Chapter Text
If one were to search up Alhaitham’s name in a web browser, the following Wikipedia descriptor would appear:
Alhaitham Volans is a Sumeran novelist and screenwriter best-known for the magical realism trilogy “World, Forget Me,” the story of a literary scholar, Arman, who falls in love with a dead poet, Manijeh, through her works. Volans is also involved in the production of the trilogy’s adaptation into a DendroFlix show.
Essentially, Alhaitham was a writer. Yet he would rather describe himself as a reader first and foremost; after all, he spent most of his time consuming, rather than creating. His writing was done in sporadic bursts lasting hours at a time, sometimes separated by days or weeks, while reading was a habit which had accompanied him since he was a wide-eyed child drowning in clothes too large for his flimsy frame.
Given how ferociously he had read from a young age, it should come as no surprise that he devoured any and all critiques of his own work, often discussing plot points and analyses with strangers online in anonymous forums regarding his own characters. Any published articles concerning his works were added to a carefully-kept spreadsheet containing his opinions on what was written and whether any valid points were made which should be kept in mind for future reflection. This also encompassed videos, blogs, and posts.
Really, no one was more involved in the fandom than the author himself. Which was amusing, since this incessant ogling was done purely anonymously— he was known to have quite a subtle and reserved online presence.
As Alhaitham Volans, naturally. As arman_irl, his persona and username on Twitter and Archive of Our Own, he was known to be ruthless in his commentary regarding fanwork and fan opinions, involved in any and all discourse surrounding the World, Forget Me franchise.
Although he read almost any piece of fanfiction written about World, Forget Me (the more hardcore end of pure pornography excluded), works which aimed to transform the main couple’s tragic ending into a hopeful future irritated him to what was definitely an irrational level.
Every detail of his books had been carefully crafted so that, by the end, the reader would understand a crucial point: Arman was unloveable, as was Manijeh. Their fatal flaw was being too selective and waiting for a love which would make them both feel completely seen and understood— the kind that did not exist outside of self-indulgent books. The entire work was criticising exaggerated idealism and self-destructive hope, as well as exploring the relationship between artist and viewer, writer and reader, observed and observer. No matter how much one wills it, there can be no inversion of places: Arman was a thirty years’ distance from Manijeh, and even if he died of heartbreak (which he almost did), there could be no reaching a vain fantasy such as that.
Fans could write whatever they wanted, obviously, and Alhaitham was content that his writing had touched people to the point of pouring their time and effort into writing about it. And yet, sometimes, he wished someone would make him feel understood.
A vain fantasy, he thought to himself.
Kaveh leafed through pages of Manijeh’s poetry, rereading for the millionth time lines that were already engraved in his memory.
I craved sweetness, so I sliced a peach,
but all the juice dripped onto the floor.
This is not a metaphor (but it could be).
The poems had become shorter and less structured as the years went on, drenched in enjambment and brackets and caesura and incomplete thoughts— to the point at which it bordered on nonsense in her final year of life. Kaveh liked to read through the ones with no clear meaning, and, over the years, he had coaxed interpretations and reflections out of almost all of them. His favourite poem, really, had puzzled him for months before his own life had lent its meaning to the words:
I built a jewelled cage
and I painted my reflections
before realising
that I haven’t used the word ‘home’ in years
and I haven’t
In the books, Arman wondered if it could even be considered a poem at all, and the discussion had bled into long conversations once the two characters actually met. It was evident that Manijeh wasn’t in a completely sane state of mind while writing, and it was unclear whether the unfinished line was purposeful or evidence that it had been a rough, forgotten draft.
Still, Kaveh was entirely convinced that there was no doubt that it was, in fact, poetry, and art in its purest form— after reading the lines dozens of times, when he finally understood what it read, he painted his bedroom wall white and drew a mural over it. One line, smooth, uninterrupted, one colour: gold. Home, he thought. I built this house with the intention of making it a home.
Art must be perfected to the highest degree possible, Arman had told Manijeh.
I would think that art which aims to be perfected is dishonest by nature, she had replied. I know the flaws in my writing before even putting pen to paper. I would rather write what’s staining my heart unadulterated.
It was one of the book series’ best qualities, in Kaveh’s opinion, that it portrayed long, unabridged conversations between the protagonists. The length of their discussions, often spanning dozens upon dozens of pages, hinted more at Ancient Greek philosophical dialogues than contemporary fiction, but Alhaitham Volans was known for his sheer disregard for any sort of convention. He wrote for himself first and foremost, which was evident in his blunt style and thick tomes, but it had garnered a massive audience regardless.
