaitham was working nearby, his eyes briefly meeting Kaveh’s, silently observing as Kaveh poured himself a glass. A long sigh escaped Kaveh’s lips, as if even the simple act of pouring liquor was an act of desperation.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a drink,” Kaveh murmured, his voice a rasp. He turned the bottle in his hands as though it was something sacred, something to hold on to.

Alhaitham approached slowly, cautious but firm. “You’ve had a lot on your mind lately. Maybe now isn’t the best time to start drinking again.”

Alhaitham stepped forward, eyes drawn to the bottle clutched in Kaveh’s hand. The sight brought back memories of another night; an inebriated Kaveh, his blonde hair tousled, unleashing a volley of sharp, hurtful words he barely remembered until they were spoken.

Kaveh didn’t look up at him as he poured, as if the words didn’t register. “Give me a break. I need it.” He let the alcohol flow into the glass, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. 

"I suggest you shift back into this old habit of yours once things get better.” Alhaitham said, voice measured as he tried to steady Kaveh before the alcohol dragged him under.

“How long are we supposed to wait for things to get better then? When he wakes up?” Kaveh’s voice cracked on the last word, his hands shaking slightly as he brought the glass to his lips.

“I’m not asking you to wait forever,” Alhaitham replied softly, but Kaveh had already taken another drink, swallowing down the bitterness.

"Then what do you want me to do?”

 “Let yourself breathe,” Alhaitham suggested, a quiet plea in his tone.

Kaveh’s gaze flicked up, dark and intense, his eyes burning with an unfamiliar bitterness. “Let myself breathe?” His lips curled into a dry chuckle, but it was hollow, bitter. “That’s funny. You want me to breathe when I can barely think straight?”

He swallowed down more of the alcohol, the burn of it doing little to numb the storm in his chest. “Maybe I don’t even want this life anymore,” he muttered, voice shaking as the liquor clouded his thoughts. “All I ever do is mess things up…”

“You know that’s not true,” Alhaitham said, his voice gentle but firm, an anchor amid the chaos of Kaveh’s unraveling.

...

...

...

...

Kaveh leaned his back against the tent pole, a half-empty cup loosely gripped in his hand. The alcohol warmed his throat but didn’t soothe the ache. The buzz muddled his mind just enough for the whispers to creep in. Just enough for the bitterness to resurface.

Kaveh leaned heavily against the tent pole, the half-empty cup clutched loosely in his hand. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it didn’t ease the ache gnawing at his chest. It didn’t drown out the heaviness of his thoughts. The buzz was just enough to make everything feel distant, to soften the edges of his pain, but not enough to erase it. The familiar whispers of regret and guilt crept back in, clawing at him from the corners of his mind.

The silence between them was rare, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just the two of them, alone with their memories, a fragile peace hanging in the air. But Alhaitham, always so precise, so composed, broke that silence with a few quiet words that struck Kaveh more than he could have prepared for.

“I’ve been thinking,” Alhaitham murmured, his gaze lost somewhere in the shadows of the forest canopy above. “About us. About the way we used to argue. About the things we never said...”

Kaveh’s heart skipped a beat, his grip tightening on the cup, fingers trembling with an emotion he couldn't name. No, he thought, his chest tightening. Not this. Not now. He couldn't afford to open that door again. But the words were already out, and Alhaitham, as always, didn’t seem to notice the storm his words had stirred in Kaveh’s chest.

“I don’t want to repeat those mistakes,” Alhaitham continued. “Not again. Not when Sahi is involved. Not when we—when I still believe there’s something worth salvaging.”

Kaveh let out a breathless laugh. “That’s rich. You finally want to talk now?”

Alhaitham’s gaze dropped to him. “Kaveh—”

Kaveh swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat refused to budge. “And what do you expect me to do with that?” he muttered, his voice rough, but desperate to hold on to the little control he had left.

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened, tension flickering beneath the surface of his voice. “And what would you have preferred? That I chase after you? Tear down every wall you built just so I could bleed trying to reach you?”

“I wanted you to care!” Kaveh’s voice rose with a sudden, sharp force as he slammed the cup down, liquid sloshing over the edge. “I wanted to matter. I wanted to feel like I wasn’t the only one trying—like I wasn’t screaming into a void every damn day just to keep us from falling apart!”

“I did care,” Alhaitham said, quieter now. “And I still do.”

