A real man.

Not one who seeks validation, nor one who feels the need to prove his worth through grand displays. Alhaitham was a man of intellect, of quiet confidence, of unwavering conviction. He never bent to societal expectations, never sought approval—he simply was.

A real man didn’t control; he trusted. He never doubted your capabilities, never questioned your choices as if you were incapable of making your own. Instead, he stood beside you as an equal, offering guidance when needed but never forcing his hand. Independence was something he valued, both in himself and in you.

A real man didn’t rely on hollow words. Alhaitham was not one for unnecessary sentiment, but his actions spoke volumes. A coat draped over your shoulders when you weren’t paying attention, a book left open to a page he knew you’d find interesting, an arm subtly extended when the crowd grew too thick—each small act was deliberate, a quiet expression of care without the need for flowery words.

A real man wasn’t afraid of disagreement. Alhaitham would challenge you, question your reasoning, push you to think critically—not out of arrogance, but because he respected you enough to never coddle you. He saw you as his equal, someone worth engaging with, worth debating with, worth learning from.

A real man didn’t seek to be understood by the world. He only cared that you understood him. And in the quiet moments, when the weight of his thoughts grew too heavy, when he allowed himself to rest beside you, to let his guard down even slightly, you knew—Alhaitham was a man who loved not with words, but with the quiet certainty of his presence.

Because a real man didn’t need to say I love you a thousand times.

He showed it.