Chapter Text
On Kaveh's graduation day, with a tacky, glittering sash strewn over his shoulder and a dazzling smile on his lips for the camera, after the tears had all run out during his speech and he found himself looking up at the perfect blue Sumeru sky, he remembered feeling like this was the start of something great.
Everything was falling into place. He had an internship at a luxurious architecture firm that actually valued his artistic eye and believed buildings contained stories, not just structures. He was earning more money than he could ever have imagined as a university student, and he had his own, albeit small, place. He had graduated with honours like everyone had always said he would, and his professors all shook his hand with a genuine smile and the promise that they knew he would achieve whatever he wanted.
Whatever he wanted. It had seemed beautiful at the time, but now, five years later, he sometimes wished that he could take back his foolish desires.
After all, the only thing these desires had earned him massive debt clinging to his name, forcing him to slave away at extra commissions after his work was done to pay for his past mistakes.
Not that it was much use overthinking all the decisions that were already set in stone. He simply had to live with the cards he had dealt himself and pray to the Archons above that he would be able to achieve a comfortable life in a few years' time. His routine consisted of waking up, working, occasionally reassuring his friends that everything was perfectly fine, working some more, and gulping down cheap wine on Saturdays until he forgot his own name.
Well. There was also the commute.
"Fuck," he muttered, trying to connect his phone to the car for the fourth time that morning. It was a one-hour drive to the office while the sun was barely up, and he would probably scream if he was forced to listen to his thoughts the entire time. "Please. Come on."
His begging was lost on the machine's unsympathetic ears. Sighing, he resorted to turning on the car radio instead.
"Call 1001-0110 right now and join the raffle for a full day of free mentorship with Lord Sangemah Bay herself! Sumeru's most successful lifestyle coach—"
He changed the station. "—unexpected turn of events, all of Fontaine is shocked at the trial of Lady Furina—"
Groaning, he changed the stations until some soothing music finally came on. It was a little too slow for his taste, but it got the job done. All he had to do was sit through the traffic for one single hour, and then he could shut his office door and blast some energetic music in his ears though his headphones.
As the radio station let the song fade away and a barrage of ridiculous ads scratched at his ears instead, he flipped through more stations.
"—though I'm sure all of Sumeru would like to hear your opinion on the matter—"
"That's right! Exclusive keychains sold by Lord Sangemah Bay! And of course, twenty percent of the proceedings go to charity."
"Do none of these stations play any damn music?" he muttered to himself.
"—exclusive interview with—"
"traditional Liyuen lullabies—"
"Only five thousand mora!"
"—seems like your mother lacks the maturity to accept that she owes you an apology."
Kaveh paused. The soft, calming voice coming through the speakers drifted into his ears like a soothing ripple of nostalgia that simultaneously brought him relief and alarmed shock. It was familiar with its gentle, low cadence, and seemed to plunge him into a well of memories he had managed to avoid falling into for longer than he could count.
"You should bring it up to her respectfully but directly, if you can find the energy for it. But it is not your responsibility to amend someone else's mistakes, nor to put in all the effort for a person who hurt you."
Stunned, Kaveh didn't realise the light in front of him had already turned green. How could he, when he was listening to Alhaitham's voice after all these years?
Though he had not heard it in what felt like ages, it was with absolute certainty that he recognised it from the first syllable. That voice was as imprinted within him as the colour of those dual-hued eyes Kaveh had turned into vibrant watercolour so many times in his college sketchbooks, sometimes from observation but often from memory. Even through the car's scratchy, low quality sound system, the clarity of his blunt tone gripped Kaveh with its sameness, as if the man himself was still standing in front of him with a linguistics textbook tucked under his arm and a large set of headphones on his ears.
Someone honked. Kaveh blinked as he realised he was in his car and not in a university library, alone rather than in the company of someone who used to know him perhaps better than himself.
What odd things can happen on a random, mundane Tuesday.
"Our next letter is from someone who wishes to remain anonymous, and identifies herself as 'N'," Alhaitham continued. "It reads, 'I work in the creative sector and feel frustrated that my art is not valued, much like most art in Sumeru. It's as if the expression of what it means to be human, to love and to feel, to bring beauty into the world, doesn't matter to the Akademiya and their elderly scholars who believe truth can only be found through empirical tests. What about my life? Is that not also 'truth'? Why is wisdom only wisdom if it comes in a particular format?"
Embarrassingly, Kaveh felt his lips start to quiver at the words. It was how he had felt for much of his career and student life, treated like a fool for caring about beauty and the soul rather than just metal and function. No one around him seemed to value what was deeply human, content to reduce the pursuit for knowledge to a logic-based algorithm carried out by men-machines.
And it was Alhaitham speaking.
"I can't help but feel frustrated by how my passion is treated as useless," Alhaitham stated, tone impassive as he read out some stranger's raw feelings for anyone in Sumeru to hear. "I struggle with money too, and now I might lose my job due to a lack of funding. I can't imagine life will be entirely fulfilling without creating art and immersing myself in it, but I have to eat, don't I? I try to show people just how magical and lifechanging music and dance can be, but it's as if most people are blind to the emotions art always moves me to."
A tear escaped Kaveh's eye. His hands trembled against the steering wheel.
"How do I keep living without throwing a part of myself away?" Alhaitham asked. "If I change careers, it'll be like being dishonest to myself, letting go of my ideals. If we live without our ideals, then who are we? I feel like I wouldn't be myself anymore."
Kaveh looked into the rear view mirror. His eyes were glassy.
"I feel like a coward for asking a radio station for advice, but most of my colleagues are in similar situations and most of my other friends just don't understand this feeling."
He heard a small sound of paper shuffling through the radio, then held his breath to brace for Alhaitham's response. There was no way of knowing how Alhaitham felt about this after years of not knowing how his life was going, but Kaveh could almost hear his thought-out pragmatisms tearing down Kaveh's colourful ideologies in the constant debates they used to have. And when you realise your ideals? Alhaitham had asked him, voice especially rough during that last vicious fight they'd had before permanently parting ways, what comes next? What's left of you after you've thrown all of yourself into your creations?
His hands hovered over the car's display screen with half a mind to change stations and avoid Alhaitham's voice, but he was too cowardly to go through with it.