Kaveh laughed—bitter, breathless. “Well, you’ve got a strange way of showing it,” he spat. “Stone-faced. Emotionless. Always the logic, always the calculation—but never the heart... And when I finally cracked, when I couldn’t hold it together anymore…” His voice broke. “You let me fall.”

“I just thought I was worth it to you.” He added.

A silence. Heavy and lingering.

The kind that settles between two people when everything has already been said—and none of it was enough.

Alhaitham didn’t move. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You were. You are.”

But it came too late.

The alcohol churned in Kaveh’s gut, mixing with the bitterness in his chest. And beneath it—threaded through the fuzz of his thoughts—the voices returned. 

The thread wears thin…

Kaveh staggered to his feet, unsteady. “Don’t feed me those words now.”

The clock winds tight…

“Don’t say them like they mean something—” His voice cracked, his eyes gleaming with more than just frustration. “—when they never did.”

He turned away, his shoulders trembling. Be it from rage or heartbreak. Or maybe even both.

Alhaitham rose, too, voice firmer now. “I am trying, Kaveh. You keep asking me why I didn’t fight for you—but the truth is, you never gave me a way in. You left, and you made sure I couldn’t follow. You disappeared and didn't even bother looking back!”

Kaveh’s laugh was hollow, bitter. “Because you made me feel like I didn’t belong!” His hands clenched at his sides, trembling. “You stood there, unreadable, untouchable—like I was just noise you could mute with those damned ear-pieces!”

Alhaitham faltered. “You…” he trails off, running out of words. “You're the only one thinking that...”

“Then why did you let me believe it?!”

His voice cracked under the weight of it—anger, hurt, years of silence compressed into a single scream.

Alhaitham took an instinctive step back. He wasn’t afraid. Just shaken. Rattled by the sheer anguish in Kaveh’s voice, as if he was watching something beautiful fall apart all over again.

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted, voice low. “How to hold you without breaking something else.”

Kaveh let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You didn’t hold anything, Alhaitham. You let go.”

The words landed like a blow.

Suddenly—

Kaveh winced.

That voice again.

A gift divine must not be hoarded…

Kaveh clutched his head, the pain sharp and sudden, staggering backward as the whisper coiled through his thoughts like smoke.

“Kaveh?” Alhaitham’s voice pitched forward, panicked. “Kaveh, what is it? You’re not—”

“Don’t.” Kaveh snapped, raising a shaking hand to stop him. His chest heaved, breath ragged. His eyes gleamed too bright in the dim light—drunken, furious, and heartbreakingly raw.

“I don’t want to hear it. Not now. Not again.”

The tent pressed in around them, the silence between them stretched taut like an old wound reopening.

The liquor twisted inside him, emboldening him, pushing past the restraint he usually clung to. He took another step forward, unsteady but ignited.

“You say you want to fix this,” he breathed, voice cracking under the weight of something unspeakable, “but this isn’t about us anymore.”

He pressed a palm against his chest like he was holding himself together.

“It’s about him. And I’m not going to lose him because of this. Because of you of all things...”

Alhaitham couldn’t help the sharp sting those words left behind—like a blade driven straight through his chest, clean and cruel. It burned, relentless. It hurt like hell. And for once, he was at a loss—no words, no gestures. He just didn't know what to say. Or what to do.

.

.

.

.

.

Then—

A sharp shout tore through the tension like a blade.

“Tighnari!”

It was Collei. Her voice rang out from the other tent, high with panic, and it cut straight through Kaveh’s haze.

Alhaitham’s head jerked toward the sound.

Then another cry—more desperate this time:

“He’s not responding—he’s seizing!”

Kaveh froze.

Then everything just stopped.

He ran.

As fast as he could.

They both did.

When they reached the tent, the air was thick with urgency.

The alcohol in his veins might as well have turned to ice. Although he’d gulped down more than just a couple drinks, seeing Sahi in that state—thrashing, helpless—was more than enough for the drunken buzz to shatter and drain out of him completely.

...

...

...

Sahi’s small body convulsed violently on the makeshift cot, limbs twitching as though caught in a cruel storm. Tighnari was already beside him, hands firm and practiced, but the tautness in his jaw betrayed his unease.

“Get me cold water—now!” Tighnari barked.

Collei bolted without hesitation.

