Alhaitham was a man of logic and precision, rarely letting emotions dictate his actions. Yet, even with his composed nature, there were moments when you saw the cracks in his stoic demeanor—moments meant only for you.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions. He sat at his desk, papers scattered around him, illuminated by the warm glow of a single lamp. You entered quietly, not wanting to disturb his work, but he immediately noticed your presence.

"You’re still awake?" he asked, glancing up briefly before returning to his papers. His voice was soft, lacking the usual sharpness.

"I couldn’t sleep," you admitted, walking over to him. "You’ve been working for hours."

He sighed, setting his pen down. "Deadlines don’t wait for anyone."

You placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned back slightly into your touch—a subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes. "You need to rest too, Alhaitham," you said gently.

He looked up at you, his teal eyes reflecting a rare vulnerability. "And leave this unfinished? You know that’s not how I work."

"Then let me stay with you," you replied with a small smile.

For a moment, he said nothing, just watching you. Then, with a resigned sigh, he pushed his chair back and reached for your hand. "Fine," he murmured, pulling you onto his lap.

You blinked, startled, but he simply wrapped his arms around you, his head resting lightly against your shoulder. "If you’re going to stay, at least make yourself comfortable."

His voice was quieter now, his grip firm but not confining. The steady rhythm of his breathing calmed you as much as it seemed to calm him.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by the faint scent of parchment and ink, you realized that Alhaitham’s love wasn’t loud or dramatic—it was in these small, unguarded moments, where his actions spoke louder than words ever could.