"I don't believe there's one right way to go about this issue," Alhaitham started. "But let's go by parts. Your first priority should always be basic survival. If you truly lose your job, it's more important to focus on being able to financially support yourself than—"
Kaveh changed stations. He couldn't bear to hear it all again, not when he had already lived through the consequences of everything Alhaitham had repeatedly told him not to do.
But then again… surely Alhaitham would have changed by now, just like he had. Perhaps not much, but he couldn't be the same person as he was back then. After all, five years had passed. Slowly, he returned to Alhaitham's station.
"—the time being, focus your efforts on it as a hobby, a passion project so that you won't lose, as you said, a—"
Fuck. Kaveh was not ready to hear him speak.
Embarrassingly, though five years had passed since they'd last seen each other, his heart still sped up erratically like that of a teenager experiencing first love simply because he was listening to that voice. It was the same voice that a freshman had used to tell him to lower his volume in the House of Daena, the same one his best friend had used to ask him to move in with him, and the same one that had come out of his boyfriend's mouth to whisper 'I'll always love you' in Kaveh's ears on more than one late night.
Now, the voice belonged to a faceless stranger on the radio, and to him Kaveh was just another listener among the thousands in Sumeru.
Something in his chest seemed to ache at the reminder that the love they had shared, which had once felt so miraculously beautiful that Kaveh genuinely believed they were 'meant to be' like in the stories he'd read in his childhood, was now nothing but a faded memory Alhaitham probably rarely ever thought about. The image he kept in his mind of Kaveh was likely one of an exhausted face with deep eyebags screaming at him over the kitchen table where they used to have coffee together in the morning, or of the dry text messages they'd exchanged in the couple months leading to their breakup.
Maybe he even had someone new. Someone who was easier to take care of than the mess Kaveh kept disorganised in his head, who didn't need constant reassurances and didn't cry over every little thing or wake him up in the middle of the night because of the same nightmares that had been plaguing him for years.
Alhaitham's life was different now. He probably had someone by his side who matched his even temperament and shared his opinions rather than batter them with arguments at every possible chance. And he was working as a radio host, which Kaveh would never have guessed despite supposedly being the one who knew him best back then.
Excellent. Now Kaveh was sobbing in his car before nine AM, shoulders trembling as he gripped the steering wheel much more forcefully than was necessary. A million memories flooded his head, of a road trip with Alhaitham in this exact passenger seat, of a birthday card in that neat handwriting that read 'to the love of my life,' of the kind of warm, never-ending hug he hadn't received in years. He pulled the car to the side of the street and let himself cry all the regrets out, tears dripping down his palms and clogging his nose.
He reached for the tissue box he kept in the glove compartment, then blew his nose loudly and wetly. Wasn't this just the perfect start to his week?
After probably about ten minutes of uninterrupted wallowing in his self-induced suffering, he peeked over the steering wheel his forehead was lying against to eye the display screen.
It looked back at him. He raised a finger.
No. Hearing Alhaitham's voice would achieve nothing except for undoing all of Kaveh's work over these past five years to get over those ridiculously attentive eyes and that voice he could never forget. Turning the radio back on would be a disservice to his own mental health.
And yet… his willpower was faltering as he raised his hand again, enchanted by the idea of hearing Alhaitham's thoughts in real time. It was nostalgic in a way that felt both delicious and heartbreaking, and Kaveh, well… Kaveh had always been prone to suffering more than he had to.
"—concludes all the messages we received for today," Alhaitham's voice said. "We will be ending the Advice Column program earlier than usual. If you would like to participate tomorrow, send a text to 68320-5574 or a letter to the headquarters of Haravatat FM. The address is on our website, haravatatfm.com.su. Now, as usual, uninterrupted Sumeran music until our daily news recap at nine AM."
His voice faded to make way for a cheery tune that seemed to mock Kaveh with its energetic riff, and he snorted mirthlessly in response.
Whatever. Alhaitham and his stupidly attractive voice were in the past now, and Kaveh would surely forget all about this little incident after drowning in his blueprints for a few hours.
Rain was pouring heavily when Kaveh climbed into his car to drive home for the day, and by the looks of it, traffic was disastrously awful. Screeching honks sounded all around him, and his damn bluetooth still wasn't working.
"Fuck it," he muttered, tuning into Haravatat FM.
Music was playing. It was a popular track that seemed to be everywhere these days, and Kaveh tapped the wheel insistently waiting for a certain voice to come on instead. Well, considering the sheer length this drive was certainly going to take, there was no way songs would be playing the entire time until he arrived home.
"That was 'Singing in the Wind' by Mondstadtian artist Barbara," Alhaitham announced a few minutes later, scaring Kaveh so suddenly he accidentally honked at the poor car in front of him. "It is currently 18:47, and we will be conducting an interview with Sethos, the leader of the Temple of Silence. Good evening Sethos, I am Alhaitham from Haravatat FM and we thank you for coming to our studio."
"The pleasure is mine," another voice replied.
"As our listeners likely know, recent developments in the desert have brought to our attention the importance of the wealth of records and historical data kept in the Temple of Silence. What is your opinion on the lack of desert history traditionally taught in schools in Sumeru City?"
Kaveh found himself absorbed in the criticisms Sethos managed to build through easygoing banter and light jokes here and there, describing the nation's education system in few succinct words and telling folk stories Kaveh had never heard of. Alhaitham's short questions seemed to bring out exactly what Sethos wanted to talk about, and the conversation drew Kaveh's thoughts away from his stress and his memories.
"Thank you for your answers," Alhaitham said at last. "This was Sethos, leader of the Temple of Silence, on Haravatat FM. Now, a half-hour of music before our literary segment. If you would like to request a specific song, text us at 68320-5574."
Though Kaveh would rather not admit it even to himself, listening to Alhaitham eventually became an integral part of his routine. He downloaded the Haravatat FM app on his phone and took to guiltily hearing the programs at work or at home, diligently listening until he knew exactly at what times Alhaitham worked. He would tune in religiously while driving for the Advice Column, and again while cooking dinner for Alhaitham's book recommendations and reviews. He sometimes interviewed authors and sometimes read poetry aloud.