“His pulse is all over the place. It’s like his body is… shutting down,” Tighnari said through gritted teeth.

Alhaitham dropped to his knees on the other side of the boy, reaching instinctively to stabilize his small frame.

Kaveh stood frozen in the entrance, heart hammering against his ribs as the floor seemed to fall out from beneath him. The boy’s crimson eyes were wide—glassy and unfocused—his lips parted in silent, painful gasps.

...

...

...

“Sahi—” Kaveh choked, staggering forward. “No, no, no, please—”

His knees hit the ground beside the cot. He reached out, helplessly, fingers trembling as he hovered over the child who had become his world.

“Sahi, baba’s here,” he whispered, voice splintering. “Please, come back. Please...”

“Sahi…

My baby…”

There was no answer.

Just another harsh convulsion that wracked the boy’s fragile frame, as if the world itself was shaking him apart.

Kaveh dropped to his knees beside the cot, the impact sending a jolt up his spine—but he didn’t feel it. All he could see was Sahi’s tiny, trembling form, limbs seizing like a marionette tangled in invisible strings.

His hands hovered uselessly over the boy, not knowing where to touch, how to help. Trembling like a leaf caught in a merciless storm.

The world blurred at the edges. All the anger, the liquor, the sorrow—gone in an instant, burnt away by raw, undiluted fear.

“Sahi…” he choked, reaching out at last, brushing damp hair from the boy’s forehead. “Please… please breathe. Just breathe.”

Kaveh dropped to his knees beside Sahi’s cot, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. The world had narrowed down to the boy’s twisting body—his breaths too fast, too shallow, like they couldn’t fill his lungs fast enough.

“Sahi—” Kaveh choked, his voice cracking against the rising tide of panic. “Please...”

He sobbed. 

His hands hovered helplessly, shaking so hard he couldn’t even touch the child without fear of making it worse. His sobs came unrestrained, curling from deep in his chest, spilling like he’d ripped open at the seams.

Then a voice.

Alhaitham was by his side before he could think twice. He hesitated for a heartbeat—then reached out, brushing pale, sweat-streaked hair away from Kaveh’s face, his fingers trailing to his shoulder in a trembling, barely-there touch.

“Kaveh.”

Not a command. Not a reprimand. Just a name. Spoken like a lifeline.

Alhaitham’s voice, quieter than the storm, but clearer than any noise in the tent.

Kaveh's hands hovered helplessly, shaking so violently he couldn’t even bring himself to touch the child—afraid that even the slightest graze might shatter what little remained.

His sobs broke free in ugly, gasping waves. Not the kind that could be stifled or swallowed down—but the kind that erupted from somewhere deeper, somewhere ancient and wounded and tired. The kind that made his body tremble and curl inward like he was folding under the weight of all the things he couldn’t protect.

But Kaveh didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His breaths were jagged, tangled in the knots of panic. His breaths were erratic, his fingers clenched into his own hair. His entire frame had gone rigid with dread, like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. 

His fingers were knotted tight in his hair, as if holding on to something—anything—could stop the world from slipping out from under him again.

His entire frame was locked in place, every muscle taut like his body was bracing for a blow. His heart thundered against his ribs like a caged thing, desperate and wild.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to Sahi. Not to the only light he had left.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that he’d been drinking. Didn’t matter how broken he felt.

All that mattered was the boy convulsing on that cot—and the terrifying possibility that he might not wake up again.

Kaveh’s eyes slowly lifted to meet his, shimmering with panic and grief—and something else buried deeper, flickering like a dying flame. Shame. Guilt. Exhaustion carved into the shadows beneath his eyes, a hollow ache that had nowhere left to hide.

And then—like a match dropped in water—all the tension in him unraveled.

He didn’t collapse. He didn’t cry harder. He just… let go.

The tightness in his chest didn’t disappear entirely, but it loosened—like a fist finally unclenching. His shoulders sagged. His breath hitched, faltered, then found its way back to him, one shaky inhale at a time.

His hand, once frozen in fear, finally moved.

It hovered—hesitated—and then gently settled against Sahi’s small arm. Just a touch. Barely there. But it was enough.

And at that moment—

Sahi stilled.

The convulsions stopped, leaving behind a deafening silence. No more spasms. Just the slight rise and fall of Sahi’s chest.

