Chapter Text
For as long as Kalim could remember, he had looked up to his father as if he were the sun. Powerful, brilliant and magnificent, someone who radiated warmth and radiance to those around him. A valuable treasure that no one was able to live without, a necessary part of everyone's lives.
"If you ask me, I'll buy the stars and the moon to decorate your bedroom. " The man once whispered to a young Kalim, holding the little boy to his chest as if he was one of his countless possessions. His golden eyes, so soft and kind, shone like little pieces of gold.
How easy it was to love him, at least it was for Kalim, a person that laughed and smiled as nothing in the world was able to affect him. An individual that seemed to know so much about the world, a father that would embrace Kalim and tell stories of lands the boy never dreamed could exist.
"I wish I could take away all the pain from your little body, my precious Lamb," cried the man, hugging Kalim after one of the worst kidnapping experiences of his life. His strong, tender hand stroked his son's hair with guilt and sorrow. Kalim clung to this affection, letting his father wipe away the big, salty tears that rolled down his bruised little face.
Kalim Al Asim was dearly loved by his father. Of course he was, the man always felt guilty for the bruises and scars that decorated Kalim's arms and legs.
Aarish Al Asim loves Kalim Al Asim.
So what was the reason that a little Kalim, only 6 years old, coughed sunflower petals from his lips?
Kalim was in shock, holding the beautiful petals with drops of blood in his trembling hands. He recognized them, how could he not, his favorite fairytale was about a princess who almost choked on red rose petals only to be saved at the last moment by her true love.
Hanahaki.
But it was impossible! Kalim Al Asim knew he was loved. He had no doubt that his mother and father, along with Jamil, loved him very much! His grandparents constantly doted on the young heir, and he had no reason to be unhappy surrounded by people who showed him such care and affection.
Kalim Al Asim was loved.
Kalim was...
"They've refused to pay." One of the captors shouted angrily from across the room, his eyes filled with loathing and resentment. It was a pitiful bitterness, almost as if someone had hurt this man so many times that only a deep hatred remained in his soul.
"Huh? I thought this little cutie was the heir." The other captor asked, his eyes focused on Kalim, who was tied to the uncomfortable metal chair. His eyes were dull, lifeless, and uninterested, as if nothing in life mattered to him. He had such a disinterested look in his eyes that Kalim wondered how much he had to go through to become so numb.
"AND HE IS!" shouted the angry man, kicking the chair Kalim was sitting on in a fit of rage, causing the small child to hit the floor. "He should be important, his safety should matter, HE IS THEIR HEIR, HOW CAN A FATHER NOT BE WILLING TO PAY TO GET HIS SON BACK?!" The man's wrath caused him to strike again, this time not the chair, but Kalim.
It was a crushing blow, but nowhere near the one of the worst that Kalim had ever felt. Yet, the impact of the blow had likely broken some of Kalim's ribs; he could feel it.
He knew exactly how to differentiate the pain of a normal blow from that of a shattered rib.
"If you keep damaging him, we won't even be able to sell him." The men with cold eyes with mockery, the lack of empathy obvious.
"That's why I didn't aim for his fucking face," muttered the other man before starting to shout things that hardly interested Kalim.
Had Kalim's father paid any ransom to free him?
Kalim couldn't say. Possibly? But he couldn't remember any of his kidnappers celebrating excitedly that they would receive cash from his family. However, he could remember their rage, their furious expressions when they got denied, when they risked everything to snatch a rich kid who wouldn't even pay them for the trouble. He vividly remembered their conversations about selling him, either into slavery or sex trafficking. Six-year-old Kalim was able to remember this, but not a single time his father had tried to pay for his safety.
How can a father not be willing to pay to get his child back?
In movies, TV shows, and fairytales he was told, parents do anything for their children. They destroyed the world in search of their children. Mothers and fathers became villains for the sake of their children, because their safety was all that mattered to them.
Kalim felt the urge to cough again, the petals scratching his throat, but he couldn't display such weakness in front of those in front of him. So he swallowed them, swallow those sunflower petals and imprisoned them inside himself.
It hurt, it ached in Kalim's chest, but he still didn't allow the flowers to escape his dry, bloody lips. They didn't deserve to know about the storm inside him, about the flowers born of blood and tears trapped in Kalim's lungs.
No one deserves to know about the sunflowers inside him.
"Kalim?" A familiar voice sounded in Kalim's ears. Soft, kind, and affectionate.
