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The morning light crept into the house the way it always did, uninvited and unapologetic, slipping through the lattice windows and catching on dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. Kaveh noticed it first, because Kaveh always noticed things first. The way light fell, the way colors warmed, the way a space woke up around him.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling he had personally redesigned three times before deciding that simplicity suited it best. The thought made him smile, soft and private. He turned his head slightly and found Alhaitham still asleep beside him, one arm flung out, hair a mess that no amount of scholarly dignity could fully tame.
Married. The word still felt unreal, like a concept from a theoretical text that he had not yet fully absorbed. Kaveh pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh at nothing at all.
They had been married for exactly nine days. Nine days of waking up together without the unspoken tension that had once filled every shared silence. Nine days of shared keys, shared shelves, shared routines that were still clumsy and new.
Alhaitham shifted, blinking awake with all the grace of someone who never seemed particularly impressed by consciousness itself. His eyes landed on Kaveh immediately, as if he had been looking for him even in sleep.
“You are staring,” Alhaitham said, voice rough with sleep.
Kaveh scoffed. “I live here. I am allowed to stare at my own husband in my own bed.”
“That does not negate the fact that you are staring.”
“Because you look ridiculous,” Kaveh said fondly. “Your hair is doing that thing again.”
Alhaitham reached up and touched his hair without looking. “It always does this.”
“And yet you insist on pretending it is intentional.”
“It is intentional,” Alhaitham replied. “I intentionally do nothing about it.”
Kaveh laughed, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand. The ring on his finger caught the light, a thin band that he had designed himself and agonized over for weeks. Seeing the matching ring on Alhaitham’s hand still sent a strange warmth through his chest, equal parts triumph and disbelief.
“Do you ever wake up and think, wow, I legally tied myself to you?” Kaveh asked.
“No,” Alhaitham said. “I wake up and think, good, you are still here.”
Kaveh froze for half a second. “You cannot just say things like that before breakfast.”
“I can,” Alhaitham said calmly. “I just did.”
Kaveh flopped back onto the mattress with a dramatic groan. “You are unfair. You save all your devastating statements for when I am least prepared.”
“That is an efficiency issue on your end.”
They lay there for a moment, the quiet settling comfortably around them. Outside, Sumeru was already awake. Vendors called out, birds chattered, life continued with its usual insistence. Inside the house, time felt softer.
Eventually, Kaveh sighed and sat up. “We need to talk about the kitchen.”
Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “We talked about the kitchen yesterday.”
“And the day before that,” Kaveh said. “And the day before that. Which only proves my point.”
“The kitchen is functional.”
“The kitchen is a crime,” Kaveh countered. “The lighting is wrong, the storage is inefficient, and whoever decided the counter should be that height has never cooked a meal in their life.”
“I cook,” Alhaitham said. “Frequently.”
“You boil grains and call it cuisine.”
“It is sustenance.”
Kaveh stood and stretched, already mentally rearranging the space. “Now that we are married, I refuse to live with a kitchen that actively resents joy.”
Alhaitham watched him with an expression that suggested he was both amused and bracing himself. “You mean you want to renovate.”
“I mean I have already drawn up three potential layouts.”
“Of course you have.”
Kaveh paused, then grinned. “I did them while you were cataloging books last night.”
“You were supposed to be sleeping.”
“I was inspired.”
Alhaitham sighed, pushing himself upright. “As long as you do not remove any load bearing walls.”
“I am offended you think I would,” Kaveh said, then hesitated. “Without consulting you.”
“That hesitation is concerning.”
They moved through their morning routine with the awkward harmony of two people still learning how their lives fit together. Alhaitham made tea. Kaveh criticized the mug selection. Alhaitham ignored him and slid a cup into his hands anyway.
They ate breakfast at the small table by the window. Kaveh talked about a public project proposal he had been invited to review. Alhaitham mentioned a debate at the Akademiya that he was already tired of attending.
At one point, their knees bumped under the table, and both of them paused, startled by the casual intimacy of it. Kaveh smiled again, unable to stop himself.
“This is strange,” he said quietly.
“What is?”
“Being happy without feeling like it is about to be taken away,” Kaveh said. “I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”
Alhaitham set his cup down. “Nothing is wrong.”
“I know,” Kaveh said. “That is the strange part.”
Alhaitham reached across the table and took Kaveh’s hand, thumb brushing over the ring there. The gesture was simple, grounding.
“You are allowed to have this,” Alhaitham said. “We both are.”
