~Padisarah petals~ a Haikaveh hanahaki au story

Chapter 7: when will it be over?

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The silence stretched between them like a taut thread, threatening to snap with the weight of everything unsaid. Kaveh gritted his teeth, gripping the back of the chair tighter until his knuckles turned white. He could feel Alhaitham’s gaze flit back to him briefly before the other man returned to his book, as though dismissing Kaveh’s presence entirely.

Typical. Always acting like he’s above everything, Kaveh thought bitterly. Yet, there was something unnerving about the way Alhaitham had noticed—so quickly, so accurately—that something was wrong.

"I don’t get you," Kaveh muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for it to reach the other side of the room.

Alhaitham didn’t look up. "What now?"

"You," Kaveh said, his voice rising slightly. "You come back early, say nothing about why, act all detached as usual, but then decide to play the concerned roommate out of nowhere. What’s your angle?"

"My angle?" Alhaitham echoed, finally lowering his book. His tone was infuriatingly calm, as though the accusation was entirely unfounded. "Not everything I do has an ulterior motive, Kaveh. Maybe you’re just overthinking again."

Kaveh let out a sharp laugh, though it sounded more like a bark. "Overthinking? That’s rich coming from you. You’re always calculating something—every word, every action. Don’t think I haven’t noticed."

Alhaitham sighed, closing his book with a deliberate motion. "If I’m as calculating as you say, then why would I waste my time fabricating concern for you? Seems inefficient, doesn’t it?"

Kaveh opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. Alhaitham had a way of dismantling arguments before they even formed, leaving Kaveh floundering for a response. He hated it. Hated the way Alhaitham could strip away his defenses with a single logical statement.

Hated the way it made him feel exposed.

"Fine," Kaveh said, turning away and sinking into the nearest chair. "Believe what you want. I’m too tired to argue."

The admission surprised even him. Usually, he would’ve fought tooth and nail to prove Alhaitham wrong, but tonight... tonight, he didn’t have the strength. The tightness in his chest was worsening, and every breath felt like a battle. He pressed a hand against his ribs, as though that could somehow ease the ache.

"Are you sick?" Alhaitham’s voice broke the silence, his tone clinical but not unkind.

Kaveh flinched. "I told you, I’m just tired."

"Tired doesn’t make someone clutch their chest like that," Alhaitham said, standing and crossing the room in a few strides. Before Kaveh could protest, he crouched beside him, his sharp gray eyes scanning Kaveh’s face. "You’re hiding something."

Kaveh leaned back instinctively, his pulse quickening. "What are you doing?"

"Checking if you’re about to keel over," Alhaitham replied bluntly. His hand reached out—not to touch, but to hover near Kaveh’s wrist. "Your breathing is uneven. Do you have a fever?"

"I don’t need you to play doctor," Kaveh snapped, swatting his hand away. The sudden motion made him dizzy, and he winced, pressing his palm to his forehead.

Alhaitham frowned. "You’re clearly unwell. At least tell me what’s wrong so I can—"

"You can what?" Kaveh interrupted, his voice sharper than intended. "Fix it? Solve the problem like it’s one of your logic puzzles? Newsflash, Alhaitham: not everything has a neat solution!"

For a moment, the room was deathly quiet. Kaveh’s outburst hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Alhaitham didn’t react immediately, his expression unreadable as ever. But there was something in his gaze—something that made Kaveh’s chest tighten even more.

"I never said everything could be fixed," Alhaitham said finally, his tone softer than before. "But ignoring the problem won’t help either."

Kaveh looked away, his throat tightening. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let Alhaitham see the cracks in his armor. Not now. Not ever.

"I don’t need your help," he muttered, more to himself than to Alhaitham. "I can handle it."

"Can you?" Alhaitham’s question was deceptively simple, but it hit like a hammer. "Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you can."

Kaveh’s fingers curled into fists. "Why do you even care? Seriously. Why?"

Alhaitham hesitated for the briefest moment, and Kaveh thought he saw a flicker of something—hesitation? Guilt?—cross his face. But then it was gone, replaced by that maddeningly calm façade.

"You live here," Alhaitham said simply. "If you collapse, it becomes my problem."

Kaveh’s stomach twisted at the words. Of course. How could he have expected anything else?

"Right," he said bitterly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Wouldn’t want to inconvenience the great Alhaitham, would we?"

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way the room tilted slightly. "Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way. Wouldn’t want my impending doom to ruin your precious routine."

"Kaveh—" Alhaitham started, but Kaveh didn’t wait to hear the rest. He stumbled toward his room, slamming the door behind him before Alhaitham could say another word.

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Inside the safety of his room, Kaveh leaned against the door, his chest heaving. The petals were back. He could feel them clawing at his throat, threatening to choke him. He sank to the floor, clutching his knees to his chest as he fought to suppress the cough.

It didn’t work.

The petals came in a violent rush, spilling onto the floor in a mess of white and blue. Padisarahs. Always padisarahs. The ones he hated most because of what they symbolized.

He stared at them, his vision blurring. He couldn’t keep this up. The disease was progressing faster than he’d expected. How much longer did he have? Weeks? Days?

And yet, even now, the thought of confessing was unbearable. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk destroying what little they had.

Better to suffer in silence than to face rejection. Better to let the flowers consume him than to let Alhaitham see his weakness.

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Meanwhile, Alhaitham stood outside Kaveh’s door, his expression unreadable. His throat burned faintly as he turned away, the bitter taste of his own petals lingering. He hadn’t coughed yet today, but the signs were there—the same disease, the same doom.

Padisarahs, too.

He sighed, pressing a hand against his ribs. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Two people choking on flowers they couldn’t share.

And as he walked back to the living room, his mind lingered on the thought:

How much longer could either of them hold on?

2 more chapters I think guys