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When Kaveh first bursts past their wards that evening—hurrying through in a flurry of reds and greens—Alhaitham initially pays him no mind. Kaveh has always been prone to loud entrances and strokes of sudden genius; a scene like this rarely means anything when it comes to him.
It is only after he hears their back door slam closed as well, followed by the sound of their gardening tools that Alhaitham looks up from his translations, brows furrowed as he stares toward where Kaveh has disappeared to. He snaps the grimoire with his newest undeciphered spell shut, halting the quill scribbling his translations to search after his roommate.
He finds him in their backyard orchestrating their shovels to dig measured holes into the dirt. He’s got a handful of hydro-charmed mechanisms in his arms as he tries to link them in what looks to be a rudimentary irrigation system for an impromptu garden.
Alhaitham leans against the doorframe, getting comfortable.
“Are you just going to stare?” Kaveh asks with his back to the door.
Alhaitham huffs.
“I thought we weren’t on speaking terms.”
“We’re never on speaking terms.” Kaveh glances back and rolls his eyes. “But we still speak.”
Alhaitham’s lips quirk up.
“What are you doing, senior?”
“Planting a garden.”
“I wasn’t aware we had seeds.”
“We do now.” He turns, an excited gleam in his eyes. Kaveh unties a pouch Alhaitham’s never seen before from his waistband—a deep purple bag with green accents. “I got these from a merchant today after I helped her repair her storefront. I swear, it looked like a windstorm blew through the place. It was awful. No wonder she wasn’t getting any customers—”
“What kind of seeds are they?” Alhaitham asks, eyeing the bag.
“Ah… I’m not sure.” Kaveh shakes a seed out and holds it to him.
Alhaitham blinks.
“Why is it shriveled?” he asks, squinting. “Are you sure it isn’t already dead?”
“They’re supposed to look like that,” Kaveh says. He turns back to his makeshift garden, planting the seeds in each hole and magicking the shovels to bury them. “The merchant said as long as I plant them and water them, they should bloom in a day or two.”
“A day or two,” Alhaitham repeats.
“Yep.”
“No magic needed?”
“Nope.”
Alhaitham’s brows furrow.
“What sort of plant grows in a single day?”
“Not sure.”
“And this… merchant. She didn’t tell you either?”
“She told me the seeds would grow into something that would make my life easier,” Kaveh pauses, “after she claimed she could see how hard life had been for me.”
Alhaitham frowns.
“Sounds like a scam.”
Kaveh shrugs. “They were free as far as I’m concerned.”
“You know nothing about what they are,” Alhaitham says. “Why are you planting them in our backyard?”
“Because the merchant seemed like a nice lady and I’d hate to let her gift go to waste.” Kaveh shoots him an annoyed look. “She served me tea and homemade ranginak, Alhaitham. She listened to me talk all morning. I’m sure whatever seeds she gave me, they’re harmless. Some otherworldly flowers or something.”
“Did you at least analyze it before you decided to plant them?”
Kaveh sighs. “Yes, and they were harmless. No curses or hexes or spells of any sort. I did detect some inert magic, but it wasn’t malignant.”
“Inert magic?”
“Probably because they’re some species of magical flowers.” Kaveh examines each mound—five in total—and nods his head. “If something truly bad grows tomorrow, I’ll deal with it. But the merchant seemed harmless and so do her seeds.”
He snaps his fingers. Immediately, the gardening tools file back to their rack and mist starts emanating from the hydro mechanisms over the five mounds. Kaveh surveys the sight before turning around and walking back towards their home.
“I swear to gods, you’ve brought home grimoires with more cursed energy than these seeds, Alhaitham,” he says, brushing past.
“Because I knew the risks and broke the curses before they could harm us,” Alhaitham argues, trailing after him. “You don’t know anything about those seeds.”
“I trust the merchant and I told you. The seeds are harmless,” Kaveh says, firm. He slips into his room and turns, leveling Alhaitham with an unamused look. “Come tomorrow, I’m sure we’ll have five pretty flowers in our garden and all your worrying will be for naught, so quit while you’re ahead. I have work to do.”
And then, he slams his door, leaving Alhaitham and his suspicions lingering in the hallway.
The next morning, Alhaitham does not wake to find five magical flowers in their garden.
Instead, he wakes to Kaveh’s soft murmuring and multiple footsteps running through their home.
“What the hell?”
Kaveh jumps, turning from where he’d been stirring the halim. The five little creatures by Kaveh’s feet turn too—their heads the same size as their bodies holding doe-eyes and long flat smiles, each with varying plant-shaped hats.
Alhaitham looks up.
Kaveh nervously laughs.
“I can explain.”
He raises a brow.
“Please do.”
Kaveh bites his lip.
“They were here when I woke up. Or, not here, but in my bedroom,” he says, flapping his arms over the creatures. “And they claim to come from the seeds I planted yesterday.”