Kaveh swallowed, then squeezed his hand back. “If you say things like that, I will absolutely redesign the entire house out of gratitude.”
“I accept that risk.”
Later, as the day wore on, the house filled with small signs of shared life. A book left open on the arm of a chair. A stack of sketches spread across the floor. Alhaitham stepping carefully around them without comment, because he had learned which battles were not worth fighting.
In the afternoon, Kaveh stood in the doorway of Alhaitham’s study, arms crossed.
“You alphabetized my drafting tools.”
“Yes.”
“Why.”
“Because you could not find them.”
“I could find them,” Kaveh protested. “Eventually.”
“That is inefficient.”
“They were in creative order.”
“There is no such thing.”
Kaveh huffed. “You are impossible.”
“And yet,” Alhaitham said, not looking up from his work, “you married me.”
Kaveh faltered, then laughed. “Do not remind me. I am still riding that high.”
“Good,” Alhaitham said. “So am I.”
The words settled between them, warm and steady.
As evening approached, they found themselves on the roof, watching the sky shift into shades of gold and violet. Kaveh leaned against the railing, shoulder pressed into Alhaitham’s side.
“Do you think this story will be interesting to anyone else?” Kaveh asked suddenly.
“What story.”
“Our life,” Kaveh said. “All of this. The small things.”
Alhaitham considered it. “I think it will matter to us.”
Kaveh smiled, resting his head briefly against Alhaitham’s shoulder. “That is enough, I think.”
Below them, the city breathed. Above them, the stars began to appear, one by one, patient and enduring.
They were newly married, still learning, still bickering, still laughing. Still over the moon, even when they pretended not to be.
And this was only the beginning.
A few weeks into married life, Kaveh discovered that happiness had a rhythm.
It sounded like the scratch of pencil on paper late at night, the soft clink of ceramic cups in the morning, the low hum of Alhaitham reading aloud something he insisted was interesting. It looked like shoes by the door that were not always neatly aligned, like books migrating from shelves to tables, like sunlight catching on two rings instead of one.
It also looked like blueprints.
Kaveh had taken over the dining table entirely. Papers were spread in careful chaos, weighed down by spare tools, teacups, and one very judgmental looking book Alhaitham had placed there earlier without comment. Measurements were scribbled in the margins. Notes curled around corners in Kaveh’s sharp handwriting, arrows pointing to arrows, ideas branching into more ideas.
The kitchen was going to change. It had to.
Kaveh stood back, hands on his hips, and glared at the current layout sketched on the page as if it had personally offended him.
“This counter is still wrong,” he muttered to himself. “No amount of pretending will make this height acceptable.”
He had already dismantled the idea three times. Each time he rebuilt it better. More light from the east facing window. Open shelving that did not feel like an afterthought. A workspace that actually invited people to exist in it rather than endure it.
Married life had done nothing to dampen his instincts. If anything, it had made them sharper. This was their home now. Their shared space. It mattered in a way that made his chest feel tight and warm all at once.
He leaned over the table, pencil tapping thoughtfully against his lip.
“If I move the sink here,” he murmured, “then we could actually cook together without tripping over each other.”
Behind him, the house was quiet. Too quiet, which meant Alhaitham was either deeply engrossed in something or deliberately observing him without announcing his presence.
Kaveh did not notice when Alhaitham entered the room. He rarely did, which Alhaitham seemed to find both convenient and faintly amusing.
Alhaitham stopped a step behind him and watched for a moment. Kaveh was completely absorbed, hair falling loose from its tie, shoulders tense with focus. There was something deeply familiar and deeply new about seeing him like this and knowing it was permanent.
“You are frowning at the paper as if it can argue back,” Alhaitham said.
Kaveh jumped. “Haitham. You cannot keep doing that.”
“I walk normally.”
“You appear silently.”
“That is not my fault.”
Kaveh turned, pressing a hand to his chest. “One day I am going to knock over an entire project because of you.”
“You say that every time.”
“And one day it will be true,” Kaveh said, then gestured grandly to the table. “What do you think.”
Alhaitham stepped closer, scanning the designs with a practiced eye. “You are planning to remove the west wall storage.”
“Yes,” Kaveh said eagerly. “It makes the space feel cramped, and it blocks the airflow. If we open it up and redirect storage vertically on the opposite wall, it will feel twice as large.”
“It will reduce overall capacity.”
“Only if you insist on keeping things we never use.”
“They are reference materials.”
“They are jars with mysterious contents,” Kaveh said. “One of them might be fossils.”
