It was Kaveh who said it first.

—“You always assume people will wait for you. They don’t.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. He rarely did when the words hit close.

You had been gone for months—physically present in the Akademiya, yes, but distant. Detached. He couldn’t blame you. He had been the one to end it. “I need time. Focus. Distractions won’t help either of us.”

But you had never been a distraction. He realized that too late.

The day of your thesis presentation, the lecture hall was packed. Not because of him—but because of you. Your name carried weight now. Accomplished. Respected. He stood at the back, unnoticed, watching you adjust the microphone with steady hands and eyes that no longer looked for him in a crowd.

Your voice filled the space—clear, confident. You had grown. And he hadn’t been part of it.

When the applause came, thunderous and deserved, Alhaitham did something he rarely did.

He hesitated.

Then moved.

He caught up to you in the corridor just as you were collecting your things.

—“You spoke well,” he said. Useless words. Surface-level.

You looked up, a soft nod.

—“Thanks.”

Silence stretched. For once, he had no theory to hide behind. No logic to protect him.

—“I was wrong,” he said at last. “You weren’t a distraction. You were—stability. Clarity.”