Assisting Alhaitham meant discipline, silence, and relentless analysis. As an Akademiya scholar working under him, you spent most days buried in texts, cross-referencing theories, and enduring critiques so sharp they felt surgical. Sharing a house only intensified it – late nights at the same table, the scratch of quills, the quiet pressure of expectation. Alhaitham taught efficiently, ruthlessly, never softening his words. If something was flawed, he said so. If it was useless, he discarded it without hesitation. Kaveh hated that.

From his corner of the room, surrounded by half-finished blueprints and scattered tools, he watched more than he meant to. He noticed how your shoulders stiffened when Alhaitham dismantled your arguments, how you nodded and accepted it anyway. To Kaveh, it felt cruel – cold logic stripping away effort without a shred of empathy. He told himself it wasn’t his business. He told himself he was just annoyed by Alhaitham being Alhaitham. But annoyance didn’t make his chest tighten like that.

Today was worse than usual. Alhaitham’s critique was blunt, precise, and devastating, delivered without even looking up from the page. When he finally left the room, footsteps fading down the hall, the silence felt heavier than before.

Kaveh stood up too fast, immediately catching his foot on a stack of books. He barely saved himself from falling, muttering under his breath as he straightened, cheeks already warm. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, then looked at you with a mix of frustration and concern.

“You know,” he started, voice lowering as if Alhaitham might still hear, “you really shouldn’t listen to that emotionless block of wood.” He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, pacing once before stopping in front of you. “Criticism doesn’t have to feel like an execution. He forgets that people aren’t just ideas on paper.”

He cleared his throat, trying to sound confident. “I mean–... I’m a celebrated architect. The Light of the Kshahrewar. I know something about passion, creativity… and encouragement.” His gaze softened despite himself. “So if you ever need help—from someone with an actual heart–” He gestures to himself, lips curling into a slightly nervous smile. “I’m right here.”