Alhaitham hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He reached out and adjusted one of the papers, aligning it more neatly with the rest.
“You have been working on this all afternoon,” he said.
“Because it deserves attention,” Kaveh replied. “This kitchen has suffered enough.”
Alhaitham was quiet for a moment longer than usual. Kaveh noticed it only because he was particularly tuned to Alhaitham’s silences now. They had layers. This one felt deliberate.
Alhaitham stepped closer. Close enough that Kaveh could feel the warmth of him at his back, the familiar presence that had slowly become grounding rather than intrusive.
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham said.
“Yes.”
“Have you considered designing a new house instead.”
Kaveh blinked. “What.”
Alhaitham rested his hands lightly on either side of the table, effectively bracketing Kaveh without touching him. His voice remained even, as it always was, but there was something careful in it now.
“A different location,” Alhaitham continued. “Quieter. Less traffic. More space.”
Kaveh laughed once, short and confused. “You think the kitchen is that bad.”
“That is not what I mean.”
Kaveh turned fully then, confusion knitting his brows. “Then what do you mean.”
Alhaitham met his gaze. There was no teasing there. No dry amusement. Just thoughtfulness, steady and intent.
“We agreed,” Alhaitham said, “that we want children someday.”
The words landed like a dropped blueprint.
Kaveh felt the world tilt, not violently, but enough to make him grab the edge of the table. Children. Someday. He had said it. They had said it. In quiet conversations, in hypotheticals that felt distant and safe.
He had not connected it to walls. To streets. To the sound of neighbors and the distance to schools and the way sunlight fell into a room where someone smaller might play.
“I know that,” Kaveh said faintly.
“A house near the city center is not ideal,” Alhaitham continued gently. “Too much noise. Too many stairs. Limited outdoor space.”
Kaveh stared at him. His mouth opened, then closed again.
“You have been thinking about this,” Kaveh said.
“Yes.”
“For how long.”
“Since before the wedding.”
Kaveh let out a breath that bordered on a laugh and a gasp all at once. “Of course you have.”
“I did not bring it up because there was no urgency,” Alhaitham said. “But you are redesigning with permanence in mind. It seemed relevant.”
Permanence.
Kaveh sank into the chair behind him, suddenly lightheaded. His hands came up to his face, fingers pressing against his temples.
“I was just thinking about counter space,” he said weakly.
“And I am thinking about where a child might fall and not be seriously injured,” Alhaitham replied.
Kaveh looked up at him. “You are impossible.”
“That is unchanged.”
Silence stretched between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Kaveh’s mind raced ahead despite himself. Hallways wide enough for running feet. Windows with locks. A room that was not an office or a studio but something softer.
Real.
“This makes it real,” Kaveh said quietly.
Alhaitham nodded. “It was always real.”
“I know,” Kaveh said. “But this is different. This is not someday in theory. This is… planning.”
“Yes.”
Kaveh laughed again, this time shakier. “I did not even think about designing a house with children in mind. What kind of architect does that make me.”
“One who is focused,” Alhaitham said. “And who now has new parameters.”
Kaveh swallowed. Emotion welled up suddenly and unexpectedly. Fear, excitement, awe. All tangled together.
“I am scared,” he admitted.
“So am I,” Alhaitham said, without hesitation.
That stopped Kaveh cold. “You are.”
“Yes.”
Kaveh studied his face, searching for uncertainty, for cracks. He found them, subtle but real.
“Well,” Kaveh said softly, “that makes me feel better. I think.”
Alhaitham reached out then, resting a hand on Kaveh’s shoulder. The touch was steady, grounding.
“There is no rush,” he said. “We do not need to decide anything now.”
Kaveh nodded. “But we can think about it.”
“Yes.”
Kaveh glanced back at the kitchen plans. They suddenly felt small, not unimportant, but part of something larger.
“I could design a place from the ground up,” Kaveh said slowly. “Light, safe, warm. Somewhere that grows with us.”
Alhaitham’s thumb brushed lightly where it rested. “I know.”
Kaveh leaned back into him without thinking, letting his weight rest there. Alhaitham adjusted easily, familiar and solid behind him.
“Promise me something,” Kaveh said.
“What.”
“When I get overwhelmed and start redesigning everything at once, you will remind me to breathe.”
“I already do.”
“And when you start planning ten years ahead without telling me,” Kaveh added, “you will let me catch up.”
“I can do that.”
Kaveh smiled, eyes stinging. “We are really doing this.”
“Yes,” Alhaitham said. “Together.”