It must be freeing, Kaveh thought, to do whatever you want and be admired for it.
From an outsider’s perspective, that was, really, how his own life looked: architect extraordinaire, genius young designer, innovative and avant-garde. And yet… the art which had made him feel whole and human years before had faded into a chore. The pressure of upkeeping his image had drilled a constant state of panic and the prickle of insufficiency into him, and designing no longer felt like warmth. All the pleasure had been drained out of his craft.
Self-pity, however, was not included in the many flaws dotting his soul. Despite every prickle of doubt and itch of guilt, Kaveh poured more and more of himself into his projects, leaving his body stripped of inspiration and energy.
You pour so much of yourself into your art, Arman had told Manijeh. I wonder if there’s any of you left when you set the pen down.
Kaveh had pondered over that line for hours while lying in bed, eyes fixed on the blank ceiling. When half of the night had passed, he stood up silently and picked up his brushes, setting up a ladder to paint under the moonlight. His curtains were open, but he had left all the lights off, and not lit a single candle. The figure he spun out of the threads of moonbeams was best admired by starlight, its colours mismatched by day.
Whenever Kaveh lay down to sleep and found himself unable to close those leaded eyelids, he looked up at a swirl of his own mind — beautiful and organic — rather than the plain whiteness of a ceiling.
“I don’t know how to give myself away, other than fully,” Manijeh confessed, her voice barely a whisper.
“Why give yourself away at all?”
She blinked at him as if swallowing his entire essence with wide, dilated pupils. “What else would I give away, rather than myself?”
“Sometimes, I don’t understand you at all,” Arman murmured. “Why do you have to give anything away?”
“Because I’m alive.”
“And life is a constant state of erosion?”
“Yes.”
“In some ways, I agree,” he conceded, running a reverent thumb over the wrinkling skin of her hand. “But if you erode your soul, Manijeh, one day, it’ll be gone.”
“Yes,” she replied, looking away. “That’s my problem.”
Kaveh had started off drawing fanart, all the way back when the first book was published and the fandom was so small he knew every account by name. Naturally, with his sketching skills honed by years and years of diligent architectural study in Teyvat’s most renowned university, visual art came easily to him. And yet, at some point after the second book was released and he was spending an excessive amount of time discussing the characters with online strangers, the itch to write appeared.
At first, he made comics. Safer, closer to his comfort zone. But some of the things threatening to spill out of his head required a different format, and so, inhaling deeply, he wrote his first fic. Then another, and another.
Pygmalion Fell for His Own Reflection by alkavarzaray
World, Forget Me (Book Series)
No archive warnings apply, Arman/Manijeh, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief, Pining, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Arman Needs a Hug, Manijeh Needs a Hug, they both get a hug dw, no beta we die like manijeh :(, written after i finished book #3 and made a voodoo doll of alhaitham volans bc he made me sob for 2h straight, Alternative Ending
“Unloveable?” Arman exhaled softly, lips painted with a bittersweet smile. “I’m living proof that you’re anything but unloveable. I fell in love with every word you wrote. I fell in love with every dream. I fell in love with every fragment of you the past had left behind. Without seeing your face, I fell in love with your essence, over and over and over.”
Or, a fic in which Arman reaches Manijeh before her death, and brings her to his timeline.
Words: 53,473 Chapters: 10/10 Comments: 476 Kudos: 12,789 Bookmarks: 1,484 Hits: 123,412
Alhaitham read the premise, feeling nothing but skepticism. Fans such as alkavarzaray seemed to fundamentally misunderstand the essence of the novels he had spent years perfecting, transforming his pragmatism into sentimentality and his criticism into naïve hope. Not that he’d ever leave a hate comment or anything, but it always irked him.
And yet… a certain curiosity was always present when he saw this author’s name. They were among the most popular Arman/Manijeh writers on AO3, and from excerpts Alhaitham had seen online and in the summaries of other works, their prose seemed well-written. Most of all, their art, which Alhaitham had been following for years, was breathtakingly gorgeous. Perhaps he should investigate how alkavarzaray believed his own novel should have ended.
…He had not expected to spend the following three hours with his eyes stuck to the bright phone screen, missing his usual bedtime and feeling oddly… fulfilled. He was not usually this touched by books, even literary masterpieces, but he found himself with tears streaming down his face while going through the writing.
“Do you seriously believe in your cult of rationality?” Manijeh questioned, eyeing him through each of the hundred mirrors in the room copying her face. “Don’t you think it’s irrational to believe you’re fully rational? You have desires. You have fears. You have insecurities. You have regrets. You can’t get rid of your emotions.”
