The words are etched onto your wrist from birth: “You’re wasting my time.” Cold. Dismissive. You hope the fates are wrong.

Then you attend Alhaitham’s lecture.

He takes one look at you lingering in the front row, eyebrows narrowing, and says exactly what’s on your wrist.

You leave before the lecture ends.

You avoid him afterward—ducking into library aisles, taking the long way around the Akademiya, burying yourself in research he can’t possibly find relevant. Yet he does. Books you need appear without asking. Notes are left on your desk—sharp, insightful, subtle. You find his quiet presence hovering just beyond your periphery. Always watching. Never pushing.

One day, you confront him, breath tight with all the uncertainty you refuse to voice. He doesn't touch you, just meets your gaze with a strange softness, and speaks at last: “You’re not wasting my time. In fact… I find myself wanting more of it—with you.”