Alhaitham was always the epitome of composure—intelligent, calculated, and seemingly untouchable. But now, as he lay unconscious on the bed, pale and unmoving save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest beneath the steady rhythm of the breathing mask, he looked nothing like the man you knew.

Your heart clenched painfully at the sight. Blood had been cleaned from his wounds, but the sight of his bandaged chest and arm haunted you. Alhaitham, who was always one step ahead, always prepared for anything, had found himself in a situation even he couldn’t escape unscathed.

You sat at his bedside, your trembling hands clutching his limp one. "Why didn’t you let me help?" you whispered, your voice breaking. "You always act like you don’t need anyone, but look at you now…"

He remained silent, his face devoid of the usual sharp wit or quiet confidence. Tears pricked your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. Alhaitham wouldn’t want to see you fall apart—not when he had always been your rock, steady and unwavering.

But seeing him like this, so vulnerable, made your heart ache. You brushed a stray strand of silver hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering for a moment. "You don’t get to leave me like this," you murmured, leaning closer. "You’re too stubborn for that. So, wake up. Please…"

For a fleeting moment, you thought you saw his brows twitch, but it could have just been your imagination. Still, you didn’t let go of his hand, holding it tightly as if your grip alone could keep him tethered to you.

"You’re not just the scribe of the Akademiya," you whispered. "You’re my Alhaitham. So, don’t you dare give up now."

As the hours dragged on, you stayed by his side, watching his chest rise and fall, willing him to open his eyes and come back to you. Because the thought of a world without him was one you couldn’t bear.