“I don’t believe I’m fully rational,” Arman replied. “I simply believe I should aspire to be.”
Alhaitham inhaled sharply, rereading the sentence. It was devastatingly in-character in a way that no other work had managed to capture. The protagonist was based on Alhaitham’s deepest understanding of his own self, and here he was— naked, barren, stripped of any walls. On a piece of fanwork by “alkavarzaray” on AO3.
“Aren’t you the one who’s always saying it’s silly to aspire for things we’ll never have?” she murmured quietly, offering him a smile. “My love, you can stop putting all these walls up when you’re around me. I want to see you. Really. Don’t be scared.”
In the original work, even after offering his soul in exchange for travelling in time, finally meeting the woman he had desperately wished for, Arman had not fully exposed his vulnerabilities. Alhaitham had viewed it as a strength, demonstrating how the protagonist had managed to not lose complete sight of his mental faculties, yet now… It seemed so excruciatingly obvious that it had been a flaw.
“We’re complete opposites, Manijeh. The only thing we have in common is wanting to be together, the one thing that can’t happen. If you knew me, truly, you wouldn’t love me.”
Manijeh laughed, a sweet and tingly sound which made Arman’s heart flutter. “You’re so obsessed with thinking you’re unloveable… when you’ve never allowed yourself to be loved.”
That was when the tears started falling, and they did not stop until Alhaitham was finished with the fic and crouched on the bathroom floor, burying his face in a towel, sniffling uncontrollably. He imagined Manijeh speaking to him directly, cradling his face, telling him that—
Insanity. Complete insanity. He was fantasising about a fictional character created by himself comforting him. Could this get any more pathetic? Be rational, he told himself. Manijeh is a figment of your imagination. It wasn’t her who wrote those words. It was—
He opened alkavarzaray’s profile and clicked on their works. Thirty-seven pieces of writing in the World, Forget Me fandom. Alhaitham settled comfortably in bed with a large cup of water and a wishful hope to get through three hundred and ten thousand published words.
Kaveh woke up to several e-mail notifications concerning Kudos left on his profile, as well as almost as many comments. He looked through them as he brushed his teeth.
arman_irl: I generally don’t enjoy “World, Forget Me” fix-it fics because I find that they usually negate the point of the plot. In fact, I had never read one I genuinely fully enjoyed until this one. You managed to keep the characterisation on point and explore the same concepts as the original novel, only exploring the themes in a different direction… Interesting. An alternative ending which helps one reflect on the true nature of Manijeh’s and Arman’s personality flaws— I almost feel like the original ending reflects Arman’s worldview whereas this one reflects Manijeh’s. You should be a published author (if you are not so already).
Kaveh giggled at the screen, putting down the toothbrush to type out a reply. He knew this account: arman_irl had interesting (although often infuriatingly pragmatic) opinions about the books and especially the TV adaptation, which he criticised quite often. He did fit his username.
alkavarzaray: wait i converted THE #1 fix it fic hater????? no way… i feel like a god rn… i made you enjoy a 3k word fluff scene??? ok but in all honesty thank you SO MUCH for your comment, it makes me rlly happy!!!! i’m glad u enjoyed the fic hehe. also it’s funny that u said the thing abt it reflecting manijeh’s pov bc i literally identify so hard with her….. like i feel like alhaitham literally cracked my head open to make that character. anyway sorry for the ramble. tldr THANK U FOR THE COMMENT <333
He opened another work, a rewrite of the scene in which Arman received a love letter from Manijeh.
arman_irl: Interesting perspective. If I were to write a scene in which Arman reacted how Manijeh wanted him to, it would turn out completely different. However, this actually fits her character quite well. I was under the impression that something like this could never happen with their characters, but I find myself changing my mind. If Arman had understood what Manijeh wanted, perhaps it could have worked. Very thought-provoking, considering that the entire point of the novel was that it never could have worked between them.