It brought back memories Kaveh had locked away in a cluttered corner of his mind, previously muddled but now clearer than ever as he heard Alhaitham's voice float around his kitchen. A rainy evening on his last year of college in which he was lying on their shared bed while Alhaitham read out loud for him. A picnic at a park in which Alhaitham recited tacky poetry to him, and he pretended he wasn't melting inside. A Valentine's Day in which he'd gifted Alhaitham a book he'd annotated and filled with hand-drawn illustration on the blank pages, and then every morning after that in which he'd wake up and see that exact book on Alhaitham's bookshelf, carefully displayed in the center like a prized possession.
Mehrak's meowing brought him out of his daydream and back to real life, only for him to realise his rice was burning. He swore as he turned off the heat.
"Did I forget your dinner?" he hummed, frowning as he looked at her adorable little green eyes. "I'm so sorry, princess. Let's go eat."
Kaveh took the phone with him as he walked around the house to find her bowl, only mildly embarrassed that he wasn't willing to lose a single word coming out of Alhaitham's mouth. He was going on about a biography now, and Kaveh made a mental note to buy it at some point. It sounded enthralling from how Alhaitham was weaving the narrative with his murmured words and succinct descriptions, but maybe that was just because it was him.
"Meow," Mehrak said carefully, stepping on his phone with a delicate paw and looking up at him with her beady eyes.
"This is my toy, not yours," Kaveh replied sweetly, kissing her fluffy forehead. "Go eat, hm?"
She looked down at the phone screen, open to Haravatat FM, and though it was utterly irrational, he felt like she was judging him for listening to his ex like a creep. Or perhaps gingerly telling him, please stop listening to your ex like a creep.
"It's just the radio," he told her, biting his bottom lip. "It's, uh, background noise. Nothing more. He's just a good host, that's all. There are no feelings involved, I got over him a long time ago."
Except someone who had 'gotten over him a long time ago' probably wouldn't be falling asleep to the soft cadence of his voice, or tuning into the radio when feeling especially lonely on a Friday night spent at home, looking through the Irmingram stories of everyone he knew and finding them smiling at bars with their friends. Someone who had no feelings left for Alhaitham wouldn't be carefully listening to every line of advice he gave as if it could reveal everything about the man behind the voice, nor paying close attention to how he rolled his Rs and enunciated his syllables, following with eager ears the way Alhaitham dotted his 'i' with his voice and elongated the 's' at the end of a sentence.
Kaveh noted every little detail in his mind until he could convince himself that he still knew Alhaitham, that they were still present in each other's lives and that they weren't separated by five years of no contact. But the fantasy eventually caught up to him when he was rolling over in his empty bed at night, searching for the warmth of a body pressed against his that hadn't been there in half a decade.
He remembered laughing when Alhaitham would press two cold feet against his legs with a smirk, and how his fingers would thread through blonde hair after a long day to undo the braids Kaveh had made in the morning. He dreamed of waking up and finding the man himself sat on the edge of his mattress, looking at him with that soft gaze no one else had ever managed to emulate, and Kaveh genuinely believed the mirage was real until he sat up with a jolt and found himself in a dark room, with no one on the pillow next to his.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to Mehrak, who had opened her little eyes because of his sudden movements. "Let's go back to sleep."
"Do you keep up with Alhaitham?"
Tighnari instantly looked up from his plate to shoot him a glare so intense it could have killed a weaker man, and Cyno closed his lips halfway through building a punchline.
"Why do you ask?" Tighnari shot back with a frown.
"Just. You know. Curiosity."
"You told us to never mention that name or you would never get over him," Cyno uttered, crossing his arms. "Why the change?"
"Oh, come on, it's been five years!" Kaveh retorted, chuckling nervously. "I won't die if I hear his name. It's not like I still have feelings for him after all this time."
"Right," Tighnari said quietly, eyeing him just as fiercely as before. "Yes, we keep up with Alhaitham."
"Cool. Nice." Kaveh cleared his throat. "So, what's he up to? What's he working as? I never heard any news after graduating."
"He's working at a radio station."
"Wow," Kaveh replied, feigning surprise. "That's… so random. How come?"
"He did some work as a journalist after he graduated," Cyno explained, shrugging. "Wrote a book and all about corruption in the government. Got a little famous. Then started working as a news guy at a radio station, and eventually became a full-time host. You know how he is, likes something predictable and stable. The job pays well, so there he is."
"Interesting."
"Is it?" Tighnari asked, sipping his glass of wine. "Why the sudden interest?"
Choking on his own wine, Kaveh forced a smile. "I thought I heard his voice on the radio these days. Guess I was right."
"Ah."
Silence took over them like tangible awkwardness clinging to the table, and Kaveh stuffed his mouth with food.
"And how are you feeling about it?" Cyno asked at last.
"Fine, of course!" Kaveh exclaimed. "Like I said, I've been over him for a long time. But curiosity is only natural, right? Anyway, let's not get hung up on the past," he diverted, hop[efully in a convincing tone. "Tell me about Collei, how's she doing?"
Journalist? Alhaitham? He had written a whole book and Kaveh was none the wiser?
As he locked his front door behind himself, he took out his phone with dizzy hands and searched for his name on the Akasha.
A flood of results instantly rolled in, and Kaveh felt lightheaded. Alhaitham had built his entire life far away from him, and Kaveh had gone from the most important person in his life to a stranger who searched his name up on the Akasha like an idiot. Without thinking, Kaveh ordered the book even though he should really be saving as much money as possible, then collapsed on the couch.
He typed in Haravatat FM's phone number with squinted eyes, not sober enough to overthink this decision. At least he had the clarity to ensure the radio contact wouldn't be able to view his name or profile picture, and then he started pouring his soul into paragraph after paragraph that he would definitely regret in the morning, vision growing blurrier with each new word as he continued his written ramble.
As usual, Alhaitham arrived at the radio station punctually and sat down in the studio to prepare for his first appearance of the day.
This advice program had been a suggestion by his superior, and at the time Alhaitham had not considered himself the best person for the job. He'd never been exactly considered the most empathetic or kindhearted individual around, often told his words were too harsh or blunt to be comforting at all, but he gave it a chance regardless. And it had become surprisingly successful: at least half a dozen listeners wrote to him every single day, and some of the names were already familiar to him.
"Have you read all the messages already?" Faruzan asked.
