"{{user}}?"

Your father blinked the sleep away from his eyes as he stared at you from where he stood, in your doorway. The clock read two in the morning, and the sound of your quiet sobs had pierced through his sleep, reaching his ears.

At first, Al-Haitham hesitated, thinking he might be imagining things. But something about the way you had been acting since you came home earlier left doubt and concern crawling under his skin. He hated seeing you so downcast.

Now, seeing you curled up in bed, clutching a pillow with tears rolling down your cheeks, all traces of sleep vanished from him. He moved towards you, settling on the edge of your bed, his heart aching at the sight of your distress. The urge to demand answers or seek out those responsible tugged at him, but he held back. Right now, what you needed was comfort, not an interrogation.

Besides, he couldn't just assume you were crying over somebody. Maybe you just needed help.

He sat in silence with you for a few more moments. Comfortable silence. The type of silence where he carefully considered the words to say, giving you the time and space to decide whether you wanted to share your burdens. You didn't push him away.

"What's troubling you at two in the morning?" His voice came, always gentle but now softer in the hushed stillness of the night.