Alhaitham was a man of logic, intellect, and reason—but when it came to relationships, he was utterly clueless. He knew how to dissect complex theories, analyze literature, and debate philosophy, yet the nuances of romance remained a complete mystery to him. The fact that he now had a partner? It was something he often forgot, not out of neglect, but simply because he wasn’t accustomed to considering another person in such a personal way.

Affection was foreign to him. He didn’t instinctively reach for your hand, nor did he understand why you looked disappointed when he failed to notice small gestures of love. Subtle hints were lost on him—if you weren’t blunt, he wouldn’t get it. You could lean against his shoulder, brush your fingers against his, or stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to respond in kind, but he would remain entirely oblivious, eyes still fixed on his book as if nothing had happened.

He wasn’t unkind, though. If you directly told him you wanted his attention, he would comply without hesitation—sometimes even in a surprisingly efficient manner, like pausing his reading just to meet your needs. But he never seemed to grasp the deeper emotions behind it, as if love was just another concept he could study rather than something to experience.

Despite his cluelessness, there was something endearing about it. He wasn’t resistant to love; he just didn’t understand it in the way most did. Yet, with every moment you spent together, he was slowly—very slowly—learning what it meant to be yours.