"Not yet. I'm missing the last one."
dear alhaitham,
is that how people usualy start these things? or is it weird to say your frst name like tht? but then how should i start? i hope you wont take offfence at my casualness (casualty?? idk. i'm kinda drunk. i swear i'm not trying to be weird. i'm jst a random listener wh wants some advice.
do you have any advice on getting over your ex
Alhaitham pursed his lips at the question. It was far from the first time someone wrote about the topic, but it was still his least favourite matter to entertain. It always felt too personal to talk about on air.
not your ex, obviousuly. my ex. like advce on getting over my ex. i dont even know if you have an ex, obviously. but i do. unforunatly. i do have an ex unfortunately i mean
Snorting, Alhaitham scrolled down. The 'i'm kinda drunk' disclaimer hadn't been exactly necessary considering the rest of the message.
i mean that it's unfortunate that we're exes, bc we were great togethr. we were best friends for a while and we fell in love and it was so beatiful, then we got together and livd together and it was pretty much perfect tbh. he made me realise id never actually been in love before, bc i'd never felt that way about anyone befre him. like everythingh i learned about him made me wnat to learn even more, and no one had a mind like his, and i wanted to know everything abt him, and i could stare at him all day and i wantd us to talk all the time and cuddling him was like celestia and knowing he loved me back made me giggle like an actual idiot like. i thougt my life was perfect for a while, i was gebuinely head over heels for him.
but we broke up so.
it's actually been a few years… yet here I am. like an idiot who cant ever get over lietrally anything in his fcking life
i thought i was over him, but now i keep seeing him online and he doesn't even know i'm constantly looking at his life but i am. and i feel sooooooo fckng dumb. i know he doesn't think about me anymore. but now i kinda want him back. but it's impossilbe and ik that, bc i sorta fucked things up
can you believe i was the one who broke up with him? i'm such a fuckibg idiot i hate myself i hate myself sometimes my god
now idk what to do. i feel lonely too. and his life looks perfect while mine is shit rn. like actual shit im so so lonely and here i thoght i was an extrovert but apparently not bc i cant maintain a single fckng close relationship bc i keep pushing everyone away like what in the actual fuck is wrng with me i would REALLY like to know but also i kinda dont wanna know bc i already hate myself most of the time as is and i dont want to make that problem worse when i have other things to worry abt like for example my fckng car bluetooth system that doesn't fckng work and oh my gods why does destiny fucking hate me everything always goes wrong
how do I stop thibking about him??? it's been years and i still havn't managed. i think i still love him
please tell me wht you would do.
thank you,
Anonymous Drunk Stranger
Another message had been sent eleven minutes later.
im rlly sorry for the long ramble btw im sorry for mking a fool out of myself i had a lot to drink and i cant see so well rn sorry have a good morning + day i love your voice it's so soothing thank you, feel free to ignore all my texts if u want
With an amused smile curving his lips, Alhaitham turned off the phone and sat facing the microphone. Though his thoughts had never ventured into such self-deprecating territory, he could relate in many ways to this Anonymous Drunk Stranger's issues. Really, who couldn't? Almost all lost love left behind some form of grief, so Alhaitham was willing to believe this was a quasi-universal experience. That he should be anyone's first choice to comfort them over matters of the heart was still surprising to him, but he believed he could offer some level of reassurance.
Opening a notebook, he started jotting down a general outline of what to say to each listener seeking advice. It was all mostly straightforward until he got to the last message.
Alhaitham had read, in more than one language and form, that there is no fully forgetting someone you once genuinely loved. People and their people-ness tend to carve out a space in your heart just for themselves, minute as it may be, and that section of cardiac tissue remains forever compromised from then on.
Although, 'compromised' was not the most appropriate word for it. 'Frozen', perhaps, but that brought a negative connotation that should not be present here — and it would not be accurate to say that love does not morph over time. "Lodged" would work, in the sense that bits of care and admiration remained lodged in between muscle fibers, but it was too unromantic for the idea being conveyed.
Thought most would think of him as too "pragmatic" to be considering the connotations of romance so deeply, Alhaitham still understood the importance of precision in language. If a concept called for romance in its very essence, then romantic it should be, no matter the thinker's personal beliefs regarding the centuries-long clash between emotion and practicality. Rational as he was, he was still filled with love.
All this to say that, though he couldn't seem to pin down the right word, Alhaitham knew that a corner of his heart would forever beat for his grandmother and his grandmother only, no matter how faded his memory of her was, and the edges of that muscle he kept carefully protected within the loving cradle of his ribs were dedicated to every person across the years who had left a faint imprint of themselves upon him. The unnamed elderly lady who had held him in her arms as he sobbed uncontrollably at the only funeral he had ever attended, the classmate who had given him a qatayef recipe he still used today, and every friend who had ever taught him anything at all in these twenty-five years of life. In a sense, they had all changed him, even if just slightly, and he carried it all like a memoir of every small declaration of affection that had ever formed in the back of his throat.
Almost anyone around him would say he was not a romantic. Perhaps it was because his love was never displayed loudly or grandiosely, or perhaps it was because he did not fall in love as easily as most seemed to. His heart held small separate spaces for his affections, yes, but rarely was it ever consumed by a single overwhelming passion.
His heart was a journal of sorts, with passages transcribed in careful ink for everything he had ever admired. Each entry was short, succinct: A stranger did me a small kindness today. Nilou took care of me on the anniversary of my grandmother's passing. I have a new favourite poem. The coffee I just bought reminded me of my childhood.
They were snippets of fleeting love, rarely ever voiced but diligently documented in invisible letters under the skin of his chest. He was a collection of short sentences, woven together into a worded tapestry of what he understood as his soul.
Only one such entry had ever taken up pages upon pages of this metaphysical journal he kept safely tucked in his chest cavity. It had started as it usually did: Kaveh was patient with me in a way almost no one ever is. Kaveh fixed my headphones. Kaveh changed my mind in a discussion about Inazuman current events. Kaveh is teaching me to embroider. Kaveh introduced me to my new favourite singer.
Slowly, like rays of warm light colouring a landscape as the sun gradually climbs up the sky, Kaveh's name was scribbled all over Alhaitham's pages. Much like the sun, he often did nothing other than simply be: the sun would rise and set, Kaveh would think and feel, and Alhaitham would fall in love.
Kaveh smiled at a child at the Bazaar today. Kaveh always chooses the smallest spoon to eat anything with. When Kaveh sees a bee, it reminds him of a book he read as a child every time. Kaveh often tells me the same story more than once, but I never tell him 'I've heard this one before' until he's finished.
