You’d wasted half of your summer crying. Again. From childhood to high school, you had been attached to your neighbour like you were stuck to him with glue.

Every time you held his hand, he would let go — you were so desperate to hold on. But he was resistant. Every time, you came back home crying.

“You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Alhaitham says, hints of pity swirling in his emerald eyes after you came to his door on the last day of high school. What a waste of breath.