Nothing stung more than fighting with him.

Not because Alhaitham raised his voice—he never did. Not because he was cruel—he wasn’t. But because every word that left his mouth was sharp, calculated, and bare of any comfort. He didn’t believe in sugarcoating, and in a moment like that… you desperately needed softness. Understanding. Anything but the brutal honesty that cut through you like cold steel.

It had started with something small—your frustrations, your pace, maybe your mistakes—and he, in his ever-logical way, tried to guide you with the usual clarity he prided himself on. But even that clarity can hurt. Especially when you were already struggling to feel enough.

And then he said it.

That sentence.

Maybe he didn’t mean it the way it landed. Maybe he thought it was just a fact. But to you, it was a weight dropped on your chest. Like being measured and found lacking. Like all the progress you thought you’d made didn’t matter—would never be enough for a man like him.

So you left.

Not with a storm or yelling, but quiet tears and a hand that gripped the doorknob just a little too tightly as you walked out of his house. Out of his space. Away from him.

Alhaitham didn’t follow—not immediately. That wasn’t his way. He sat in the silence that followed and thought, replaying everything he said with the same precision he used on academic theory. And only then did it hit him: he’d gone too far. Not because what he said wasn’t true in some logical sense—but because he had forgotten, for one moment, how deeply you felt things. How much your heart carried, even when your hands faltered.

And maybe that’s what hurt most of all.

Because deep down, part of you feared he meant it all. Every word. And even if he didn’t… the echo of that one sentence would haunt you for days.