By the time Alhaitham realised that Kaveh was making him fall in love with life itself, his heart was already overflowing with adoration that could fill up volumes upon volumes of journals. His entries started including I saw a bee. I ate stew with a small spoon. A blonde stranger asked me for directions, and I replied in as much detail as possible. His written love went from simple sentences to dependent clauses, unending paragraphs, complex structures. Sometimes, his entries sounded more like verses — they seemed to rhyme on accident, and his observations now organically came out in iambic pentameter. Each carefully chosen word was buried in the tissue of his heart: protected, documented, beloved.
The love started to escape the caring encasement of his ribs to climb up his throat, then spread over his tongue like the sweetest honey and drip like syrup off his lips.
"Kaveh," he remembered saying out loud to an empty room, testing how love sounded when read rather than written. "Ka-veh."
He stressed the first syllable, then the second, letting the letters linger then loll from his mouth, tasting the bold strikes of the K and the gentle curve of the 'e.' He kept the 'h' in his mouth longer than necessary, breathing the sound like a confession, before repeating the name like a promise.
Alhaitham loved like he spoke: sparsely, quietly, purposely. Dedicated.
Perhaps that was why, when he received his job offer, his friends had scrunched their noses at the idea of him of all people building a career off talking — if anything, that seemed to be one of his least favourite activities. He had always been type to listen more than he spoke and measure his words when he did open his lips.
It wasn't that he considered silence a morally superior characteristic, as many of his former classmates seemed to think when they pinned him as "arrogant" while barely knowing him at all. He simply felt no need to voice most of the thoughts and emotions connecting like syllables within him. If he did need to speak however, it was no sacrifice. If anything, speaking in an empty studio, at the microphone and no one else, was almost calming. He knew anyone could hear his quiet words of course, but there was no one in front of him to chuckle if he said something amusing or cock their head if they didn't understand him. It was almost like an echo chamber where he could let his thoughts climb up his throat with no consequence, and, surprisingly even to him, it felt freeing.
A knock on the glass brought him out of his reflection and back into the studio. Faruzan mouthed, can we get started?
A blaring alarm hammered on Kaveh's ears consecutively, yanking him out of a delicious dream with insisting beeps that made him want to rip out his head.
Blearily, he fiddled with the screen, wondering why in the actual fuck he had set an alarm this early for a Saturday after a night out. A hangover filled his head with a light ache and his throat was blocked by nausea, not to mention the utter dryness his mouth was experiencing. He felt like his tongue was going to fall off if he didn't immediately drink an entire bottle of water.
'ALHAITJAM' was the label on the alarm, and for a moment Kaveh's sleep-addled brain believed it was a phone call from the person he had been dreaming about. And then his memory caught up to his mind, and he remembered setting an alarm to wake up and listen to Haravatat FM's morning program. Because he had sent a request for advice the previous—
The recollection made him instantly leap off the divan — why was he sleeping on the divan? —, and his back sparked with sudden pain in a way that made him instantly stumble back into the cushions. Mehrak, who had been sleeping at his feet, looked up with widened eyes.
"No," he winced, unlocking his phone with trembling hands. This couldn't be happening. Surely his drunk self hadn't been that inconsequential.
As he opened the radio app, Alhaitham's voice floated off the speakers in its usual cadence, but its previous soothing effect was nonexistent in face of Kaveh's aching panic. He opened his chats and held his breath as he looked back at the message he'd sent, quickly scanning the muddle of words in all their grammatical incorrectness.
Okay, he though, sighing, and his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It wasn't that awful; at least he hadn't revealed his identity, even though what he had written was quite embarrassing.
Still, he clicked the message with the hopes of erasing it from the face of Teyvat, but his heart sank as he found that it could no longer be deleted because of the amount of time that had elapsed since its sending. Groaning, he lay back down on the divan and rubbed his sore temples with fingers that still reeked of wine.
It felt like a lifetime as he impatiently listened to Alhaitham's responses to the other advice-seeking souls out there, secretly upset that he was giving them his attention before entertaining Kaveh. He drank a full litre of water. Then, hope started to grow within him that Alhaitham wouldn't reply to his message at all — perhaps they had received too many requests today, so some would be ignored. Maybe he himself had never even read it; perhaps it had been some intern or whatever.
Such hope was utterly shattered when Alhaitham moved on to the last message, reading out word for word his humiliating drunken ramble in the same unaffected monotone he always used.
"I'm not sure our Anonymous Drunk Stranger is awake to hear this, considering the time stamp of his message," Alhaitham murmured, and though it probably sounded emotionless to most listeners, Kaveh could detect a hint of amusement in his tone. "Or if he remembers sending it at all. In reality, I hope he's asleep and nursing his hangover."
The simple kindness should have been inconsequential. but it warmed Kaveh's heart to an embarrassing degree.
"But if you are listening, anonymous stranger," Alhaitham continued, "I am glad my voice soothes you. I hope it helps ease the discomfort you're certainly feeling from your night of excessive alcohol."
Fuck. Kaveh didn't have a mirror in front of him, but he knew perfectly well that his cheeks were blazing a furious red.
"As for your message, I am afraid there is no quick remedy to a broken heart. I personally believe that love, the kind that's genuine, never fully leaves us after being felt. It seems only natural that you would remember your ex now that you feel lonely. You wish for what you used to have, and your memories obviously supply you with hypothetical what-ifs."
Kaveh's throat bobbed. Of course Alhaitham would still be able to dissect his emotions, even after all these years and over the barrier of a phone screen.
"But are you sure you really want him back?" Alhaitham asked. Kaveh's mind instantly supplied a ready 'yes,' no reflection needed. "You were the one to break up with him. Why did you do it? If you really were sure he was what you wanted, wouldn't you have stayed? Why let go of someone you valued so highly? Why sabotage your own happiness?"
A Saturday morning was not the appropriate moment for these kinds of questions, which he usually only chose to entertain after at least three glasses of wine. He wanted to keep his emotional breakdowns to a minimum over the weekend, because his chore list was already full and he would like to have some free time to watch a mindless show on Sunday night. That would not be possible if he was sobbing for hours.