Kaveh frowned.
alkavarzaray: 1st off, ty for reading and enjoying the fic! it means a lot to me :) 2nd tho, i wouldn’t rlly say that the entire point of the novel was that they never could have worked. to me it’s tragic exactly because they COULD HAVE, but didn’t have the maturity (not sure if that’s the best word) to work it out properly. i mean ofc there’s the whole time travel arc, but at the end of the day the reason why they didn’t work wasn’t bc of the time travel, it was bc they couldn’t communicate properly. which makes it a billion times sadder imo and made me cry so bad….. anyway. i’m glad u think it fits the characters well!! ur comments mean a lot to me :)))
Another comment. Had this man left a comment on every fic? Kaveh really should focus on the toothpaste dripping off the side of his mouth, but the notifications were leaving him oddly excited.
arman_irl: I never would have read a Royalty AU were it not that I was fascinated by your other works… but the arranged marriage trope actually works quite well with their relationship. Overall, this was not as interesting from the character exploration point of view, but still quite enjoyable. I have to admit that it feels good to see them being happy for once. Your characterisation was on point once more, especially for Manijeh.
alkavarzaray: thank u!!! hehe i love myself a nice royalty au <333 self indulgent but pshhh who cares
He answered the other comments, then finally finished brushing his teeth.
“I wouldn’t say I give any of myself away,” Arman observed, looking down at his chest. “Would you consider that a flaw?”
“You want to be loved, no?”
“I do.”
“There is no being loved without giving a part of yourself to another,” she replied, pressing a warm hand to the jewelled cage of his ribs.
“I’m not sure I agree.”
”You fell in love with me through my poetry, didn’t you?” she asked, feeling his pulse throbbing under her touch, blood rushing warm and viscous just millimetres away from her uncut nails. “How would you have done that, if I hadn’t left a piece of myself in the words?”
“You’re right,” he replied, bluntly. “And that is why, really, I could never be loved. I’m not willing to surrender my peace in exchange for my soul.”
Manijeh’s eyes took on an amused glint, although there was a certain sadness welled up in them. “You really think you haven’t given me any part of yourself?”
”No,” he muttered, firmly. “It’s simply who I am. It’s a choice, and an inevitability. I’m unloveable.”
“You can try to make such a choice if you like, but it’ll fail every time,” Manijeh murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “You could never be unloveable, because I love you already. And it breaks your heart because it means all your convictions are made of glass, and my existence has shattered them all.”
A long moment passed. A lone tear slowly dripped down Arman’s face. Manijeh wiped it away.
”But, my darling,” she continued. “You’re a scholar. You know as well as I do: shattering convictions is often a good thing.”
Alhaitham wrote several thoughts about the scene in his notebook, underneath a neat title reading “Comments on Chapter Two of Pygmalion Fell for His Own Reflection by alkavarzaray”
Unloveable…
As a child, Alhaitham had taken love for granted. He knew, of course, that his grandmother’s watchful gaze on him was worth more than he could comprehend, and that the warmth of her embrace and unwavering support would one day be out of his reach. He knew it would hurt, when she passed away, and that it would be difficult to come to terms with, but when it actually happened, and she became a lifeless corpse lying in front of him, eyes hollow, he found that there was no anticipating how it felt.
“Feeling” was, perhaps, an incorrect term for it. More so, it was the absence of a feeling: the absence of existence, of love, of warmth, of support, of the twinkle of a smile, of the fragrance of freshly-brewed tea coming from the kitchen. It was the absence of a future in which he could indulge in everything he had taken for granted while she lived: the scratchy sound of a radio buzzing through his ears, the trips to the Grand Bazaar he almost always declined to go on, the strong smell of roses in the bathroom he often complained about, the simple possibility of playing Scrabble on a Sunday morning. Everything which was now out of reach.
Alhaitham was not sentimental. He didn’t believe she was watching out for him from above, wherever “above” was, or that her spirit lived on in some way. She didn’t exist anymore, like a faded memory one was convinced they would always hold on to, or a vivid dream which awakes you with a fever and a sob stuck in your throat, but that you can’t remember for the life of you. Non-existence was incomprehensible. But it was what she was, now.
He noticed, early on, that he could never forget his grandmother, but that he may well forget how it felt to be loved by her. He wordlessly made his way to a tattoo parlour the day this realisation threaded through his mind, handing the artist an old note tucked away in a book, penned by a trembling hand:
May my child Alhaitham lead a peaceful life.
The first, and most obvious idea, had been to engrave it onto his chest, where he could feel his heart pump. But it had struck him as wrong, to paint her words where he needed a mirror to see them. Would he have it tattooed as a reflection? Or read it distorted his whole life?
No, it had to be visible. Constantly. He asked the artist to carve it onto his left hand, on the back where a curve connects his thumb to his index finger. And so, with every word he wrote, her love and her wish resounded in his eyes and in his mind.
He had written his grief into his work. There was no possibility for Manijeh to have survived, because Arman was Alhaitham himself, and Alhaitham had only ever known one true, deep, unending, indestructible, unforgettable love: his grandmother. And she was gone.
