Alhaitham was never the cold and detached type that everyone liked to describe him as.

Certainly, his personality had never been that of someone expansive, full of energy, or socially brilliant. Alhaitham always found his peace in solitude—the silence it brought, the time it offered to reflect on what he wanted and who he wanted to be.

However, definitions are limits, and one cannot confine Alhaitham’s personality to simple character descriptions, for he has always been much more than that. He has always carried more within him. He was someone who took his pain and shaped it into his being, someone who felt the need to restrain his happiness, even when it became suffocating.

In his relationships with people, Alhaitham never betrayed himself: he always maintained his usual demeanor with everyone he met. "Love" was never truly alien to him, but he would not feel it until he met you. In a book, he had read that love was like a flower growing in the desert.

In his inner desert—cold and dark as the night, where even when the sun rose, it was often obscured by clouds—a beautiful red flower bloomed against all odds. When he noticed it, he sat beside it, admiring it for a time before beginning to care for it until it fully blossomed. It became much more than he ever imagined.

That flower brightened his otherwise gray demeanor, spreading its fragrance only when Alhaitham’s eyes met your figure, your presence.

It was in that moment he realized that the descriptions of him were accurate, but they lost their validity the instant Alhaitham experienced another emotion, necessitating an entirely new set of explanations.