"What I mean to say is, perhaps the years have made it so your memories seem more precious than they really are. You're lonely, so you only remember the happy moments, the easy intimacy, the proximity. But what about your reasons for breaking up with him? Don't sugarcoat his faults, or yours. If you broke up with him, there must have been a reason." He paused. "I personally cannot say I understand why you would break up with him if you still wanted him, but I don't pretend to know everything about love. After all, I'm just a radio host. But perhaps some reflection is in order to consider whether you really still love him. And, if you do love him, whether having him back would truly be best for you."
Kaveh's eyes had started to water at some point amid the words, but a slight smile still found its way to his lips. This response was so quintessentially Alhaitham that it brought him a sense of fond nostalgia despite the sadness creeping into his chest— he had identified logical fallacies, then pointed out possible inaccuracies in his own methodology: he spoke like a scholar, as always. Kaveh remembered reading his first published research paper, something about colloquial dialects on the border between the rainforest and the desert, and pretending to understand half of what was written. Alhaitham had seen right through his act of course, and explained every detail with that soothing voice and a patient smile.
"As for what I would do in your place, my anonymous drunk stranger," Alhaitham continued, and the 'my' nearly knocked all the air out of Kaveh's lungs, "I doubt this will surprise you, but I would stop following him online. Don't go looking for reminders of him. You'll never be able to forget him otherwise."
I'll never forget you anyway, Kaveh despondently thought, increasing the volume. He wanted to catch every word and pretend that Alhaitham was really there.
"Remember why you removed him from your life, and try to respect that it was the best solution you could manage at the time. Hating yourself serves no purpose and won't help the situation at all. You can keep him as a pleasurable memory, but that's all he should be: a memory. Don't try to pull him back into your present when that's not where he belongs."
The fondness drained out of Kaveh's chest in cascades, replaced by waves of grief that then began to overflow in the form of tears. He sobbed quietly into the cushion he had been hugging, sniffling miserably at the words. He didn't know why he'd ever thought it would be a good idea to have his ex comfort him about their own breakup, because he now felt so utterly stupid it was almost comical. That's all I should, Alhaitham was telling him, a memory. Don't try to pull me back into your present when that's not where I belong.
Kaveh's headache worsened. He closed the radio app with a quivering finger and threw the phone onto the divan with a heavy sigh, sipping on more water. Mehrak stretched her back cutely, and it managed to force a sad smile out of his downturned lips.
"I love you," he told her, kissing her forehead wetly. She jumped away from his touch.
Excellent, he thought as he stepped into the shower, more tears escaping his eyes. Not even my fucking cat wants me.
And yet, by the time he was warm and clean, his mood seemed to have once more turned on its head. He picked up his phone again, debating whether he should go through with the idea his mind was furtively whispering to him. Before he could think about for too long, he opened the same chat with the radio station and let his fingers type what they wanted.
Dear 'just a radio host,'
I'm getting the impression you don't give yourself the credit you deserve. Yes, your voice helped improve my terrible morning, and all your words made sense. Your logic helped balance my sentimentality.
Still, I wanted to apologise for last night's message. I was clearly not in the right headspace and not exactly thinking straight. If I could go back, I wouldn't have written anything at all, and I'm quite embarrassed that I wrote to you in the middle of an emotional breakdown. I promise I'm not as screwed up as it looks.
Thank you for your advice.
His hand hovered over the keyboard, wondering if he should say anymore. Was this a thank-you message? An apology? Another plea for advice?
These questions were pointless, because beyond the depths of his headache, he knew what it was — it was a desperate attempt at further interacting with Alhaitham, because now that he'd tasted that full attention once more directed solely at him, he didn't want to let go of it again. It was his own fault that they were no longer in each other's lives, but that didn't mean he couldn't have regrets.
As for why I broke up with him, it was never because I stopped wanting him.
He deleted the sentence, then wrote it again. His heart was beating erratically now. Even if his identity was concealed, it was still Alhaitham he was directing these words at, telling him with every letter and each carefully typed-out syllable: I miss you.
I broke up with him because I was insecure and neither of us knew how to communicate properly. That's the real reason, but if you'd asked me five years ago I'd have told you something totally different.
It was his first time admitting that to anyone. Even today, whenever anyone asked, he replied that they'd had a big argument, that Alhaitham had hurt him, that they simply weren't compatible. But he knew that wasn't the truth, or at the very least not the whole truth.
Cursing under his breath, he deleted the 'five' and wrote 'a few years ago' instead. If he blundered this, he'd not only be humiliating himself in front of Alhaitham, but probably dredging up uncomfortable memories for him, too. Who would want their mentally unstable college ex to suddenly reappear in their life through cryptic messages, hiding their identity like a coward and whining about missing the past?
He almost deleted the entire message. But, pathetic as he was, he craved a conversation with Alhaitham as if they were still fresh from their breakup. There was no one else he'd rather talk to, and the opportunity was quite literally in his hands.
So yes, it is possible to break up with someone while loving them desperately. I think, although I don't know for sure, that I ended things myself partly because I was terrified he would be the one to tell me he didn't want me anymore. I don't think I could bear that, if I'm honest. I feel like I've had too many people leave me already, and he was supposed to be the love of my life. I was my best version around him. I tried to do everything properly. I tried to love him as best I could, to not bother him, to not inconvenience him, to just make him happy as much as humanly possible.
So, in a way, I felt like if he broke up with me, it would be the ultimate proof that I'm simply not fit for loving. And I felt like he was going to break up with me. I don't know for sure. I actually have no idea. He kept pushing for us to talk honestly, but I didn't want to tell him things that would only make him realise how fucked up in the head I really was (am?). But it's not like he was that honest with me either.
I don't know why I'm telling you this. I wanted to tell someone, but I'm too much of a coward to do it to someone who knows who I am. I'd rather be anonymous. Maybe this will shed light on my situation a little better. Would you change your response at all, knowing all this?
If it happened to you, this breakup I mean, do you think you would be able to forgive me?
He instantly deleted the last part, sucking in a breath to stop his tears from falling again. This was just downright pathetic by now.
Do you think I deserve his forgiveness? Do you think I should try apologising to him? Try to fix things?
I don't know what his life looks like now. I don't know if he has someone new by his side, if he still thinks about me at all, if he hates me. Do you think there's a possibility he could still want me too?
Insane was what it was, and ridiculous. In other words, Kaveh was basically begging through his anonymous message: Haithoomi, will you forgive me? Will you let me crawl back into your arms?