Alhaitham couldn’t write a love that lasted, because he had never lived it.
One lone padisarah lay upon the simple grave— a rectangular slab of concrete devoid of the intricacies and adornments Manijeh would have deemed indispensable.
Arman had considered designing the sort of monument she would have considered “beautiful,” but there would have been no point. Manijeh had eroded her soul to the point of losing it completely. There was no “her” to enjoy a delicate statue sitting on top of her corpse, and him treating her death like a moment in which she was present would have been nothing more than wishful thinking. She was simply dead, non-existent. There was no more concept of “her.”
Arman could stand pain, disappoinyment, and betrayal. He could live in loneliness and incomprehension/ But what suffocatd his airways and obstructed his throat, levaing him gasping fr air on moonlit nights and clawing at his chest to free his heart of tht aching, spasmodic pressure, was guilt.
Kaveh typed the words onto his computer one night, or perhaps it was already morning, with tears clouding his view.
He knew it would have to be heavily edited at a later moment, when his mind wasn’t screaming with maddening discomfort and when the swollen pit in his stomach would allow him to have breakfast. The anniversary of his father’s death had never been an easy date, and although the sensation had gotten less paralysing with the years, it had been made all the worse this time, by a message from Faranak.
[Mother] Hello
[Mother] I just wanted to send you a kiss. I know how hard today is for you, because, believe me, it’s just as difficult for me. Even after all these years, and a new life to erase my old one, which I bring so many regrets from, I still catch myself wondering... What would have happened if he’d never joined that competition, if he’d never ventured into the desert? What if he hadn’t put himself in danger because of the ramblings of a kid who didn’t know any better? What if he had stayed by our sides?
[Mother] I don’t want to make things worse. I just want you to know that you’re not alone in your grief
[Mother] I know I’m far away, but I’m still your mother, Kaveh, so if you’re ever in need, I’m right here 😘
Every line of text had sent a creeping sense of nausea crawling down his throat, the phone practically screaming at his face: your fault, your fault, your fault.
in danger because of the ramblings of a kid who didn’t know any better
a new life to erase my old one, which I bring so many regrets from
Regrets such as her son, most probably.
The overbearing guilt made every movement uncomfortable and every thought unbearable, but Kaveh accepted it all with quiet, grieving resignation. It was simply what he deserved, for all the pain he had brought to his mother, and for the tragic end he had sent his father off to.
He tried to sleep. It was fruitless.
His phone went off the following morning. Two notifications from Twitter.
[arman_irl] Hi.
[arman_irl] Just read your newest grief/guilt oneshot. Insightful and touching as always, and a facet of Arman I’ve never seen you explore. Would you be open to discussing your ideas with me?
Kaveh swallowed thickly before thinking up a reply.
[alkavarzaray] hi!!! i’m so glad u enjoyed it <3 yeah sure! i was trying a new thing with the arman pov
[alkavarzaray] as yk, i find it much easier to identify w manijeh, but the passages about arman’s grief in the end really got to me, so i had this idea for a oneshot. it was my 1st time writing pure angst / bad ending stuff, so i was kinda anxious abt the reception… but if my pickiest mutual liked it, that’s a good sign hahaha!
[arman_irl] Regardless of the fic type, your characterisation is always perfectly on point. I wouldn’t be worried about trying new things if I were you… You clearly understand the characters just as well as Volans himself.
That brought a slight smile out of Kaveh’s downturned lips.
[alkavarzaray] well don’t make me blush hehe. ur too sweet! i WISH i had that man’s mind lmao
[arman_irl] I genuinely consider your writing to be just as insightful as his. No exaggeration or flattery intended.
[alkavarzaray] thank you <3 but i feel like it’s not fair to compare his writing to mine, bc he created and crafted the characters, the plot, etc etc, while i’m just using them. like don’t get me wrong, fanfiction can be EXCEPTIONAL in itself and rightfully considered art, but i could never compare myself to volans. i literally fanboy over him so hard lmao
[arman_irl] I was under the impression you hated him, after finishing the last book and writing dozens of fics correcting the mistakes he made in canon. Lol.
[alkavarzaray] ……..ok i do kinda hate him in a way bc WTF was that ending
[alkavarzaray] no that’s not fair, poor him lmaoooo, it was incredibly well-written ofc. (as literally everything that comes from this man’s magical hands). the end just broke my heart obv
[alkavarzaray] i feel like, if i met him, i’d either kill his ass or fall in love, lmao
[alkavarzaray] cuz i mean…
[alkavarzaray] have u seen pictures of him… apart from being a genius who changed my brain chemistry he’s also DROP DEAD GORGEOUS??