“Do they now?” Alhaitham asks—expression flat but tone smug.
Kaveh scowls.
“Nara Prakasa planted our seeds and returned us to the forest,” one of the creatures with a green sprout on its head says—voice high-pitched but smooth. “We owe Nara Prakasa our lives.”
Alhaitham narrows his eyes.
“Nara Prakasa?”
“That’s me,” Kaveh says.
“You do realize they’re calling you ‘sunlight,’ right?”
“Because Nara Prakasa has beautiful hair! Golden like the sun!” a different one says—its blue-bell head bobbing.
“I see.” Alhaitham meets Kaveh’s eyes and smirks.
“Don’t say ‘I told you so.’ They’ve been a wonderful help making breakfast, unlike you,” Kaveh snaps.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You had the look,” Kaveh says and sighs. “I’ll visit Tighnari after breakfast and see if he can help identify these little cuties.”
“Arama already told Nara Prakasa,” the green-sprouted creature says, sounding like they’re pouting. “We are Aranara.”
Alhaitham narrows his eyes.
“The dream pari?” he asks.
“Is that what the Nara call Aranara now?” Arama asks, tilting their head.
“Are you not supposed to be Devi Kusanali’s familiars?” Alhaitham asks. “I was under the impression you never show yourselves to anyone but the Devi.”
“Princess Lucky Grass told us Aranara to help the people of Sumeru! She shrunk us back to seeds and gave us to those she deemed worthy!” Arama says.
Kaveh’s brows furrow. “Wait—”
“She deemed Nara Prakasa worthy! Thus, we Aranara must protect Nara Prakasa against danger.”
“You mean that sweet merchant lady was the Devi?” Kaveh hisses, horror marring his face. “I drank tea with the pinnacle of Sumeru magic?”
“Princess Lucky Grass likes Nara Prakasa,” the mushroom-shaped Aranara assures, nodding approvingly. “Princess Lucky Grass is never wrong.”
“Oh my god.”
“Sounds like you’ve landed yourself into another mess then, Kaveh,” Alhaitham drawls, leaning against the wall. “What was it you said yesterday? Five harmless magical flowers?”
“Shut up.” Kaveh scowls. “This isn’t a mess. It’s just a… a situation.”
“A situation.”
“A situation that I’ll talk to Tighnari about and everything will be fine so stop acting so high and mighty.” He turns back to his halim with a huff, flicking his index finger to cast a flame in their stovetop.
Alhaitham snorts, slipping from the kitchen to prepare for the day.
“Sorry about him. Is there anything you would like to eat?” he hears Kaveh ask, voice kindly like he’s speaking with children.
“The forest sustains us, Nara Prakasa! You don’t need to cook for us,” one of the Aranara says.
“Oh. Uh, okay. Then, what do you all plan to do today?”
“Follow Nara Prakasa of course!”
Alhaitham shuts his door, smiling.
By the time Alhaitham returns that day, Kaveh has already started on dinner.
“Welcome home!” He hears Kaveh call from somewhere in the house while Alhaitham resettles their wards.
Alhaitham snorts, then stops—finding the one Aranara with iridescent wings standing next to their front door, staring at him.
“Hello.”
The Aranara nods once.
“That’s Arabalika.” He looks up. Kaveh is in their living room now, smiling while he introduces the Aranara guarding the door. And though their expression doesn’t change, the pari seems to stand straighter—like it’s preening.
“This is Arama,” Kaveh says, petting the head of the sprouted Aranara from the morning.
Arama looks up from the book they were reading.
“Hello, Nara Alhaitham.”
“The other three are in the kitchen helping me cook dinner,” Kaveh says, flitting towards the kitchen.
Alhaitham narrows his eyes and follows him.
“These three are Arapacati, Arasaka, and Arachatora.” One by one, the Aranara look up—first a cone-hatted one, then the bluebell one, and finally the mushroom-shaped one.
“Hello, Nara Alhaitham,” Arapacati greets.
“The three of them are siblings and have an interest in cooking,” Kaveh boasts, smiling.
Alhaitham nods and raises a singular brow.
“I take it your conversation with Tighnari went as well as expected?” he asks.
Kaveh stiffens.
“Well, Tighnari said they’re indeed the dream pari,” he says, cautious, “and since I was the one who planted their seeds and nurtured them from their protective forms, they’ve imprinted on me.”
“You’re a parent to them?”
The blond chuckles, nervous.
“Essentially, yes.”
“So we have to keep them?”
Kaveh’s eye twitches. He turns to the three Aranara who seem to perk immediately under Kaveh’s attention.
“Would you mind keeping an eye on the khoresh bademjan for us?” Kaveh asks, hand circling around Alhaitham’s wrist. “If it starts bubbling like before, just turn down the heat, okay?”
“Okay, Nara Prakasa!” Arasaka bobbles.
