❝ CLEANING THE HOUSE IS NOT 'MALEWIFE BEHAVIOUR', IT'S CALLED BEING A RESPONSIBLE ADULT. ❞
━━━ al-haitham's friends scribble his phone number in one of the stalls of the girls' washroom, and he ends up getting a message at 3 am.
[ al-haith...
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Al-haitham was very skilled in twisting the lane of a difficult conversation.
Y/N learned this trait of his a couple of days ago, in that goddamned suffocating club room— and she was both impressed and infuriated.
"Oh. I deleted the text because I didn't mean it. I just felt obligated to write something nice because you wrote something nice. You know, basic human decency. Something which I definitely don't lack."
He had poor social etiquette, but excellent problem-solving abilities. Either he was impossible to fluster, or extremely good at hiding his moments of weakness. Y/N was rather envious of him in that regard. Whatever she felt was instantly displayed on her face.
Like how her mouth turned grim at the subtle insult Al-haitham slipped in with his explanation. He seemed to enjoy her reaction more than he was supposed to.
Luckily for her, she had been uncharacteristically productive and didn't get the time to fret about his rude remarks. However, this strange boost in her motivation, when seen from a different perspective, indicated that it was all but a means to avoid thinking about the things that were bothering her.
Thing, to be precise. Y/N's father had finally contacted her after three months— but for all the wrong reasons. Their call started with light-hearted topics, almost deluding the poor girl into thinking that, for once, they were going to have a normal family discussion, and not an argument.
It did not go as planned. In the end, he had to bring up how she was wasting her entire life by dedicating her time to something as 'useless' as art.
The worst part of it was that she believed him. That she wasn't good enough.
When she had nothing to do, she found herself replaying every single criticism she had ever received and drowning herself in misery. She wished she could busy herself with something.
The pillars were done. Her project with Elysia was done. Her class assignments were done. Ironline was fed. The little props she had to make were nearly finished.
Y/N grabbed a random book from the shelf. Keeping herself occupied was how she evaded Nilou's scepticism.
Nilou... well. She was pleasantly surprised at first, but Y/N noticed that her initial enthusiasm became unpleasant as she observed her closely. And she didn't like that.
There was a spark of suspicion in her mannerisms, despite her countless attempts to appear nonchalant. She hated how easy it was for people to read her emotions.
To be understood without words was a blessing and a curse.
"Are you still into flowers?" Nilou asked the moment she opened the door, her hair gathered in a neat ponytail. "I hope you are."
