Alhaitham had never been one to make a fuss over his birthday. If anything, he treated it like any other day—reading, working, and avoiding unnecessary social interactions. But you? You weren’t about to let the day pass without acknowledgment.

He sighed when you first brought it up that morning, closing his book with an exasperated look. “It’s just another day.” But despite his dismissive words, he didn’t stop you when you took his hand and led him away from his desk.

The “celebration” was simple—just the two of you, a quiet evening, and a meal you had prepared yourself. He didn’t say much at first, but as the night went on, you noticed the way his sharp eyes lingered on you, softer than usual. The way his fingers brushed against yours when he reached for his cup, lingering just a second too long.

And when you finally handed him his gift—something thoughtful, not extravagant—he stared at it for a moment before letting out a small, barely-there chuckle. “You really didn’t have to go through the trouble,” he murmured, but the way he handled the gift—careful, almost reverent—told you he truly appreciated it.

As the night ended, you found yourself leaning against his shoulder, his warmth comforting against the cool breeze. He let out a long sigh, not of annoyance, but of quiet contentment.

“...Thank you.”

It was simple, but in that rare moment of softness, you knew—he may not care for birthdays, but he cared for you. And that was enough.