“Great! Thank you.” And then he pulls Alhaitham outside the kitchen and into the study—closing the door behind him.
Kaveh flicks his wrist. Alhaitham feels the pressure of a sound-cancellation spell activating.
“Is the sound cancellation—”
“Yes, it’s necessary. I don’t want to make the Aranara feel bad,” Kaveh snaps, crossing his own arms. “How insensitive do you have to be to ask if we have to keep them?”
“It’s a valid question,” Alhaitham insists. “We didn’t sign up to take care of five extra beings.”
“They subsist on the forest itself. They followed me around like ducks. They’re able to take care of themselves just fine. In fact, Arabalika saved me from a rishboland tiger today—”
“You couldn’t handle a tiger?”
“You know I can handle a tiger fine,” Kaveh snaps. “It’s the principle of it. My point is, they’re self-sustaining, they aren’t causing us any harm, and they’ve been helping me all day.”
“Where will they sleep?” Alhaitham asks, raising a brow.
“They’ll sleep in my room.”
“Do you have enough space?”
“If I don’t, I’ll make space,” Kaveh says, crossing his arms. “It’s what I do.”
Alhaitham purses his lips.
“You’re not going to ask me to kick them out, are you?” Kaveh asks, narrowing his eyes. “If you do, then I’ll move—”
“I’m not going to ask you to kick them out,” Alhaitham interrupts. “I’m thinking about where we’re going to find five blankets for the five of them on such short notice.”
Kaveh blinks. His lips curve into a beam.
“So we can keep them?”
“I don’t see what else we’d do given they think you’re their keeper.”
Kaveh cheers.
“Good, good.” He drops the noise-cancellation spell, still smiling when he says, “Thank you, Alhaitham.”
And then, he’s bounding out of the study without looking back. Alhaitham blinks, shakes his head, and follows Kaveh out.
He finds the Aranara staring at him with their flat smiles and wide eyes as soon as he steps out of the study, all while Kaveh merrily chats with one of them while serving the khoresh bademjan.
Faintly, he gets the feeling that he’s being judged.
“—appreciate you all trying to protect me, but you can’t keep writing mud messages on my clients’ doorsteps. It just doesn’t work that way.”
Alhaitham lets the door shut with a slam, startling Kaveh and causing all six heads sitting on their divans to turn toward him.
“Only a week and you’ve already lost track of your children, Kaveh?” Alhaitham asks, lips curved up.
Kaveh glares.
“I haven’t ‘lost track of them,’ and they’ve been angels this past week.” He turns back to the Aranara neatly sitting across him on a single divan, smiling. “I know you all mean well, right?”
Only when Kaveh speaks to them do the Aranara stop staring oddly at Alhaitham, bowing their heads as if they’re truly regretful.
“We’re sorry, Nara Prakasa,” Arapacati says, their cone hat seemingly drooping under the weight of their shame.
“We Aranara did it because we knew Nara Prakasa was getting taken advantage of,” Arabalika says. “That bad Nara just wanted Nara Prakasa to work for free!”
Alhaitham’s smile drops.
“Yeah! And we see how much effort Nara Prakasa puts in the blue paper drawings,” Arasaka insists. “Nara Prakasa should be paid all the mora! That bad Nara deserved the dirt messages!”
“It wasn’t the worst we Aranara can do,” Arabalika says, puffing their chest. “If that Nara swindles Nara Prakasa again, Arabalika will do something worse.”
“Please don’t,” Kaveh placates, a panicked smile on his face. “Listen, I still need to play nice with the client to get paid. So I would appreciate it if you didn’t harass him too much. The mud messages on his doorstep are as far as you guys can go if you believe he still needs to be… um, punished.”
“That bad Nara should pay Nara Prakasa fairly,” Arabalika declares, all of the other Aranara murmuring their agreements.
“And he will. Or, he’ll pay me within his needs.”
“I see it’s been business as usual for you, Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, unamused.
Kaveh shoots him a dry look.
“I don’t need your snarky comments right now.”
“Snarky? I’m merely speaking the truth.” He steps forward, leaning against the back of Kaveh’s divan with his arms resting on the edge. “You getting taken advantage of by your clients is nothing special.”
“Again, snarky comments. Unneeded.”
“How do you plan to pay off your debt if you’re allowing yourself to be sold for less than you are due?” Alhaitham asks. “Are you truly that insecure about your craft to let yourself be underpaid?”
Kaveh scowls.
“This has nothing to do with my insecurity. You know better than anyone how I feel about my work.”
“Then, listen to your children,” Alhaitham says, nodding his head towards the Aranara. “You deserve to be paid fairly. Were you not so naive, you wouldn’t still be in so much debt.”
“I’d rather be naive than cruel,” Kaveh retorts. “If I brush off every story someone tells me, I’ll miss someone who truly needed my help.”
“So you’d rather play the fool?” Alhaitham asks. “I’d thought you were smarter than this, senior.”