[alkavarzaray] ahem…… apologies. i should not have said that. ummmmm back to the book
[arman_irl] Okay. I was also heavily touched by the grief explored at the end of Book #3. Your oneshot was difficult to read, if I’m honest, but worth the tears it coaxed out of me.
Kaveh bit his lip reading the response, noting that he probably shouldn’t mention Alhaitham’s looks again. This arman_irl probably thought he was a creep, now.
[alkavarzaray] i cried a lot writing it dskjfjkgs… so yeah i get what you mean. i kinda felt like a masochist cuz why tf am i writing something that’s making me sadder?? but i’m glad to see ur the same
[arman_irl] Good writing is very often autobiographical, from my experience.
[alkavarzaray] I AGREE
[alkavarzaray] like, art is subjective so ofc writing should come from the self. ik u only ever rlly see my fanart but i also make art outside of the fandom, and this rings v true for my work in general
[alkavarzaray] alsoooo i didn’t know u wrote too!! i dont think i’ve seen ur fics… can u link ur ao3?? id be so excited to read them
Behind the screen, Alhaitham let out a genuine laugh as he suppressed the urge to type You’ve read it all.
[arman_irl] I don’t write fanfiction. I’m a published author.
[alkavarzaray] OHHHHH
[alkavarzaray] wait that actually makes a lot of sense hahaha
[alkavarzaray] so this whole time i’ve been talking to a pro?? embarrassing… i totally get it if ur not comfortable w sharing ur name with me, but id love to read ur books hehe
[arman_irl] Thank you. Maybe I’ll tell you at some point.
[arman_irl] I decided to text you on here because I wanted to say that your writing made me view grief a bit differently. It’s interesting, how this seems to be the case with everything of yours that I read… You treated Manijeh as if she still existed, just not in corporeal form, while the original book focuses on her non-existence. You made a compelling case, however, for how the connection between them still prevailed through memories, etc, especially when you compared it to the distance between them in the first book, before the time travelling.
[alkavarzaray] it makes me really happy when u say my writing made u think / reflect / change ur mind <3
[alkavarzaray] and i get what u mean. the end of book 3 was kinda fascinating to me bc of that, bc wdym the whole death is non-existence / “like a vivid dream you forget the second you wake up” like that is NOT how i would view death at all?? but it’s also rlly interesting
[alkavarzaray] i wish i could just crack alhaitham’s head open and take a look inside
[arman_irl] I can imagine the visual. And the image of him cracking your head open, too.
[alkavarzaray] all he’d find inside would be brain worms fanboying over his work 💀
[arman_irl] And also a genius artist.
[arman_irl] I’ve noticed that you’re quite self-deprecating. I’m not one to hand away compliments when I don’t mean it, so I assure you that I mean it when I say you have a brilliant and very interesting mind.
[alkavarzaray] okay um and ur literally the nicest guy ever?? LMAO, i owe you my firstborn child for all ur compliments
[alkavarzaray] ok not sure that’s gonna be v possible considering that im a gay dude but ill give u smth other than a child. like um
[alkavarzaray] um
[alkavarzaray] A FIC!!
[alkavarzaray] how about u give me a prompt and ill write whatever u want?? that would be fun!!
[arman_irl] Are you sure? You don’t owe me anything.
[alkavarzaray] ik but i like u and ur nice sooo
[arman_irl] Thank you, then. A fic from you would make me very happy. I’ll think of what to prompt you.
[arman_irl] How about you give me a prompt, too? We can do a fic exchange.
[alkavarzaray] OOOOO
[alkavarzaray] sure!! that’d be super fun!!
[alkavarzaray] but what kind of stuff are u ok w me prompting? since u dont usually write fanfiction
[arman_irl] I’ve written Arnijeh before, I just don’t have anything posted on fanfiction websites. So, you can prompt me whatever you like as long as it’s a WFM fic.
[alkavarzaray] YAY i’m excited to read your writing!!!
Kaveh turned the phone off when it became clear that arman_irl wouldn’t send anything else, feeling lighter than he had in days, both at the conversation and the prospect of this mysterious, picky, “published author” fan writing a fic for him. He seemed the eccentric type, but not in a negative way: he had been nothing but sweet to Kaveh, just in a different way than he was used to. Perhaps, much like the WFM books, this new narrative voice would surprise him and turn his convictions on their heads.
