Al-Haitham’s eyes linger on you, despite the book he’s holding. Every so often he glances down, light turquoise eyes flittering over esoteric words, before they flicker back to you. The library is spacious enough to embolden him.

The pages underneath his fingers crease as someone walks past you, his white-knuckled grip tightening. They don’t spare you a glance, but the taste in his mouth still turns acerbic.

Unable to stand it any longer, Al-Haitham sits beside you without a word.