“It’s called compassion, Alhaitham. And stop encouraging the Aranara to do bad things!”
“I’m not encouraging anything,” Alhaitham says. “I’m merely saying you should develop a stronger spine against your more exploitative clients. How else do you expect to survive if you’re opening your wallet for every—”
“Alright!” Kaveh suddenly stands, forcing a smile on his face. “Anyone hungry? I think it’s time to start dinner.”
He’s striding out of the living room before anyone can answer, and Alhaitham watches him go, sighing. He pushes off the divan, pausing when he feels five stares on him.
Alhaitham glances towards the Aranara, brows furrowed when he finds all of them still staring at him with no small amount of intensity.
“Is something the matter?” Alhaitham asks.
“No,” Arama says, before pushing themself off the divan and trotting toward the kitchen. The other four give him one last look before following Arama out.
Alhaitham watches them go, trying to shake the odd feeling that he’s being judged by the five dream spirits. He takes his own seat on the divan once he hears the faint murmuring of the Aranara and Kaveh, then summons a grimoire when it’s clear the group of them doesn’t need him.
He brings up the parchment containing his notes on the spell he’d been translating and resumes his note-taking.
There is mud on his bedroom floor when he wakes up the next day—mud traced in thick, sloppy lettering that says “stop bullying Nara Prakasa.”
He finds sap in his slippers when he casts an analysis spell on the viscous liquid in his shoes, leaves scattered all over his drawers and closets when he goes to change, and flowers scattered all over his bedroom in various states of growth from tiny buds to full blooms.
Alhaitham stares, taking a deep breath, and then another for good measure. He sidesteps the mess, shuts his door on his way out, and beelines straight for the kitchen.
As soon as he steps foot in the space, Alhaitham asks, “Did I piss you off last night?”
Kaveh looks back from the stove, hair tied in a bun and ingredients levitating around him. His brows knit together. Around him, the Aranara stare at Alhaitham—their bodies still as trees.
“What?”
“Did I piss you off?” Alhaitham repeats, arms crossed.
“Um. No?” Kaveh says, slow. The spice jars around him slowly crawl their way back to their respective places, lids snapping shut. “Why?”
Alhaitham exhales roughly and turns back towards his room. Moments later, he hears six pairs of footsteps following him.
He swings his door open and raises a brow.
Kaveh’s eyes narrow. He peeks inside, taking in the muddy floors, the flowers strewn all over the place, and the leaves scattering the floors. Alhaitham watches Kaveh scan the room before his eyes flit over Alhaitham, and then the Aranara, and then Alhaitham again.
Through it all, the Aranara continue to stare at Alhaitham like he’s the biggest disappointment they’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.
Kaveh’s lips twitch.
“Don’t you dare.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Kaveh argues, expression smoothing out into one of reproach. He lowers his gaze back at the Aranara. “When did you all have the time to do this?”
“After Nara Alhaitham and Nara Prakasa fell asleep,” Arama says, sounding particularly proud of it while the rest of the Aranara continue to stare at Alhaitham.
Alhaitham narrows his eyes.
“Why did you do it?” he hears Kaveh ask.
“Because Nara Alhaitham is a big bully!” Arasaka says, head turning to Kaveh for less than a second before returning to Alhaitham. “Nara Alhaitham was mean to Nara Prakasa.”
“Nara Prakasa deserves retribution,” Arabalika continues.
“Yeah! But we Aranara know Nara Prakasa would never get revenge on Nara Alhaitham,” says Arachatora.
“So we Aranara did it for him,” says Arapacita.
Alhaitham lets his gaze trail back to Kaveh, unamused. Kaveh meets his gaze, lips twitching again.
“This isn’t funny,” Alhaitham says.
“It is a little funny.”
“It isn’t.”
Kaveh clears his throat, trying and failing to hide his smile. His gaze drifts back to the Aranara.
“While I appreciate the thought,” Kaveh starts, hand coming to pet some of their heads so they finally stop staring at Alhaitham, “Alhaitham isn’t hurting me at all, and he certainly isn’t doing anything that needs you all to punish him.”
“But Nara Alhaitham insulted Nara Prakasa last night!” Arabalika says, wings fluttering in angry motions.
Kaveh blinks and bites his lip against his grin. He glances at Alhaitham.
“He didn’t mean it,” Kaveh says, then hesitates. “At least, I don’t think you mean it.”
The Aranara turn to Kaveh, catch his pensive expression, and return to Alhaitham with stares burning into him like glares.
“Anyway.” Kaveh claps his hands together. “There’s no need to dirty Alhaitham’s room for me. I can take care of myself against bullies, especially a bully like Alhaitham.”
“I don't mean to bully you,” Alhaitham mutters, voice petulant even to him.
“Let’s clean up the mess you’ve all made,” Kaveh says, ignoring him. “Then, we can have breakfast.”