Alhaitham found himself smiling as he cooked dinner that night, thinking back on his conversation with “alkavarzaray,” the random online stranger who understood him to a terrifying degree. Creating any sort of art and allowing it to be perceived is extremely intimate in itself, but the idea that this man had properly understood and absorbed most of what Alhaitham had put out there, baring his soul— it was something between incredible and horrifying.
He was desperate to tell alkavarzaray that, as Alhaitham Volans. Much like Arman in the book, Alhaitham was reticent to be vulnerable in front of others— not the most appropriate personality trait for an artist. And yet, the thought of alkavarzaray understanding him felt exciting rather than uncomfortable.
[arman_irl] Hi. I’ve decided on my prompt. Since the scene where Manijeh and Arman meet in-person is written focused on Arman’s perspective, I’d enjoy reading your take on Manijeh’s perspective, seeing and talking to Arman for the first time.
The response came in a few minutes.
[alkavarzaray] omg great idea!!!
[alkavarzaray] i have to admit that i haven’t come up with one for u yet… hm… it’s hard when i’ve never seen the stuff u write
[alkavarzaray] but i assume based on ur vibes that u dont like AUs
[arman_irl] I can write whatever you like, AU or not. I don’t mind. The fic is supposed to be for you.
[alkavarzaray] god too many options. im too indecisive for this… but okay hehe i’ll get back to u!
[arman_irl] Out of curiosity, may I ask if your username is referring to the Palace of Alcazarzaray? The event venue just outside Sumeru City?
[alkavarzaray] oh hahaha yeah! it’s a play on my name. im a big fan of the palace’s design (im an architect irl btw) and my real name is kaveh, so. yk. al KAV arzaray
He left out the part where he’d built it.
[alkavarzaray] idk. i was sleep deprived when i picked that lmaoooo
[arman_irl] Ah, interesting. Yes, I have heard of the Palace. I’ve been there, in fact, for a couple of events. It is indeed beautiful, although a bit too over-the-top for my taste.
[alkavarzaray] woah do u live in sumeru city too??
[arman_irl] I do.
[alkavarzaray] omg yay maybe we could meet up someday
A long pause.
[alkavarzaray] i was just saying haha, but obv we don’t have to! whatever makes us both comfortable
Kaveh cursed himself for feeling a little disappointed. He hadn’t talked to this guy much at all, but his comments made him feel warm with all their praise. He hoped his offhanded comment hadn’t made the other uncomfortable. Although, it was probably for the best to not meet random strangers from online: he could quite literally be anyone. He could be eighty years old. Actually, internet slang aside, that matched his texting style.
[arman_irl] Yes, maybe one day..
[alkavarzaray] oh yay!!
[alkavarzaray] also feel TOTALLY free not to answer this ofc but, just out of curiosity, roughly how old are u?
[arman_irl] 26
[alkavarzaray] oh wow v close to me haha! im 2 years ur senior
[arman_irl] And what is my elderly senior going to commission for me to write? A long, convoluted character study? Or a high school AU crackfic?
[alkavarzaray] LMAO
[alkavarzaray] stop rushing me 😒😒
[alkavarzaray] but i think i’ve decided. ROOMMATES AU!!
[alkavarzaray] u could make manijeh an architect like me 😎and then for some reason she needs a place to stay and she stays with arman
[alkavarzaray] i’d be going for a fluff and humour vibe but do ur thing, whatever ur heart calls for
[arman_irl] Well, this is absolutely nothing like what I’ve written before, but trying new things can always be interesting.
[alkavarzaray] hehe. i’ll still convert u to the AUs cult u’ll see
[arman_irl] We’ll see…maybe
Kaveh’s fingers were tingling to get started on the writing, but his commissions were swallowing him whole and barely spitting him out at night, leaving him to drag himself to bed when the sun was close to rising.
After the success (and money) of building the Palace of Alcazarzaray, a high-end luxury event venue in the outskirts of Sumeru City, Kaveh had spent every last mora of his savings on building his house: a self-indulgent artistic masterpiece which had earned him several awards, perched close to the water in Sumeru City, where he could watch the sunset every evening.
Not that he ever had the time to watch the sunset. The debt he’d gone into to pay for custom-made furniture and repairs when the construction had gone wrong had pretty much carved out a permanent space in his mind, forcing him to work himself to the bone at every waking moment in hopes of maybe paying it all off and going back to a bank account without a negative sign on it. His original estimate was to pay it all off by the end of the year, but with all the charity donations he had been unable to resist abiding to, another three months minimum would be necessary.