Tighnari exhaled sharply, his hands never leaving the boy’s pulse point. Alhaitham didn’t speak, but he was there—anchoring them both with his quiet presence, his steady gaze.

Kaveh let out a sound. Not quite a sob. Not quite a breath. Just something broken and relieved and raw.

The trembling in Kaveh’s body slowly ebbed away, though his hands still shook as if the tremors were a part of him now—woven into the fabric of his soul. His lashes fluttered faintly, the rapid, shallow breaths calming into something softer, more stable. Like a fever finally breaking.

Tighnari’s eyes darted to the monitors, his face creased with concentration. He didn’t even look at Kaveh when he spoke. “Heart rate’s dropping… It’s stabilizing.”

Kaveh blinked, as if trying to process the words, to make sense of them. "What…?"

“This doesn't make sense... It’s suddenly easing up,” Tighnari’s voice was firmer now, the relief leaking through despite his usual composure. "He’s—he’s coming back from whatever that was.”

Kaveh didn’t respond. His fingers brushed Sahi’s arm, still trembling, and the relief that flooded through him was overwhelming, almost too much to bear. His tears fell without sound now—quiet, uncontrollable, but not filled with the same desperation.

Alhaitham’s hand, steady and warm, settled gently on Kaveh’s back, grounding him in the chaos. Kaveh didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to. His eyes remained on Sahi, who was still breathing—slowly, carefully—alive.

And for the first time in what felt like forever,

Kaveh let himself breathe.

And all of that happened.

While Alhaitham stayed close within his reach. 

No explanations. No logic. Just presence.

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And in that fragile stillness, Kaveh knew they had reached the tipping point, where everything could either break or begin to heal.

Chapter Text

The air in the forest had stilled. The chaos from earlier had left a faint residue—like ash that refused to settle. And now, only the rhythmic chirping of insects and the low rustling of leaves accompanied the soft, labored breathing inside the clinic.

Kaveh sat curled beside Sahi's resting form, their hands gently intertwined. His blonde hair was tangled, his skin pale under the dim lamplight. Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, but something in his expression had softened. His features, once taut with panic and fury, now bore a fragile kind of peace. As if, for once, in this dizzyingly uncertain world, he had something. Someone.

Someone he can hold onto.

Across the room, Alhaitham sat quietly. No crossed arms, no furrowed brow. Just stillness. He’d said nothing in hours, not since the worst of Sahi’s episode had passed. But his gaze never strayed too far from the boy—or from Kaveh.

"Why does it feel like he's holding us together," Kaveh murmured, voice hoarse, "when we’re barely holding ourselves?"

Alhaitham didn’t answer. But in that silence, something shifted. Not drastically. Not loudly. But something. A breath released. A wall lowered. A memory, half-forgotten, rising gently to the surface.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t healing. It was just… proximity. The gravitational pull of something neither of them had the words for yet.

When the night grew heavy and both Kaveh and Sahi had drifted into sleep, Alhaitham slipped out into the stillness of the city. He wandered the labyrinthine paths of the Akademiya, as if something unseen tugged him forward. Perhaps it was the logical urge to find patterns in the chaos. Or perhaps… it was something else entirely?

The restricted archives were mostly deserted at this hour, lit only by the cold shimmer of static wards and the occasional glow of enchanted lanterns. He walked past rows of untouched tomes and aging scrolls, eyes scanning spines and titles like a man searching for a pulse.

He had already combed through his personal collection. Reread old theories. Dissected ancient texts he’d dismissed years ago. None of it explained what Sahi was. Or what Kaveh had cradled so protectively in his arms.

Which led him here.

A corner of the Akademiya few dared to trespass, especially in the sleeping hours, when even knowledge seemed to rest.

And then—there it was.

A book. Misfiled. Hidden behind a warped atlas and a mold-eaten thesis on leyline behavior. Its spine was worn nearly smooth, the gold lettering flaked to illegibility. But Alhaitham recognized the script: Old Sumeru—predating even the current formatting of the Akademiya’s archives.

He reached out. His fingers brushed the cover—and something in the wards above flickered.

The title, once unearthed beneath the crust of age and dust, translated from Old Sumeru as:

“The Breath Between Worlds”

The name alone made his stomach tighten.

He opened it. Slowly.

The first pages were fragmented. There were ritual fragments, death chants, and hymns written in loops like spirals. Then came the myth. Half-story, half-scripture, penned in a cadence that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the ink:

. . .

