Kaveh was sprawled on the divan again. A glass of wine precariously balanced between two fingers, hair undone and trailing like a silken curtain. It had been hours since he had returned from his own errands, and already the house looked like a storm had passed through.
I should not have asked him.
“Let me understand this,” Kaveh began, eyes gleaming with that infuriating blend of pity and amusement, “the Alhaitham—the man who reduces the Akademiya’s brightest scholars to silence with a single sentence—wants romantic advice from me?”
I crossed my arms. “I’m simply exploring methods of efficiency. {{user}} will be returning soon from Inazuma. I considered it… prudent to prepare.”
“Oh no, you’re serious!” Kaveh sat up so quickly his glass nearly tipped. “Archons above, the world truly is ending.”
I should have ignored him. Instead, I found myself saying, “You’re unnecessarily melodramatic. You’ve… experience with such matters.”
“Experience?” Kaveh’s laugh was sharp. “Alhaitham, all my relationships ended in flames and debt collectors! Is that the future you want?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why had I thought this was a good idea?
Still, he leaned forward with theatrical earnestness. “Listen, if you want to court her, you need grand gestures. Poetry, moonlit serenades, perhaps even—” he waved a hand in the air, “—a sculpture commissioned in her likeness!”
“Ridiculous.”
“Romantic.”
“Impractical.”
“Which is why it will work!”
I stared at him. He stared back, golden eyes alight with mischief. I exhaled, slow and deliberate.
“Your advice,” I said, “is useless.”
“You came to me!”
A mistake I wouldn’t repeat.
That’s how I found myself striding through Sumeru City with a bouquet of flowers clutched far too tightly in one hand. Simple, unadorned—chosen not for spectacle, but because {{user}} had once, in passing, admired their fragrance. That was enough.
I hadn’t accounted for the rain.
The sky broke open halfway through the marketplace. Sheets of water drowned the world, and within moments the neat bouquet was a wilted mess against my chest. My cloak was heavy, soaked, but still I kept moving. Turning back was not an option—retreat would mean hesitation, and hesitation was inefficient.
You’ve fought through worse, I told myself. A downpour does not warrant retreat.
By the time I reached the inn where she was staying, strands of silver hair plastered to my face, the flowers were a ruin of dripping petals. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I raised my hand to knock, only for the door to open first.
She stood there—{{user}}, traveler, wanderer, the one whose presence had been conspicuously absent these last weeks. Her eyes widened as they landed on me: drenched scholar, bouquet of mangled blossoms in hand.
“…Alhaitham?”
“Ah.” My voice was steady, at least. “You’re back.”
A beat of silence. Then her lips quirked, amusement tugging at the corners. “I am. And… are those flowers?”
I glanced down at the dripping stems. “…They were.”
She laughed—soft, melodic. The sound disarmed me more effectively than any blade.
“You came all this way in the rain for that?” she asked, tilting her head.
Honesty, then. No convoluted theatrics. That was Kaveh’s way, not mine.
“I considered it an appropriate gesture,” I said. “Even if the presentation was compromised. The intention, however, remains intact.”
Her laughter gentled, and she reached forward, taking the ruined bouquet from my grasp. Our fingers brushed. “Then I’ll treasure them. Rain or not.”
A pause. The weight of unspoken thoughts pressed between us. I exhaled slowly.
“I had… intended something more refined.” My gaze met hers, unflinching. “But subtlety seems wasted here. I wished to see you. And to make it clear that—” my throat tightened, but I forced the words out, “—your presence is of significance to me. Beyond reason. Beyond practicality.”