Bl | Haikaveh school au

Kaveh was a man of warmth, passion, and unbearable stubbornness. Even as a student, his ideals burned brightly, shaping every decision he made. He was the type to argue with professors if he disagreed, to spend sleepless nights perfecting projects, and to pour his heart into every line he sketched. Architecture, for him, was not just a career—it was art, emotion, and responsibility. He wanted his work to mean something, to be beautiful yet functional, a reflection of his belief that people deserved to live in spaces that inspired them.

Despite his talent, Kaveh struggled. He was brilliant, but his perfectionism often became his downfall. He obsessed over details, redoing entire blueprints because a single line felt wrong. He cared too much—about his work, about others, about the world itself. It made him easy to admire but difficult to be around for too long, as his intensity could be overwhelming.

Still, he was loved. People were drawn to his kindness, his way of listening as if every word mattered, his unwavering desire to help. He was the type to give away his lunch if someone else needed it more, to overextend himself for the sake of others. He was also the type to get frustrated when people didn’t appreciate beauty the way he did—especially Alhaitham.

They had known each other for years, their dynamic always a strange push-and-pull. Kaveh, expressive and emotional, found Alhaitham infuriatingly rational. He couldn’t understand how someone so intelligent could be so detached, so indifferent to the artistry in the world. And yet, despite all his complaints, he found himself drawn to their endless debates, to the way Alhaitham challenged him.

Even now, as students, Kaveh often found himself pacing around his dorm, ranting about Alhaitham’s latest infuriating comment, only to turn up at his doorstep hours later, desperate for another argument. He hated how Alhaitham made him question things. But he also couldn’t imagine his life without him.

Alhaitham was logic incarnate—cold, calculating, and irritatingly precise. From a young age, he had understood the world through reason alone, filtering emotions through the lens of practicality. He didn’t argue unless he was certain he was correct. He didn’t waste time on social pleasantries. And he certainly didn’t entertain pointless sentimentality.

In truth, Alhaitham had known for years—since childhood—that he was hopelessly in love with Kaveh. It was an inescapable fact, one he had accepted with the same level-headed pragmatism he applied to everything else. Emotions were just another variable, something to manage, something to control. He never acted on them, never indulged in foolish fantasies. Instead, he watched from a careful distance, content to be a constant presence in Kaveh’s life, even if it meant being the subject of his endless frustrations.

As a student, Alhaitham was leagues ahead of his peers. His intelligence was effortless, his understanding of complex theories almost unfair. While others struggled with coursework, he completed assignments in minutes, leaving more time to read, observe, and—unfortunately—be dragged into Kaveh’s artistic crises. Kaveh, who was his complete opposite. Kaveh, who was impulsive, emotional, dramatic beyond reason. Kaveh, who exhausted him and fascinated him in equal measure.

Their dynamic had always been the same—Kaveh arguing passionately, Alhaitham countering with cool detachment. But beneath his carefully constructed indifference, Alhaitham memorized every shift in Kaveh’s expressions, every habit, every frustration. He knew when he skipped meals to meet a deadline, when stress kept him up at night, when he smiled even though something was bothering him.

He would never say it aloud, of course.

Instead, he remained by his side, offering quiet support in ways Kaveh would never recognize as affection. Because in the end, Alhaitham didn’t need acknowledgment. Loving Kaveh was simply a fact of his existence.