The Aranara droop before begrudgingly entering his room one by one. Arabalika gives Alhaitham one last glaring stare before joining the others in clearing the mess.
“You did this to yourself,” Kaveh murmurs, quiet so only the two of them can hear as they watch the Aranana sweep the debris out Alhaitham’s open window. Kaveh walks back to the kitchen and Alhaitham follows.
“I don’t mean any malice when I talk to you,” Alhaitham says, crossing his arms to hide the uncomfortable prickling at his nape. “I’m not trying to bully you.”
Kaveh glances at him and gestures for their spices—levitating them out one by one.
“I know.”
Despite Kaveh’s half-hearted scolding that first morning, the Aranara don’t stop.
Every few days, Alhaitham will wake to his room looking more like a forest than a room. He then walks to the kitchen to let Kaveh know what happened, and Kaveh scolds the Aranara before telling them to clean up the mess with an amused smile on.
And then, they all have breakfast and the world moves forward.
Oddly enough, despite their meticulousness in ransacking his room, the Aranara always leave his books alone. There has never been even a hint of mud or debris on his bookshelves or near his grimoires—either due to Kaveh’s words or because the Aranara never meant any harm in the first place.
Thus, Alhaitham could care less about the Aranara’s revenge and the inconveniences it brings, especially when he’s often never the one inconvenienced. The acts simply become another thing he can hold over Kaveh’s head—which, admittedly, might be why the Aranara continue harassing him.
After spending that morning watching the Aranara rearrange spitefully conjured nilotpala lotuses into bouquets for Kaveh, he finds said Civil Architect Mage no longer home once he returns.
“Arabalika went with Nara Prakasa to get some groceries,” Arama tells him, their sprout wriggling from where they have a children’s story open on their lap.
“And the siblings?”
“In the kitchen.”
He ignores Arama’s stare and makes his way into the kitchen, watching the three Aranara flit around attempting to make what looks like fatteh.
He waits for them to levitate the baked pita on some potholders before asking, “Did Kaveh ask you three to make this?”
All three of them turn their heads in eerie synchronism. Alhaitham narrows his eyes.
“Yes,” Arapacati says. “Nara Prakasa tasked us to cook Nara Prasaka’s favorite dish. Nara Prakasa is counting on us.”
“And what is Nara Prakasa planning on cooking for dinner?” Alhaitham says.
“Tahchin!” Arachatora titters—already moving to find the yogurt and tahini sauce.
Alhaitham huffs, amused. He casts a warming spell on the pita while the Aranara prepare the yogurt sauce, and peeks in the pot with rice on the stove. Then, he takes out a different pot and starts cooking the chicken, adding onions and cinnamon sticks to the water and letting it boil.
“Did Kaveh mention any other dishes?”
The Aranara shake their heads. Alhaitham opens their cryo box, scanning the contents. He magicks one of their knives to start dicing cucumbers and tomatoes while he searches for their rosewater and saffron.
“Ah. That’s probably what Kaveh went to the market for,” he mutters.
“What is Nara Alhaitham making?” Arasaka asks.
“Shirazi salad.” He transfers the diced ingredients to a bowl and searches for their mint. “Kaveh always complains I never make enough vegetable dishes.”
He hears the Aranara totter over, watching him slice the onions while he has the juicer squeezing a lemon for him.
“Is the fatteh ready?” Alhaitham asks, setting the salad on their dining table.
The siblings hesitate.
“We… don’t know how to assemble it,” Arapacati says, head bowed. “Nara Prakasa always builds palaces out of the pita.”
Alhaitham snorts.
“Only because he derives joy out of making art,” he says. “Creating and testing the magical limits of structures isn’t enough. He must also make it in his food.”
“But we want this fatteh to be the best Nara Prakasa has ever had,” says Arachatora.
“So long as you have the pita covered by the yogurt and chickpeas, Kaveh will love whatever you’ve made.” He kills the fire on the chicken and waits for it to cool, leaning against the countertop to regard the Aranara.
The Aranara stare back before all three of them tilt their heads.
“Nara Alhaitham has known Nara Prakasa for a long time, right, Nara Alhaitham?” asks Arapacati.
“Yes. Close to a decade at this point.” He lifts his gaze, catching Arama peeking in the kitchen too, book tucked under their arm.
“Why does Nara Alhaitham keep bullying Nara Prakasa then?” Arama asks.
Alhaitham smiles.
“If I was actually bullying Kaveh, he would’ve moved out long ago,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’m sure you all mean well, but Kaveh is by no means helpless. He knows how to deal with hardship and strife—has been for years.”
“What does Nara Alhaitham mean?”
“I mean you underestimate Kaveh’s handle on his life if your biggest worry is me,” Alhaitham says. “As much as I may get on his case, he returns it with just as much fervor.”
The Aranara glance at each other before huddling closer, crowding around him like a group of children.
