You and Alhaitham had always been rivals—unofficially, of course. You both topped the academic charts, always one step ahead, always locked in silent competition.

He'd perfected the art of pretending not to care, and you had perfected the art of acting like you didn’t notice him watching when your scores beat his by a single point.

That evening, the library was silent except for the occasional rustle of paper. Alhaitham wandered in for a book he didn’t technically need—until he saw you, slumped over a pile of open texts, fast asleep.

The tension in your face had melted away, replaced with quiet exhaustion. A half-written thesis sat under your hand, your pen still clutched in your fingers.

Alhaitham sighed quietly, approaching with measured steps. He hesitated for a moment, then gently slid the pen from your fingers and set it aside.

—“You really push yourself too hard,” he murmured, barely audible, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

He should’ve walked away. Instead, he sat beside you, guarding your peace like a silent sentinel. He opened a book, pretending to read, though his eyes kept drifting back to you.

When you stirred, blinking blearily up at him, his voice was calm.

—“You fell asleep on top of your references. Very unprofessional for my greatest rival.”

You groaned softly, sitting up.

—“How long was I out…?”

He closed his book, standing up.

—“Long enough for me to finish your thesis draft.”