The papers on the table rustled softly in the evening breeze. The kitchen remained unchanged for now, imperfect and lived in.
But beyond it, in the quiet space of shared imagination, something new was already taking shape.
For a moment after that, neither of them moved.
Kaveh was still leaning back against Alhaitham, papers spread out in front of him like the remains of a life that had suddenly widened. The idea sat between them, enormous and delicate all at once. Not immediate. Not urgent. But real enough that his heart would not stop racing.
He let out a slow breath, then another, and finally laughed.
It started quietly, then bubbled up until he had to press a hand to his mouth to keep from being too loud.
Alhaitham felt it through him. “What.”
“This is ridiculous,” Kaveh said, still laughing. “I was arguing with myself about cabinet doors an hour ago, and now we are talking about designing a house for children.”
“That is a logical progression.”
“No, it is not,” Kaveh said, turning his head just enough to look up at him. His eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with something that was not fear anymore. “It is wildly romantic and completely terrifying.”
Alhaitham’s expression softened in that way he never seemed to notice himself. “Those are not mutually exclusive.”
Kaveh huffed. “You planned this. You absolutely planned this moment.”
“I planned to mention it,” Alhaitham corrected. “Your reaction is your own.”
“My reaction,” Kaveh said, “is that I love you an unreasonable amount right now.”
“That is also unchanged.”
Kaveh reached up and caught the front of Alhaitham’s shirt, not pulling, just anchoring himself there. “You realize,” he said, voice dropping conspiratorially, “that you just unlocked an entirely new category of design obsession for me.”
“I suspected.”
“I am going to start sketching nurseries without even meaning to,” Kaveh went on. “I will deny it, but it will happen.”
Alhaitham leaned down slightly, their foreheads nearly touching. “I will pretend not to notice.”
Kaveh smiled so hard it almost hurt. “You are very indulgent for someone who claims to dislike inefficiency.”
“This is an acceptable inefficiency.”
There it was again. That quiet certainty. That choice.
Kaveh exhaled, then laughed once more, softer now. “You know,” he said, “this was supposed to be a serious conversation.”
“It still is.”
“Yes,” Kaveh agreed. “But also.”
He trailed off, eyes flicking briefly toward the hallway, then back up to Alhaitham’s face. Something playful sparked there, something giddy and unrestrained.
Alhaitham recognized it immediately. “Kaveh.”
“What,” Kaveh said innocently. “I did not say anything.”
“You are thinking loudly.”
Kaveh grinned. “I am just saying that hypothetically, if two married people were very happy and very in love and just had a deeply romantic conversation about their future…”
Alhaitham waited.
“…it would not be unreasonable for them to,” Kaveh continued, “…celebrate.”
Alhaitham’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “Celebrate how.”
Kaveh laughed, finally dropping his forehead against Alhaitham’s chest. “You are impossible.”
“You brought this up.”
“I absolutely did not,” Kaveh said. “You brought up children. I brought up kitchens. Very different things.”
“And yet,” Alhaitham said, one hand settling at Kaveh’s waist, steady and familiar, “we arrived at the same conclusion.”
Kaveh looked up again, eyes shining. “Which is.”
“That we are very happy,” Alhaitham said. “And perhaps a little insufferable about it.”
Kaveh beamed. “Oh, completely insufferable.”
He straightened, gathering the scattered papers with one dramatic sweep and stacking them haphazardly. “Fine. The kitchen can wait.”
“That is unexpected.”
“Do not get used to it,” Kaveh said, already tugging Alhaitham toward the hallway. “I am merely reprioritizing.”
“Based on emotion,” Alhaitham observed.
“Based on love,” Kaveh corrected. “And possibly poor impulse control.”
Alhaitham allowed himself to be pulled along, fingers lacing with Kaveh’s easily, naturally. “I find both acceptable.”
As they disappeared down the hall, the house settled back into quiet. The plans remained on the table, the future sketched out in lines and notes and half formed dreams.
They would come back to them later.
For now, they were too busy being newly married, a little cheeky, and very, very happy together.
Months passed the way seasons always did in Sumeru, subtly and all at once.
The heat softened first. The air lost its sharp edge and became something gentler, something that lingered instead of pressing. The city shifted with it. Vendors rearranged their stalls. Students complained less loudly. The evenings stretched longer, golden and slow.
Inside the house, life settled into patterns that no longer felt new but still felt precious.
Marriage stopped feeling unreal and started feeling inevitable.