“Why is Nara Prakasa living with Nara Alhaitham?” Arama asks, head tilted curiously.
Alhaitham raises a brow.
“Kaveh never told you?”
“No.”
He huffs wryly.
“Kaveh’s in a significant amount of debt with one of his previous clients,” Alhaitham says. “I’m offering him a place to stay in the meantime, for as long as he needs it.”
“As long as Nara Prakasa needs it?” Arama repeats. Alhaitham nods. “Then, will Nara Prakasa leave once the debt is paid?”
He feels his smile fade.
“If that is what Kaveh wants, yes.”
The Aranara glance at each other again, before squinting at him.
“Nara Alhaitham,” Arapacati starts, “if Nara doesn’t want Nara Prakasa to leave, why does Nara Alhaitham act so mean to Nara Prakasa?”
Alhaitham narrows his eyes.
“I never said I didn’t want Kaveh to leave.”
The Aranara squint harder.
“Nara Alhaitham,”—Arasaka totters forward, bluebell head bobbing—“why are you mean to Nara Prakasa?”
He presses his lips together.
“I don’t mean to be mean,” Alhaitham says steadily. “It is just the way we’ve learned to speak to each other. Kaveh has never believed I have his best interests in mind these days.”
“What if Nara Alhaitham said it nicely?” Arama asks. “What if Nara Alhaitham told Nara Prakasa that Nara Alhaitham is worried about Nara Prakasa?”
“He would dismiss it,” Alhaitham says. He sighs. “At least this way, I know he’s listening to me.”
All five of the Aranara are huddled together in their living room when Alhaitham returns—their heads jerking towards him at the sound of the door. He glances at the group, feels for their wards, and asks, “Where’s Kaveh?”
“Nara Prakasa went to the tavern,” Arama says, “and told us to stay at home.”
Alhaitham lifts a brow.
“Did he now?”
“Does Nara Alhaitham know why Nara Prakasa told us to stay at home?” Arabalika asks, hurrying over with fluttering wings.
Alhaitham scans the Aranara—all of them visibly wilting—and says, “Follow me.”
He resettles their wards and locks the door on their way out before striding down the cobbled path towards the heart of the city. The Aranara toddle along, following him like a line of ducklings with their mother duck. Alhaitham weaves through the crowd of people making their own way home, glancing back every now and then to check if the Aranara are still with him.
A familiar set of double doors come into view. Alhaitham regathers the Aranara and pushes the doors open, strides sure while he walks.
They find Kaveh in the back of the tavern—head pillowed in his arms with an empty bottle next to him and a half-filled glass. Alhaitham lifts the bottle and examines the labels before sighing.
He turns and glances at the Aranara—all of them with varying levels of distress while they conjure beds of fluffy moss on Kaveh’s chair and table.
“Let me handle the tab, and then we can go home,” he says. “I trust you all can keep an eye on him while I’m gone?”
Arama and Arabalika nod, watching the siblings sprout lavender and jasmine flowers all over the place—making the area smell like a mini apothecary.
Alhaitham pinches his nose and turns away.
One exchange of gold and a small scolding that no, they could not grow a garden in someone else’s tavern for Kaveh’s comfort later, Alhaitham and the Aranara make their way back home with Kaveh on his back and braided cords of vine wrapped snug around the two of them to keep Kaveh from slipping.
Arama is the one who unlocks their door for them with a branch fashioned in a perfect imitation of their keys. Alhaitham pretends he does not see the Aranara picking their lock with ease and snaps his fingers to burn the key as soon as Arama sets it down, brushing his hands to lift away their wards.
He flicks a finger. Their lamps turn on—casting their home in a dim glow. Once everyone’s inside, he locks the door behind him and makes his way to Kaveh’s room.
One flick of his wrist and the curtains draw themselves. He feels the corded vines recede around him and gently levitates Kaveh from his back and into bed. Carefully, he unclips Kaveh’s shawl, unwrapping it from his shoulders and draping it over a chair. Then, he takes off his shoes and loosens the buttons of the shirt Kaveh has on.
His clips come off next, then his earrings, and then, Alhaitham combs his fingers through Kaveh’s hair, working out the knots and kinks from the strands and disentangling his braids. He finds their painkillers and sets the pills and a glass of water aside for Kaveh in the morning. Kaveh mumbles something incoherent, sighs, and shifts on his side.
He waits for a moment. Then, he pulls the blankets over Kaveh and tucks him in before making his way out of the room.
“Where is Nara Alhaitham going?”
Alhaitham glances down, finding Arama next to him. All five Aranara are staring again—each at varying moods but all with judgment in their big eyes.
Alhaitham raises a brow.
“I’m going to bed,” he murmurs, voice hushed. “Kaveh’s home. I’m tired. There’s no need for me to be up.”