His thoughts paused, the pain faded, and the growing sadness in his chest evaporated for just a second when his bright red eyes met Jamil's jet-black ones.
Fear, worry, and relief. Genuine affection, tender love.
"Thank the seven!" The little boy sighed with relief before his warm arms embraced Kalim's cold body. The surroundings were no longer that abandoned place, but a fancy and well-decorated room.
He had been rescued, that much was clear, but how or when? Kalim couldn't remember, no matter how hard he tried. All his memories were clouded by such intense pain that it was all Kalim could focus on. He had a vague feeling that at some point he had bitten something, perhaps someone, and that he had heard his mother's soft voice singing one of those old songs he loved so much.
But it didn't matter, not at that moment. Kalim just let his body move toward Jamil's warmth. He let himself be carried away by his affection and love, while listening to Jamil, through his tears, say how worried he was about Kalim, with fragile promises that he would become stronger to protect his friend.
Kalim snuggled into that affection, that soft love, while he had the opportunity.
"I love you..." Kalim whispered to Jamil, who giggled, rubbing his chubby cheeks against Kalim's, who also chuckled.
Jamil's eyes always sparkled, even without the shiny colors, they always had a special glow. A joy, a happiness so pure that Kalim almost felt jealous of it.
"I know," he says proudly, hugging Kalim once more and throwing himself onto the bed beside him.
The sunflower petals seemed irrelevant at that moment with Jamil.
Jamil would have paid Kalim's ransom, he was sure of it.
"Jamil." His father's voice echoes through the room, startling both boys, who look shocked and frightened for a few seconds. There he was, with his silver hair identical to Kalim's and soft eyes full of tenderness. "Can I talk to my son alone?" He asks politely, a kind smile on his lips, like a tired and sad father who wanted a moment with his beloved boy.
Jamil seems to think for a moment, glancing at Kalim Al Asim, who just smiles. The kind of smile he had learned from his mother, not too bright so as not to seem exaggerated, nor too painful so as not to seem forced. The kind of smile where you could still see a hint of pain, but think that everything was fine.
Then Jamil leaves, and Kalim feels like crying as he watches him go, leaving him alone with his own father.
Kalim's father sits beside him, holding Kalim's small hand with shaking hands. His gaze is filled with guilt and sorrow, his expression almost pathetic and wounded, as if he was the one who had been harmed.
How many times have they performed this dance? With him seeking forgiveness, with sweet words, with delicate touches, with a painfully tender voice. How many times had Kalim been tormented, only to be rewarded with his father "opening his heart" to him?
"Why didn't you pay the ransom?" Kalim doesn't let him start the same old routine, the same repetitive dialogue. He looks at his own father, sad and lost. Wounded both physically and emotionally.
"Oh my dear lamb..." He seems heartbroken, his eyes filling with back-held tears. The man squeezes Kalim's hand gently, seeming to search for the right words to say to his son. A way to explain everything.
But was there an explanation for the abandonment? Kalim didn't believe there was.
"If I paid, they would see it as weakness. My son, the kidnappings have worsened so much, they would know exactly how to affect me and how to use you to make themselves more powerful! Imagine, they could use this to ruin our family, impact your little brothers, my son. My love, my sweet and gentle Lamb, I wanted to go, but for the sake of our family, I had to try to rescue you another way. I promise you, I swear on all our wealth, that if I could have, I would have gone to save you myself. I love you so much, Lamb." He kissed Kalim's hand, the tears no longer contained and staining the child's white blankets.
Guilt fills Kalim's chest, an almost instinctive desperation common to any child. He throws himself into his father's arms, his body reacting before he can fight it. He embraces his father, even though his heart aches and his wounds scream as if they had been inflicted once again.
"Oh, how blessed I am to have such an understanding child," Aarish whispers, his warm palm holding Kalim Al Asim's head as he gently caresses him. So loving, such a good and benevolent father.
Kalim felt disgust.
He saw it in his father's golden eyes. His eyes held many emotions, so many trapped in a golden cage, but none of them were guilt or love.
Daddy was lying to Kalim's face.
Kalim almost thought he would cough up petals onto his father's lap, that his heart ached from this pain, from the lack of sincerity and the well-crafted lie.
But nothing happened.
In his father's cold arms, Kalim realized that love had been swallowed up along with those petals.
Aarish Al Asim didn't love Kalim, and Kalim no longer bothered to love him either.