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1
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Kaveh was mid-rant about the Akademiya’s latest architectural atrocity—some bureaucrat’s idea of “efficiency” that looked more like a glorified storage shed—when Alhaitham, eyes still on his book, murmured:
"A crime against aesthetics."
Kaveh’s tirade stuttered. He had just said that. Word for word.
"What?"
Alhaitham turned a page. "You said it."
Kaveh’s fingers twitched. Was he mocking me? But Alhaitham’s face was infuriatingly neutral, as if he’d merely noted the time.
"Obviously," Kaveh snapped. "Don’t parrot me like some—some trained bird."
Alhaitham’s fingers flexed against the book’s edge, just once, but Kaveh was already storming off, the echo prickling under his skin like a burr.
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2
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The cabinet jammed again. Kaveh yanked it open. Slammed it shut. It bounced back with a smug little click.
"Held together by spite and mold," he muttered.
Ten minutes later, Alhaitham folded a shirt in the living room and echoed, "Spite and mold."
Kaveh stilled mid-wipe. The dishcloth dripped onto the floor.
"Are you mocking me?"
Alhaitham didn’t look up. "No."
"Then why say it?"
"You did."
Kaveh’s jaw clenched. Liar. There was no reason for it. Unless Alhaitham was cataloguing his words, filing them away for future ammunition. He could see it now: Alhaitham, smug and composed, waiting to fling Kaveh’s own frustrations back at him.
Of course. Just another mind game.
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3
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His client wanted marble. For a budget build.
"Philistines," he spat into his tea.
That evening, Alhaitham stirred jaggery into his cup and murmured, "Philistines."
Kaveh slammed his hands on the table. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"You know what."
For a moment, Alhaitham didn’t speak. Then, lips parted slightly, as if tasting the word again.
Kaveh’s stomach twisted. He’s savoring it. Tasting victory.
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4
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Passing the study, Kaveh heard his own voice—or something that sounded like it:
"You dream in stone and scream in silence."
He froze. That line. From a sketchbook he’d tossed months ago.
The next morning, Alhaitham examined a cracked teacup and murmured, "Red is the color of overcommitment."
Kaveh stopped cold.
That wasn’t public. That wasn’t meant to be heard.
He’s stealing my voice, Kaveh thought, wild. He’s trying to wear me like a skin.
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5
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Kaveh shoved past him in the hallway. "You’re impossible."
Behind him, soft as a reflex: "You’re impossible."
Kaveh whirled. "That’s my line!"
Silence.
He jabbed a finger at Alhaitham. "Say it again. You’re impossible!"
And then—
Alhaitham laughed.
Not a scoff. Not a taunt. A startled, breathy sound, like it escaped without permission. His shoulders curled in, just for a second, before he schooled his face blank.
But Kaveh saw.
The way his eyes crinkled. The way his fingers flew to his mouth—too late.
No mockery. No calculation. Just—
Joy.
Kaveh’s chest cracked open.
Alhaitham straightened, already dismissive. "Don’t be dramatic."
But Kaveh’s theories lay in ruins between them.
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+1
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That night, Kaveh heard it again through the study door—Alhaitham’s voice, barely audible, repeating those same damned words:
"You're impossible."
Kaveh stopped dead in the hallway. His first instinct was to barge in and demand an explanation. Why do you keep saying that? Why my words? What game are you playing? But something—some strange, unfamiliar hesitation—rooted him in place.
He exhaled sharply through his nose. Fine. Let Alhaitham mutter to himself like a weirdo. It didn’t matter.
Except—
Kaveh lingered. The way Alhaitham had said it just now… it didn’t sound like mockery. It didn’t even sound like a quote. It was quieter. Softer. Almost like—
No. That was ridiculous.
The usual irritation didn’t come. Kaveh rolled his eyes—and walked away, slower than he meant to.