He waits for the Aranara’s response. When none comes and the five pari instead start settling in the makeshift bed Kaveh had conjured for them their first night here, Alhaitham continues his way out—shutting the door gently behind him.
All five Aranara are by his bedside when he wakes the next morning, staring at him.
Alhaitham does not flinch when he opens his eyes, but it is a close thing.
“What’s wrong?” he croaks.
The Aranara glance once at each other.
“Nara Prakasa hasn’t woken up and it’s breakfast time,” says Arabalika. “Nara Alhaitham and Nara Prakasa will be late.”
Alhaitham blinks.
“Oh. Okay.”
So he gets up and makes his way to the kitchen, the Aranara following behind him. He orders Arabalika to cut up their zaytun peaches and the siblings to handle the omelette prep while Alhaitham prepares coffee for the day and heats up bread from a bakery down the street.
Arama starts setting the table once Alhaitham starts cooking the first omelette, checking in on Kaveh every once in a while to make sure he’s still alive and only sleeping. One by one, the Aranara crowd around him, watching him flip their breakfast and plate them like they’re little children watching their parent cook. He casts warming spells on the finished omelettes and hands them to the Aranara who set them on the table and wait for Kaveh.
Just as he’s about to plate the last one, a door slams open from further in the house and Kaveh stumbles into the kitchen—hair mussed and clothes haphazardly thrown on. He takes one look at Alhaitham by the stove, the Aranara sitting quietly at their table that Kaveh had to extend to fit all of them, and blinks.
“Good morning, Nara Prakasa,” Arabalika says, solemnly handing Kaveh his coffee.
“Good morning,” Kaveh echoes, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry. I missed making breakfast.”
“It’s okay!” Arapacati says cheerfully. “Nara Alhaitham made breakfast.”
“Yes,” he says faintly. “I can see that.”
Alhaitham sets the last omelette on the table, giving Kaveh a once-over.
“Bring over some of our barbari bread if you’re feeling guilty.”
He hears Kaveh’s quiet huff, then the sound of crinkling paper before a stack of flatbread is set on the table—toasted with a flick of Kaveh’s wrist and smelling freshly baked.
Kaveh sits across from him, already cutting into the omelette to serve to the Aranara. Alhaitham counts to twenty in his head, watching the soft smile grow on Kaveh’s lips as he takes care of the Aranara like a doting parent.
It fits him, he thinks.
“How’s the hangover?”
Kaveh’s eyes flick over, his smile twitching into a frown.
“It’s fine,” he sniffs. “I wasn’t that drunk.”
“Really? That’s not what it looked like when the Aranara and I went to pick you up last night,” Alhaitham says, brow raised. “Another client you’re breaking your back to please?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Kaveh shoots back, his expression dry. “Thank you for bringing me back, but actually, Alhaitham, that doesn’t give you the right to lecture me.”
“Actually, it does when your children are involved,” Alhaitham says. In a startling act of synchrony that Alhaitham feels he should be used to by now, he watches all five Aranara turn to stare at him—the judgment clear even while their expressions remain in smiling perpetuity.
Kaveh pauses, blinking.
“What happened to the Aranara?” he asks. “Is everything okay?”
“You worried them last night,” Alhaitham says, crossing his arms. “They followed me to the tavern to pick you up, Kaveh. You may have no qualms about drinking away your stress, but there are beings who worry about you when you disappear like that. Take better care of yourself.”
Kaveh’s cheeks turn pink. He averts his eyes and curls his shoulders inward, appearing sufficiently guilty while he stares at his breakfast. Alhaitham keeps his eyes on him, dutifully ignoring the way every Aranara’s stare burns a brand into his skin like a blazing tattoo giving away his own worry.
Kaveh’s shoulders slump. He turns to the Aranara.
“I’m sorry for scaring you guys.”
For once, the Aranara don’t turn to Kaveh.
Instead, they continue to judgmentally stare at Alhaitham.
Kaveh, as it turns out, has an early morning meeting with a client, so dishwashing is also pushed onto Alhaitham—an outcome Kaveh profusely apologizes about while he’s rushing to collect his scrolls and measuring tools.
The apology surprises Alhaitham, so much so that he finds himself saying, “It’s alright. It’s just a few dishes. Complications happen. Focus on yourself and your hangover instead of me.”
And Kaveh blinks once before offering Alhaitham a quiet smile. His fingers brush against Alhaitham’s hand—fluttering and warm like the beginnings of a heating spell.
“Thank you, Alhaitham,” Kaveh says and hurries his way out the door before Alhaitham can respond.
Alhaitham lets his gaze linger for a moment or two before he returns to clearing their dining table—pausing when he feels five different stares still on him. He looks into the kitchen where the Aranara have situated themselves by the sink and drying rack—still in the house despite Kaveh having left the premises.
Alhaitham raises a brow.
“Are you not following him today?”
The Aranara all share glances with each other before toddling over—each step making a tiny tot-tot sound before they’re all standing in a line in front of Alhaitham.