Kaveh learned exactly how much noise Alhaitham tolerated before it registered as distraction. Alhaitham learned which of Kaveh’s silences meant focus and which meant spiraling. They argued about bookshelves and budgets and whether or not a rug was necessary in a place where people tracked in dust constantly. They kissed in doorways without thinking about it. They fell asleep tangled together more often than not.
And beneath it all, quietly, steadily, Kaveh was designing.
At first, it was aimless. Sketches done late at night that he told himself were exercises. A wider hallway here. A window placed lower than usual there. Notes scribbled in the margins that said things like safe corners and soft light and adaptable space.
He never showed Alhaitham those.
Not yet.
Because somewhere along the way, the designs stopped being hypothetical.
It happened slowly enough that Kaveh almost missed it. A lingering nausea in the mornings that he blamed on stress. A bone deep exhaustion that felt different from his usual overworking. A strange tenderness in his body that made him hyperaware of himself in a way that was both alarming and oddly grounding.
He told himself it was nothing. He always did.
Until one morning, standing in the bathroom with sunlight spilling across the floor, reality finally caught up to him.
Kaveh sat on the edge of the tub for a long time afterward, hands resting on his knees, breath shallow. The world felt too large and too fragile all at once.
He was terrified.
He was overjoyed.
He was already thinking about load bearing walls.
Telling Alhaitham was not something he rushed.
Not because he doubted him. Never that. But because Kaveh needed time to understand it himself. To sit with the truth of it. To feel it settle into his bones.
Alhaitham noticed, of course.
He noticed the way Kaveh stopped drinking coffee without commentary. The way he disappeared into the study more often, door closed, emerging hours later with ink stained fingers and a faraway look in his eyes. The way his emotions seemed closer to the surface, laughter quicker, frustration sharper, affection almost overwhelming.
He said nothing.
Not because he did not care, but because he trusted Kaveh to speak when he was ready.
And Kaveh was planning something. That much was obvious.
The first time Alhaitham found the rolled blueprints tucked carefully beneath the drafting table, he did not touch them. He simply noted their presence and moved on.
The second time, weeks later, there were more.
By the third time, Alhaitham was certain.
Still, he waited.
Kaveh chose the moment carefully.
It was an evening like many others. Dinner finished. Dishes stacked to dry. The windows open to let in the cooling air. Alhaitham sat on the couch with a book he had already read twice, mostly there for the comfort of routine.
Kaveh hovered.
He paced. He adjusted pillows that did not need adjusting. He checked the windows. He checked them again.
Finally, he stopped in the middle of the room and took a breath so deep it made his shoulders rise.
“Haitham,” he said.
Alhaitham looked up immediately. “Yes.”
“I need to show you something,” Kaveh said. His voice wobbled just slightly, which annoyed him. “And you are not allowed to interrupt until I am done.”
“That is an unreasonable request,” Alhaitham said, then paused at the look on Kaveh’s face. “But I will comply.”
Kaveh nodded, grateful, then turned and disappeared down the hall.
When he returned, his arms were full.
Blueprints, rolled and bound neatly, some older and softened at the edges, others crisp and new. He carried them with reverence, like something alive.
He spread them across the dining table one by one, smoothing each sheet carefully before moving on to the next. His hands trembled despite his efforts to steady them.
Alhaitham stood and approached slowly, instinctively quiet.
“This,” Kaveh said, gesturing to the first layout, “is the site plan.”
Alhaitham leaned in, eyes scanning automatically. The location was outside the city center, just as he had once suggested. Green space. Distance from major roads. Room to breathe.
“It is close enough to be practical,” Kaveh continued, voice gaining strength as he spoke, “but far enough that it feels like a retreat. There is space for a garden. Possibly fruit trees.”
Alhaitham said nothing.
Kaveh moved to the next sheet. “This is the ground floor. Open plan, but with defined zones. No sharp corners at child height. Reinforced supports here and here so walls can be moved later if needed.”
He swallowed, then went on.
“The kitchen is central,” he said, tapping the page. “Not tucked away. I wanted it to be somewhere people naturally gather. Plenty of counter space. Storage that is accessible but safe.”
Another page.
“These are the bedrooms,” Kaveh said. “The primary room is here, but I designed it so it can be adjusted if mobility ever becomes an issue. These four,” he added, hesitating just slightly, “are secondary rooms.”
Alhaitham’s gaze sharpened. “Four.”
“Yes,” Kaveh said quickly. “Not because we will definitely need all of them. But because flexibility matters. They can be bedrooms or studies or anything else. I wanted the house to be able to hold a large family if needed.”