When sky kissed sea and time first bent its knee to eternity, there were two souls who defied the gods. Not through rebellion, but through union—so complete, so resounding, that it echoed across realms.

Before the Seven. Before the skies bore names. Before time wore its face of law—there was a moment.

A ripple.

A tremor beneath the fabric of the world, where two echoes met.

Not born of stars, nor forged in womb or forge. But pulled forth—willed into being—by a bond so entangled it defied division.

One carried the sun in his sorrow. The other, silence sharpened by thought. They knew not what they were, only that they were no longer alone.

And the world… watched.

Watched as this bond echoed across lifetimes. Reborn. Undone. Rewritten. Each time louder. Closer. Until the weave of fate could no longer hold the tension.

So it split.

And from that split, a breath escaped. Not a cry, not a scream, but something older. A becoming.

It had no name, for none could name what should not be. A being made not of flesh, nor god’s command, but of will.

Will and want and a thousand unspoken words.

It walked in the world as a child. And the world, in its terror and reverence, called it: the Echo Born.

. . .

Alhaitham stopped breathing.

The ink changed tone near the bottom of the page—darker, as if freshly scrawled. Or resisting decay.

. . .

But beware…

Fo r shou ld e ch oes do no t linger wit hou t cost. The worl d wil l see k to bal anc e w hat sh ould not exis t. A gift b orrow ed.. .  must on e d ay be returned.

. . .

The rest of the page had been scorched. Not torn. Burned—deliberately. As if someone had tried to erase the ending.

The lantern sputtered. The words seemed to shimmer.

And Alhaitham, who never feared myth or god or fate, felt something tighten around his chest.

It wasn’t an answer.

It was a warning? Like he suspected. 

A similar vibe from those lines Kaveh heard over and over.

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By the time he returned to the forest clearing, dawn had begun to breathe color into the sky. The world felt quieter. Like it, too, was waiting.

Inside the clinic, the scent of crushed herbs lingered. Tighnari sat at his desk, scribbling barely legible notes with one hand and nursing a cup of cold tea with the other. His ears twitched before he even looked up.

“You’re back early,” he said flatly. “Or late. Honestly, time’s a mess.”

Alhaitham stepped inside without a word. His eyes looked… older.

He placed the book—The Breath Between Worlds—on the table with deliberate care.

Not as an offering. As a warning.

Tighnari raised a brow. “You brought me cursed homework?”

"Insight,” Alhaitham corrected, voice quieter than usual. “Or a trace of it.”

Tighnari blinked at the book, then at Alhaitham. His instincts flared—the same ones that made him back away from unstable aether reactions and ancient ruin guards. Hesitantly, he flipped it open. His fingers paused on the first page of the myth. As he read, his expression shifted. Not confusion, but recognition.

“I’ve seen these symbols before,” he murmured. “Scrawled into the roots of a petrified tree near Mt. Devantaka. Faded, but… this exact pattern. I thought it was pre-Celestial nonsense.”

“It might be,” Alhaitham said. “Or it might be older.”

Tighnari turned the page—and stopped.

His pupils narrowed.

“You read this?” he asked, voice lower now. Not skeptical. Worry was evident on his face.

“Yes.”

“And you’re still sane?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. Not directly.

Tighnari exhaled, then flipped to the final pages, fingers trembling just slightly.

“So you think Sahi is one of these? A child born from… will? Bond? That he was never… meant to be?” The last words were spoken carefully, like he feared they’d fracture something.

“I don’t think,” Alhaitham said. “I feel. And I hate that I do.”

They both stared at the book for a moment too long. Even closed, it seemed to hum.

“And the part about the price?” Tighnari asked. “About the echo fading?”

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened. “I think that’s what Kaveh felt. When Sahi collapsed. I think the world is already trying to take him back.”

A long silence fell between them.

Then Tighnari said softly, “You need to tell him.”

Alhaitham shook his head. “Not yet. He’s barely holding on. If I tell him Sahi might vanish—not from illness, not from curse, but because the universe is taking him back—it might break him.”

Tighnari’s eyes narrowed. “And you?”

Only silence responsed.

Alhaitham stood alone in the forest.

The early light casting long, trembling shadows over the dew-laced grass. The ancient book rested in his arms, pressed tightly to his chest. The pages within had offered no concrete answer—only hints, theories, and riddles etched in the dust of a world that barely remembered its own miracles.

