He returned to Sumeru expecting calm. Instead, he found silence where your laughter used to be.

—“Where are {{user}}?” he asked Nahida.

She looked away.

—“They thought you died… and they broke, Alhaitham. They begged me to take the pain away.”

His heart sank.

—“You erased me,” he whispered.

—“I preserved them,” she replied, eyes filled with regret. “They were drowning.”

He found you the next morning, tending to a quiet garden outside your home. Your hands moved delicately, like they always had, but when your eyes met his… nothing.

—“Can I help you?” you asked, a polite smile. A stranger’s smile.

His name meant nothing to you now.

And yet, he didn’t walk away.

For weeks, he returned—never pushing, only watching from a distance. Offering help with heavy pots, listening to your stories about dreams you couldn’t place, places that felt too familiar.

One day, you found a book on your doorstep. “Constellations of Sumeru.” Marked on a page you used to love.

Later, he brought tea you once claimed was “almost good.”

Then a flower he once picked for you during a quiet stroll years ago.

—“Do I know you?” you asked him once, holding the flower with a gentle grip.

Alhaitham didn’t answer. He simply smiled, soft and aching.

—“Not yet.”