He forced himself to keep going.
“The hallways are wide enough for running,” Kaveh said softly. “And for carrying someone half asleep. The floors are designed to be warm underfoot. The windows are placed low enough for children to see out of, but high enough to be safe.”
Alhaitham’s chest felt tight.
Kaveh reached the final set of drawings and hesitated.
“These,” he said, voice barely above a whisper now, “are the future adaptations.”
He laid them out carefully. A room that could be converted. A staircase that could be gated without feeling closed off. A quiet corner near the bedrooms that could hold a cradle. Or two.
Or more.
“I designed it to grow,” Kaveh said. “With us. With them.”
He finally stopped.
Silence filled the room, thick and trembling.
Alhaitham looked at the blueprints. All of them. He took in the precision, the thought, the care woven into every line. This was not an architect indulging in fantasy.
This was someone building a future.
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham said quietly.
Kaveh flinched. “I know it is a lot. And I know we talked about someday, and this is very forward, and I swear I am not trying to pressure you into anything, I just needed to get it out of my head before it swallowed me whole.”
He laughed weakly. “I might have gone a little overboard.”
Alhaitham stepped closer. “You have been designing this for months.”
“Yes,” Kaveh admitted. “I tried not to. I really did.”
“And you planned it for four children,” Alhaitham said.
Kaveh nodded. “If needed.”
Alhaitham was quiet for a long moment.
Then he reached out and placed his hand over Kaveh’s on the table.
“You did not go overboard,” he said. “You went exactly as far as you needed to.”
Kaveh’s eyes burned. “You're not upset.”
“No,” Alhaitham said. “I'm moved.”
That broke something open.
Kaveh let out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging as relief washed through him. “Good. Because there is more.”
Alhaitham tilted his head. “More.”
Kaveh nodded, then slowly, deliberately, placed Alhaitham’s hand lower. Over his abdomen.
It was a small gesture. Easy to miss.
But it changed everything.
“I did not just design this because I love you,” Kaveh said, voice trembling. “Or because I want a future. I designed it because we are already building one.”
Alhaitham froze.
“Kaveh,” he said, very softly.
“I'm pregnant,” Kaveh whispered.
The world seemed to stop.
Alhaitham’s breath caught sharply, his hand instinctively pressing closer, as if grounding himself in the reality of it. His mind raced, thoughts colliding and overlapping, but one feeling rose above all others.
Awe.
“You're sure,” he said, not because he doubted, but because he needed to hear it.
“Yes,” Kaveh said, tears spilling over now despite his best efforts. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was scared. And excited. And I wanted to give you something tangible. Something that showed you I am not just springing this on you.”
Alhaitham pulled him close without hesitation, arms wrapping around him firmly. Kaveh collapsed into him, sobbing quietly, hands clutching at his shirt.
“We are having a child,” Alhaitham said, voice thick.
“Yes,” Kaveh laughed through tears. “We are.”
Alhaitham pressed his forehead to Kaveh’s hair, eyes closed. His grip tightened just slightly, protective and sure.
“You carried this alone for too long,” he murmured.
“I know,” Kaveh said. “I'm sorry.”
“You do not need to apologize,” Alhaitham said. “You built us a home while carrying our future. That is not something to apologize for.”
Kaveh laughed again, breathless. “You make it sound heroic.”
“It is,” Alhaitham said simply.
They stayed like that for a long time, surrounded by blueprints and possibility. The house no longer felt like an abstract dream.
It felt inevitable.
Eventually, Kaveh pulled back just enough to look up at him. “You are really okay with this.”
Alhaitham nodded. “I have never been more certain of anything.”
Kaveh smiled, radiant and exhausted. “Good. Because I already started calculating how much space four children would need.”
Alhaitham huffed softly. “Of course you did.”
“And I may have designed a reading nook specifically for you,” Kaveh added. “Soundproofed.”
“That is thoughtful.”
“I'm thoughtful,” Kaveh said, then yawned suddenly, the adrenaline wearing off.
Alhaitham noticed immediately. “You should rest.”
“Yes,” Kaveh agreed, leaning into him again. “But first.”
He gestured weakly at the table. “Tell me you like the house.”
Alhaitham looked at the plans once more. At the future they represented.
“I love it,” he said. “I love you. And I love what we are building.”
Kaveh’s smile softened into something peaceful.
“Then,” he said quietly, “let us build it together.”
Outside, the evening deepened. Inside, surrounded by lines and dreams and the quiet certainty of chosen family, they began the next chapter of their story.