But one thing had become clear: the bond that created Sahi would not sustain him forever. The divine echo had been granted form, but now the world wanted its balance restored. Something would be taken. Something precious.

Unless… something else was offered.

Tighnari had warned him. “This isn’t like your usual research. You’re not trading theories. You’re bartering with forces that predate logic.”

“I’m aware,” Alhaitham replied flatly.

And he was. Because somewhere, in the deepest crevices of thought, he had made a decision he hadn’t dared say aloud:

If fate demanded one soul for another, he would offer his own.

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just a choice—a simple variable adjustment in the equation of consequences. 

Only Tighnari knew. Cyno and Collei might suspect—but they didn’t mention it.

For now, Sahi was stable. Not healed, not fading. Suspended. And that was enough… for now.

But every ritual he attempted alone, every arcane line of glyphs he memorized, every ounce of life energy he slowly, subtly displaced toward Sahi—it chipped at him. Not visibly. Not yet.

Days onwards, Alhaitham simply… spoke less.

Slept less.

Lingered longer by the boy’s side like a shadow refusing to leave.

The days blurred together, warm light spilling through clinic windows and fading just as quickly into cold, uncertain nights…

Sahi's breathing remained even, his little body curled peacefully beneath layers of soft blankets. Tighnari claimed this was a good sign.

So why did it feel like something was wrong?

Kaveh stood by the edge of the room, his arms crossed, watching the slow rise and fall of Sahi’s chest. His heart should’ve been lighter. But the unease didn’t leave. Not even when he turned and saw Alhaitham quietly entering—again, late, again, silent.

“You’re late,” Kaveh said, not unkindly. Just… noticing.

Alhaitham didn’t meet his eyes. “Was reading.”

“Reading,” Kaveh echoed. “Must be a hell of a book to keep you out ‘til dawn two nights in a row.”

No response. Just the soft click of Alhaitham pulling a chair closer to Sahi’s bedside, sitting with that same measured calm that had once annoyed Kaveh to no end.

But now… it felt different.

Wrong.

He was quieter. He moved like someone navigating around invisible strings. And when Kaveh caught his gaze, there was something there—buried beneath the usual impassivity. A flicker. Guilt? No… resignation.

Kaveh swallowed. “Are you… alright?”

“I’m fine.”

He’d said that before. So many times. It used to sound like indifference. Now, it sounded like deflection.

Kaveh turned away, fisting his hands. “You don’t have to lie. Not to me. Not after everything.”

Still, Alhaitham said nothing. The silence stretched, too long, too loud. Kaveh almost stormed out. Almost.

But then—

A shift. Barely audible.

The scrape of fabric as Alhaitham stood. Kaveh could hear his footsteps move behind him, but they stopped halfway. He didn’t leave. He didn’t speak. Just stood there, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to shape it.

Kaveh turned slightly, just enough to glimpse Alhaitham’s shadow cast across the floor, elongated by the dim lamplight.

“You don’t get to do this,” Kaveh said softly. “Not again. You don’t get to pull away and pretend it’s for my sake. Or Sahi’s. If something’s wrong—if you’re not alright—I need to know.”

Still nothing.

Kaveh’s voice cracked. “I deserve to know.”

A pause.

Then, Alhaitham spoke—barely above a whisper.

“You’re right.”

Kaveh’s breath hitched. That wasn’t a deflection. That wasn’t indifference.

But it wasn’t an answer either.

He turned fully now, staring at him. “Then tell me.”

Alhaitham’s eyes lifted, and Kaveh caught it again—that flicker of something burning under the surface. Not cold. Not cruel.

Fear.

Not for himself. No, that wasn’t how Alhaitham worked. This was fear born of inevitability. Of consequence.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, Alhaitham stepped forward and gently reached for Sahi’s hand, careful not to wake him. His thumb brushed over the boy’s knuckles, lingering for a beat too long. His expression didn’t change, but his silence did.

It became a farewell.

And Kaveh knew, in that moment, something was happening. Something irreversible.

Something planned.

His throat tightened. “Just what are you doing, Alhaitham?”

Still no reply.

But this time, it was the kind of silence that screamed.

Chapter Text

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It was quiet at first.

