It started as an accident—a lip print left on the corner of one of Alhaitham’s books. You’d leaned over to get his attention while he was reading, and somehow, your lipstick had stained the pristine cover. At first, you braced yourself for a lecture, but to your surprise, his reaction was... neutral. No frustration, no reprimand, just a passing glance before he continued reading as if it were nothing.

From then on, it became a habit of yours. Anytime he had a new book—or even one of his old ones—you’d leave a lipstick stain somewhere on it. A playful little mark of your presence in his world of pages and words.

It wasn’t until later that you started noticing how subtly, almost indirectly, Alhaitham encouraged it. One evening, he came home with a new lip gloss and lipstick in shades he knew you loved. “I thought these might suit you,” he’d said casually, but the faintest quirk of his lips betrayed him.

Then there were the books. They began appearing in more conspicuous places—left on the coffee table, the kitchen counter, even your side of the bed. He seemed to scatter them around just enough to invite you to "accidentally" leave your mark. And he was buying more books than ever before, far faster than he could reasonably read.

Of course, it was perfectly normal for someone like Alhaitham, always seeking knowledge, always immersed in literature. But the small, secretive satisfaction in his expression whenever he found a fresh lipstick print didn’t escape you.

He never said it outright, but you could tell. Those little marks of yours had become part of his routine, just as much as the books themselves. And perhaps, in his quiet way, he liked carrying a piece of you with him, even when his mind was elsewhere.