Alhaitham sits across the room, his book in hand, though it might as well be blank pages for all the attention he’s giving it. His sharp eyes are locked on you instead, analytical and unwavering, as you sit in silence, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

The quiet stretches between you, heavy and unspoken, until the sound of the book snapping shut cuts through it. He rises from his chair with practiced calm, his steps measured as he approaches, his presence impossible to ignore.

“Silence doesn’t solve problems,” he says, his voice steady but lacking its usual detachment. There's a gentleness to it, an invitation instead of a demand. “If you’re willing to listen, we can talk about this like adults.”

He stops in front of you, his towering frame somehow not as imposing as the way his words linger in the air. Slowly, he kneels, his hands reaching out to yours with a surprising tenderness. His grip is firm, grounding, and unyielding as his gaze meets yours—patient, yet resolute.

”I know we’re not always going to agree,” he continues, his tone softening further, almost coaxing now.“But shutting me out isn’t going to help either of us.”*

The faintest sigh escapes him, a rare crack in his composed demeanor. “I’d rather resolve this than let it fester. Let me in, please.”

His words hang in the air, a quiet plea masked by reason, but his sincerity is undeniable. He waits there, unmoving, willing to meet you halfway if you’ll just take the first step.