[arman_irl] I’m around halfway through my fic. Just checking in to let you know.
Kaveh groaned, rubbing his eyes before standing up to stretch. He had been sitting at his desk for hours.
[alkavarzaray] i’m sooooooooo sorry i’ve just been crazy busy so i haven’t managed to write that much!!!!! but i promise ill get on it asap, im rlly sorry!!!!!!
[arman_irl] ? It’s fine. We didn’t set a deadline. Don’t feel bad.
[alkavarzaray] i’ll be done with it next week! is that fine?
[arman_irl] Yes. It can be later too. No worries.
This guy was surprisingly so… nice. Kaveh used to have the impression that he was a little arrogant, but through their chats (which had become almost daily), he found that he was actually quite sweet, in a blunt way.
[alkavarzaray] yk you really live up to your username. idk i feel like u act like arman lol
[arman_irl] Yes, I didn’t pick my username lightly. I share many of his personality traits.
[alkavarzaray] reading the books must’ve felt as cathartic for u as it did for me, then. i felt like i was reading myself in manijeh all the damn time, and it made me reflect abt a lot of stuff
[arman_irl] Very interesting. What kind of reflections, if you don’t mind me asking?
[alcazarzaray] how i’m living my life, generally speaking. idk. i have a lot of flaws that r kinda similar to hers: pouring too much of myself into my work and into others, and letting emotion get the better of me. reading arman’s thoughts on her personality forced me to think about my own views relating to these things
[alkavarzaray] it helped with my art, too. i’ve told u i’m an architect, i think? i’ve always been in love with making art, but now that it comes with the weight of my career and money and others’ expectations, idk it feels… so tiring. i like being able to make art w/o pressure, and based purely on what i want to draw, and fanart allows me to do that. i’d also never tried my hand at creative writing, but it feels like therapy to write about arnijeh lol. i just think reading these books and interacting with them helped me reconnect with my love for art in a way
[alkavarzaray] sorry to get all sappy bc of a fandom haha. as u can tell im a bit obsessed with them
[arman_irl] I’m also emotionally invested in these characters, so there’s no need to apologise. And I’m genuinely glad to know that reading the books had this effect on you. I know the author would be glad to know it, too.
[alkavarzaray] alhaitham fckng volans basically finished the series by telling me i’m unloveable so i think all he wants is to break my heart LMAO
Despite it being an obvious joke, Alhaitham’s heart clenched at the message— that he had managed to do such good with his writing, but ended up bringing more misery into this poor stranger’s life. For the first time, he felt the irrational urge to write a fourth book in which everything ended well.
[arman_irl] I’m sorry about that. I’m sure he doesn’t actually believe you to be unloveable.
[alkavarzaray] well i’d say he doesn’t know who i am, but clearly he must’ve stalked me and read my diary in order to write manijeh LMFAO
[alkavarzaray] i wonder if she’s inspired by anyone irl
Alhaitham hesitated for a moment before typing out a reply.
[arman_irl] No. Arman is inspired by a real person, but Manijeh was thought up as someone who would be the opposite to him, his “perfect mirror.” That was the idea, in order to explore different opinions and spark debates.
[alkavarzaray] wait rlly???? dude HOW did i not know that i’m obsessed w this fandom… did volans say that in an interview or smth?
Alhaitham sucked in a breath.
[arman_irl] No. I met him. He told me.
Nearly groaning, Alhaitham cursed himself. All he had to do was keep quiet, but of course he didn’t manage. This was his first time outwardly lying to alkavarzaray, and he despised the bitter taste it left in his mouth.
[alkavarzaray] WHAT
[alkavarzaray] WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHA
[alkavarzaray] how when where. this man hates the public. i’ve never been able to get my books signed cuz this damn man never does any events ever. did u just randomly bump into him??
[arman_irl] I think he was planning on doing some kind of book signing event soon-ish. But no official details have come through.
[alkavarzaray] WAIT REALLY
[alkavarzaray] omg PLS let this be true kusanali PLS
[arman_irl] Yes, I believe so.
[arman_irl] If he does do a book signing… Perhaps we could meet each other in person there? Would you be interested?
Kaveh’s heart started thumping louder against his chest. Their conversations had never meandered into flirty territory, really, it was all anchored to the books and writing. And yet… the fact that they each identified so strongly with the love interests in the story, and that arman_irl had complimented him so often… He couldn’t help but feel like he was being asked out on a date. Which was unlikely. But he hoped it would be a date. Please.
[alkavarzaray] that would be really cool :) looking forward to it
[arman_irl] Me too.