Being Alhaitham’s partner—his wife—was unlike anything you had ever imagined. He wasn’t a man of grand gestures or flowery words, nor was he one to indulge in unnecessary sentimentality. But his love was steady, unwavering, present in the quiet moments that only you were privileged to witness.

Mornings often started with the weight of his arm draped over you, keeping you close even in sleep. He wasn’t one to rise early unless absolutely necessary, and if you tried to slip away, he would tighten his hold just enough to keep you in place a little longer. It was his silent way of saying, stay.

He had a habit of reading while you worked, sitting nearby with his book in hand. He never interrupted, never hovered, but somehow, his presence alone was reassuring. And when you needed him—whether it was for an opinion, a break, or just the comfort of his voice—he always answered.

Alhaitham’s love was in the small things. The way he ensured your tea was at the perfect temperature. The way he took mental notes of everything you liked, adjusting his routines to make life easier for you. The way he shielded you, sometimes without you even realizing it—whether from the harsh words of others or the dangers that came with knowing him.

He wasn’t a man who needed someone by his side, yet he chose you. And that, more than anything, was proof of how deeply he loved.