The warm place I go when I close my eyes felt different this time. Not bad, just strange. Like the sun was watching me sleep.

The feeling it gave me was weird. 

Like when Baba tried to cook once and said it was soup, but it tasted like soap.

Bleh. My tongue still remembers.

I think Baba was too tired that time.

——

There’s a big tree here. 

Not real, but I see it every time I end up here. 

Its branches move like they’re breathing.

I sit under it. I always do.

That’s the rule, even if I never remember making one.

And then—the sky changed.

It always starts the same way.

The quiet turning into something else.

The wind picking up like it's running from something?

The thunder came.

It's a little scary.

I miss my baba.

He'd probably hold my hand.

And say everything will be fine.

The sky looked like it cracked in half.

...And I heard them. These voices...

I didn’t know I could hear real things in here, but I heard them.

Loud. Clearer than usual. My baba's voice?

He was yelling.

I never heard him yell like that before. Not when I’m awake, not even in dreams.

I saw him and Alhaitham argue once, I think? But it wasn’t like this.

This one was loud. Sharp.

Like when something breaks and you try to fix it but the pieces don’t fit right anymore. 

It made my tummy feel twisty. 

Like I did something wrong, even if I didn’t.

I wanted to cover my ears. 

I wanted Baba to stop sounding like that.

“You made me feel like I didn't belong!”

I heard him say. Then another voice that was too calm followed. Like ice that hasn’t cracked yet.

“I did care. And I still do.”

That man. Alhaitham, was it?

The guy who looks a little like me. 

Well—actually, not little. 

He sounded so far away.

Not like his voice wasn’t working, but like he was standing in the middle of a storm, trying not to drown.

I curled tighter under the tree. 

My chest hurt. Not like sickness. It was deeper. 

Like something inside me was twisting, pulling, burning.

It hurts.

And I didn't like it.

I couldn’t breathe.

The rain poured harder.

It was like the whole sky was crying. 

And it reminded me of Baba. 

I don't know why. 

I wanted to cover my ears. But there was nothing to cover.

I didn’t have ears here. Or arms. Just thoughts?

Yeah. Thoughts and pain.

They kept fighting. 

I couldn’t hear every word, but the feelings—their feelings—slammed into me like waves.

I couldn't dodge them.

I wanted it to stop.

I wanted to scream.

But then, the tree shivered. 

The dream shook and everything turned red at the edges.

Something was wrong.

My body was waking up, but not in the right way? 

Again. I don't know.

What is happening?

What's wrong?

Is it me?

Is there something wrong with me?

Everything outside was pulling me out too fast.

I'm cold.

I think the rain has become lightning. 

Seeing it made my whole body lock up.

Baba—

I tried to call out to him. 

Not with words. Just with everything I had left.

Then, the world snapped.

And I fell out of the sky.

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The fall didn’t end.

I kept tumbling, even though there was no ground.

No sky.

No anything. 

Just pain.

Pain like my whole chest was caving in, like something inside me was being pulled apart.

I think I screamed. 

I tried to. 

But there was no sound here.

Then—

I heard it.

Not thunder. Not yelling.

“Sahi—Baba's here... Please come back, please...”

He sounded so sad.

Why is Baba sad?

I'm confused.

His voice.

Did it shatter the dream?

The tree has disappeared. 

And so did the sky. 

Everything was slipping away, but Baba's voice stayed.

He sounded so scared.

More scared than I’ve ever heard him.

I wanted to hold his hand and tell him that it's okay.

Like what he does to me whenever i'm upset or afraid.

Baba.

I'm right here. I can hear you. 

But I can't see you. Or feel you.

Baba, I miss you.

I don't like it here.

I wanted to open my eyes. I needed to. 

But I couldn’t move. My body wouldn’t listen. 

I was still stuck.

Then another voice came in.

It was deeper. Stronger. 

The one that was always calm—but now, it wasn’t. 

He called for my Baba's name.

“Kaveh...”

I know that voice.

That voice that usually sounds like stone. 

But now… it cracked.

It's like the warmth came back?

Not from the dream. But from somewhere else?

Like someone was holding my hand. 

Like someone refused to let go.

The rain softened. The thunder stopped.

And so did the pain lurking in my chest.

I could breathe again.

But… I was still here.

Still stuck.

I just want to find that little girl again... 

The one with light hair and green eyes.

I have so many questions for her.

If I could eat here.