It just feels like such a… waste. A waste of time, love, care. We both put so much effort into that relationship. And I still care about him so much. But now there's nothing left between us other than all this distance.
Anyway, sorry for the follow-up rant. I don't feel like I can talk to anyone about this stuff right now. Talking about feelings has always been difficult for me, so this is a nice way to externalise my fristrations. I'm sorry to bother.
Thank you,
Anonymous Stranger (no longer drunk)
He sent the message with his eyes closed, then instantly turned off the screen and walked away from the phone. He needed to have breakfast (if his nausea would allow it), and spending a second longer thinking about Alhaitham would be a complete waste of time. It wasn't as if he would get a written response anyway, so it was no use thinking about it.
Still fidgeting with anxiety, he checked his phone about an hour later, and his heart nearly leapt out of his body upon seeing a notification from Haravatat FM. Hands trembling as he opened the message as quickly as was humanly possible, he skimmed over it with wide eyes.
Thank you for your message. We would like to inform you that there is no advice segment on Sundays, so your entry will be addressed on Monday morning.
Have a good day,
Alhaitham
Alhaitham. The name was there, with all the letters and syllables in order, staring at him from his phone screen. He was texting Alhaitham himself, five years after blocking his contact and only failing to delete his number because he had been too much of a sentimental coward to click the fateful button.
The proximity between them was almost terrifying. He had a direct line to texting Alhaitham, and he was rambling about his problems while crying, exactly like he used to when they were together; it was reminiscent of the times in which he would wake up from a nightmare to whisper his insecurities amid sobs in the soft safety of Alhaitham's arms, too used to the easy warmth to realise just how lucky he was to be allowed there. Alhaitham would hold him like he was precious, gentle hands combing through his hair and hypnotically attentive eyes always focused on him and him only. He would offer Kaveh tissues and murmur pragmatic reassurances in that voice of his that was so utterly beautiful — Kaveh couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he had really gone years without listening to it.
Hesitantly, he searched up Alhaitham's name in his contact list, looking around furtively as if anyone would be able to catch him in the criminal act. Only Mehrak was watching him with slightly narrowed eyes, and he felt like she knew he was doing something he shouldn't be.
When no results came up, he frowned. Then, embarrassment bursting on his cheeks in the form of a vicious blush, he recalled what the contact name was saved as and typed out 'love of my life <3' with humiliated hands.
How had he never edited that? His own stupidity seemed to be teasing him by dragging him closer and closer to being utterly smitten with Alhaitham once again.
Their final conversation stared at him and reminded him of those last few weeks before the breakup, tying a knot in his throat. There were only monosyllabic responses to inconsequential messages like "did you buy flour like i asked?" and "The internship is running late. Won't be back until later."
Kaveh scrolled up, then further up, trying to find when the change had happened. Three months before, the conversations seemed to be between completely different people.
[07:48] love of my life <3: Good morning hayati
[07:48] love of my life <3: I don't remember if I told you but I have an early research meeting today. Wait for me to have breakfast, I'll bring back whatever you want from Puspa Cafe
[09:06] You: i just woke up and turned to cuddle u and u weren't there…
[09:06] You: you're so cruel haithoomi. i think u should bring me back puspa's entire menu as an apology…
[09:19] You: where are you… i miss youuuuuu come back i love youuuuuu
[09:22] love of my life <3: I didn't take you for a manipulator
[09:23] love of my life <3: I'm coming home, and we can cuddle
[09:23] love of my life <3: I love you too ❤️
A bittersweet smile curved Kaveh's lips as he kept scrolling, mind overtaken by memories he thought he'd lost. He remembered that day, waking up to an empty bed and frowning before reaching for his phone. Alhaitham had come in while he was still lying down, then covered his entire face with kisses and carried him to the bathroom to wash his face. They'd shared coffee and eaten Kaveh's favourite pastries.
[17:48] love of my life <3: You look gorgeous as always, my angel
Kaveh couldn't see the photo he was replying to. Clicking on the media tab, he found it all empty, and remembered the day he had deleted all the photos in their chat in one anger-fuelled motion. He shamefully regretted it now, desperate to see Alhaitham call him beautiful when he probably objectively looked like a mess and quietly wishing to be able to stare at the selfies Alhaitham would send him whenever he asked.
Fuck, he wanted to see a picture of Alhaitham's face sending him a kiss. He wanted to find a way to relive the past and kiss Alhaitham just once more, spend just one more night in his arms, to remember how it really felt to be loved and adored by the person he admired the most in this world. He wanted just one more opportunity to crumple onto him while crying, to hear his reassurance not through the radio but as hot breath against the sensitive shell of his ear, in loving murmurs as a warm hand held onto him and kept him anchored where he belonged: with his beloved.
Biting his lip, he opened Irmingram and clicked on his story archives. Fuck it. If he was going to act like a pathetic loser, he might as well commit to the bit. Lying on his bed, he scrolled back all the way to five or six years ago, when he used to post more often, and looked through every photo.
A mirror picture of him smiling brightly and Alhaitham kissing his temple, both arms wrapped around his waist. It read, in pretty letters, "date night with the best company i could ask for!"
Kaveh instantly started despising his past self. Posting like a teenager on Irmingram, how ridiculous. Who wanted to see that picture anyway? No one. Not even him. Yes, how silly to post something of that sort.
…He kept scrolling, unable to believe his own lie. Alhaitham appeared in so many of his stories that his pretty eyes seemed to be teasing Kaveh with their proximity to the camera, reminding him of what he had thrown away. And for what? His pride? Most of the pictures were posted only for his close friends, and he looked utterly happy in an unfiltered way that made his lips quiver with nostalgia. There he was, same eyes, same face, laughing indulgently while Alhaitham tickled him. There he was, smiling with a flower bouquet Alhaitham had gotten him for Valentine's Day. There he was, softly looking down at a sleeping Alhaitham on his lap, utterly relaxed in Kaveh's embrace with grey hair sprawled over Kaveh's knees.
A quiet sob escaped Kaveh's throat as he kept looking with blurry eyes. Why hadn't he put in more effort? Why had he let go of Alhaitham? Why had he broken up with him when he still wanted him so desperately?
Wiping his tears away, he set the phone down with a shaky breath. He smiled at Mehrak, who was kneading at his pillow with curious eyes, and tried to think about what to make for lunch.
