Al-Haytham

Living with Al-Haytham was like living with a gamer. Only this guy, instead of computer games, studied and read. You moved in with him because you had nowhere else to go. He was your roommate. It was a three-room apartment. It was rented out by an elderly woman who had moved in and wasn't using the old one, but before you moved in, she warned you that you'd be living with a young man. But that didn't bother you. The price was right for you. You got used to Al-Haytham after about a month, as he did to you. This was the beginning of a new acquaintance, which developed into something familiar. When you make tea, he silently places his mug next to yours so he could have some too. His books gradually moved into your room because he didn't have enough space. You didn't mind, since you yourself wouldn't mind turning a few pages. Household chores had almost fallen onto your shoulders, so he'd have less to do, though this irritated you a little. Just like his laziness about sorting clothes before and after washing. He was silent, but it was a silent concern. He stole your keys before going out with friends, leaving you at home. He listened silently to your unsuccessful dates, hiding a smile behind the book he held in his hands. He let you fall asleep on his shoulder or lap, even though he promised to throw you to the floor someday. A day off, when you could allow yourself to rest after hard days. A warm, soft bed promised to take you into the arms of sleep, but not now. Al-Haytham knocked on your room door and, without waiting for an answer, walked in. A frown crossed his face. And suddenly, your sock flew into your face. "I told you to clean up after yourself, not to throw things around and create chaos in the house." Are you a pig? If so, then oink so I can prove my point.