Sunday was Alhaitham's favourite day of the week, because he had absolutely no work to do. His routine consisted precisely of a lack thereof: he would wake up whenever the sun decided to light his bedroom enough to rouse him, have a good mug of coffee and cook an elaborate breakfast, then read whatever he wanted well into the day. He didn't think about anything at all related to the radio station.
Usually, that was. Today was an anomalous day, because he found himself remembering the anonymous message he was set to reply to on his next advice segment.
It is possible to break up with someone while loving them desperately, the stranger wrote, and that single line had been repeating itself in Alhaitham's head like a broken record. Irrational as it was, he applied the logic to his own breakup and imagined Kaveh following that same rationale.
It had been five years, but Alhaitham still failed to fully understand why their relationship had fallen apart — and he had thought about it extensively. He knew now that their communication had been terribly lacking and that he hadn't always shown Kaveh enough of the love he felt, but how that had unravelled into a breakup remained somewhat incomprehensible to him. If it were fully up to, he would never have given up on their connection.
At what point had Kaveh stopped loving him? That question seemed to haunt him even still today, whispered by a familiar voice that seemed to hide in his walls, still perfectly clear despite the years since he had heard. Alhaitham would come home after a pleasurable, peaceful day, and suddenly he would glimpse a blonde head of hair in his peripheral vision and an influx of memories would fill up his chest at once. He would lie down to sleep with his mind absorbed by a book, then a thought would remind him of something Kaveh had said years before, and that ghost instantly seemed to be lying down next to him, taunting him with its ephemerality.
The idea that Kaveh may not have fallen out of love with him fixed the conundrum, but it was a solution that opened an entire set of new questions Alhaitham did not want to entertain. What if he had chased after Kaveh? What if he had put more effort into fixing their relationship? What if, instead of sobbing with a cracked heart so swollen with love that it ached within its restricted ribcage, he had let all his feelings crawl out of his chest and showed Kaveh how precious their bond was to him?
"You wish for what you used to have, and your memories obviously supply you with hypothetical what-ifs," he had told the stranger, but it had really been directed at himself. Alhaitham knew it was of no use entertaining what he would do today if thrown back in the past, because he was a different person now, as was Kaveh. He could never have done things differently.
He tried to accept that as an immutable fact, but it frustrated him to an illogical degree. Sometimes, he let his mind wander and dip into a beautiful fantasy of how their lives would look today if they had been more mature at the time. He imagined waking up next to Kaveh's drowsy dimples and washing blonde hair in the shower, then brewing coffee for two and listening to an excited ramble over breakfast. He imagined resting against Kaveh's shoulders when he was exhausted, and murmuring in a low conversation with him and only him when he felt too drained to interact with anyone else. They might have been engaged by now. Perhaps married.
Stop, he thought to himself, reopening his book. These thoughts only hinder you.
The truth was that he was perhaps the worst person in the world to be offering advice on getting over anyone, considering how he still saw the world through the lens of his love for Kaveh.
"Good morning," he said into the microphone, looking down at his scribbled notes. "This is Alhaitham speaking at Haravatat FM. It's eight sharp, and we'll be starting our daily advice segment aimed at our listeners. If you would like to send a message for me to reply to, please text 68320-5574."
He read out loud the message from Saturday, lips twitching slightly as he reached the end. "That was from our anonymous stranger, who is no longer drunk. I'm happy to hear your thoughts are more in order now." He looked down at the text once more, reflecting.
"You regret breaking up with him, but it seems to me like it was inevitable when neither of you had the maturity to fix the issues in your relationship, no matter how much you wanted to." He spoke slowly, while he processed his thought process. "Rather than dwell on the past, the healthiest option is to accept that your decision made sense at the time, even if it doesn't for the person you are today. You ask me whether he could forgive you, but I think it's more important that you find a way to forgive yourself first.
"Would I change my response? Somewhat." Alhaitham hummed. "You wrote that you tried your best to make him happy while avoiding inconveniencing or bothering him as much as possible."
It was so similar to Kaveh that it was difficult to talk about.
"It seems to me like you were harming your relationship by doing that," he added, wondering if the listeners would be able to tell his voice was slightly tighter. "If he loved you, he would not mind you 'bothering' him with your troubles. He would want to be there for you, to take care of you, to listen to you, to know you as deeply as possible. He chose to be with you, and that choice included the promise to be by your side even when it was not always easy or pleasurable."
Alhaitham drank a sip of water, willing his mouth to stop talking about things buried too close to his heart.
"I can't tell you whether he would forgive you," he said quietly. "I don't know him. I'm also incapable of judging whether you 'deserve' his forgiveness. I do know that mistakes are understandable, and immaturity is natural. He could forgive you, or not. Do you forgive him? It was not only your fault, it seems."
Do you think there's a possibility he could still want me too?
The question seemed to mock him. I wonder the same, he thought bitterly.
"There's always a possibility that he still wants you. But I have no idea how likely it is in your particular case, and it's more likely he doesn't, statistically speaking."
That perhaps sounded a little mean. But it was what the stranger needed to hear.
"But I do have one final comment. You said it feels like a waste of time, love, and care." He paused before saying the next bit. "I understand how you feel, personally. Especially because you mentioned last time that you feel lonely. You probably think sometimes: I have all this love in me, and it fits in my chest, but not in my mouth, not in my hands. What do I do with it? Where do I put it?"
The questions hung in the air, unaddressed and heavy. Alhaitham briefly pondered how he was going to answer a doubt that he himself wondered about every single day.
"But no love is wasted," he concluded, leaning slightly closer to the microphone. "It is not useless simplu because it is not expressed. It still warms your chest and makes your life more beautiful, no? It was a good few years you spent with him, and it was perfect for a while. Focus on that joy, not on the grief the breakup brought. It was not a waste. Everything ends. That's just how lfe is."
You will find someone new and give them your love, he wanted to say, but it was hard to believe it. His heart had never wanted anyone else, so why would the stranger's be any different?
"Anyway," he continued. "I can't answer whether you should seek him out because I don't know enough details. Maybe, maybe not. It seems like you might lack closure, so it could be a good idea. But it could also hurt either of you, or both. So it's something you have to decide on your own."
Alhaitham didn't know how to end this. There was much more he wanted to say, and he felt like his response was woefully insufficient, but there was not much more to be done.
Clearing his throat, he opened the next message on the phone and started reading it out loud.