And then, they bow to him. Like Alhaitham is some sort of saint.
“We’re sorry about bullying Nara Alhaitham,” Arama starts, voice oddly solemn for their tiny body.
“Yeah, we’re sorry, Nara Alhaitham.”
“Sorry.”
“We didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” Alhaitham asks, arms crossed.
“We were wrong about Nara Alhaitham,” Arabalika says, sounding reluctant to even admit it. “Nara Alhaitham is no bully. Nara Alhaitham is just a loser.”
Both his brows raise. He snorts.
“Apology accepted,” he says, a snag of amusement in his tone. “Though, I don’t believe it’s warranted. You five hardly did any harm.”
The Aranara immediately rise to their full heights, each of them seemingly back to their bubbly selves, though Alhaitham’s not quite sure how he can tell when their expressions are the same.
“Arasaka thinks Nara Alhaitham should tell Nara Prakasa how much Nara Alhaitham cares,” Arasaka says, their bluebell head swinging back and forth in sudden excitement. “Arasaka is sure Nara Prakasa would appreciate knowing!”
“What?”
“Yes! Yes!” Arachatora toddles even closer, leaning against Alhaitham’s legs in their enthusiasm. “Did Nara Alhaitham see how happy Nara Prakasa looked today when Nara Alhaitham told Nara Prakasa to take care of himself? Nara Prakasa knew Nara Alhaitham was worried!”
“Imagine if Nara Prakasa knew how much Nara Alhaitham worries about Nara Prakasa instead of using us Aranaras as an excuse!”
“What are you all going on about—”
“Nara Prakasa would be so happy! Maybe Nara Prakasa would even get red like those zaytun peaches Nara Prakasa likes so much!”
“Nara Alhaitham, now you must tell Nara Prakasa!”
The Aranara crowd closer to him now so that they surround his legs, doe eyes glittering in the light and pleading looks on all of their faces as if a few words of care from Alhaitham are the key to Kaveh’s ultimate happiness. They huddle around him, forcing Alhaitham to take half a step back before they topple him over.
“Please, Nara Alhaitham?” Arama begs once more.
Alhaitham’s eyes flicker between the Aranara. Every single one of them stare up at him like he holds the world in his hands.
He sighs.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Alhaitham acquiesces.
The Aranara cheer.
The Aranara stop trashing his bedroom after that. They seem to finally decide against enacting their petty retribution for the “bullying” he inflicts on Kaveh. Somehow, in a single night, he’s completely overturned their previous opinion of him.
Instead, they start doing something much worse.
“Please stop thrusting flowers in my hand every time I am in the same room as Kaveh.”
Four Aranaras blink up at him from where they’re sitting around his feet. Arabalika had followed Kaveh on a grocery run again and in the meanwhile, the rest of the Aranara had decided to crowd around Alhaitham—watching him attempt to decipher the same spell he’s been translating since the Aranara first appeared. He has a few grimoires levitating around him for reference while he tries to parse through the spell’s mechanism, brows pinched.
He flicks his finger and the books drop around him in a neat stack. Alhaitham lets his focus narrow to a spot near his palm, and he imagines the velvet feel of petals on his fingers before the sensation fades.
He huffs, frustrated.
Conjuring a flower from thin air really shouldn’t be this hard.
“But Nara Prakasa likes it when Nara Alhaitham gives him flowers, Nara Alhaitham,” Arama says, head tilted.
“Kaveh likes it when you give him flowers,” Alhaitham corrects. “He knows I’m not the one giving him the flowers.”
“Nara Prakasa likes the flowers, Nara Alhaitham,” Arasaka says. “Nara Prakasa told Arasaka that Nara Prasaka likes padisarahs.”
“I don’t disagree, but he likes the flowers because you are the ones giving it to him,” Alhaitham says, sighing. “In the same vein, I’d appreciate it if you five didn’t crowd the divans to get the two of us to sit closer to each other. And, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread rainbow roses and kalpalata lotuses around our dining table like every dinner we have is some sort of romantic affair. And, I’d also appreciate it if you all stopped asking me when I plan to tell Kaveh how much I care for him.”
“But Nara Alhaitham promised he would,” Arapacati says, sounding like they’re pouting.
“I didn’t promise,” Alhaitham corrects. “I only said I would consider it.”
Arapacati sends him the flattest look possible. “Are you a liar, Nara Alhaitham?”
“I didn’t lie. I did consider your suggestions and decided it isn’t necessary.”
“But it is necessary, Nara Alhaitham!” Arama suddenly insists, climbing onto the divan so that they’re at eye-level with him. “Isn’t Nara Alhaitham worried Nara Prakasa will move out soon? If Nara Alhaitham doesn’t tell Nara Prakasa how he feels now, one day, Nara Alhaitham will never get the chance!”
Alhaitham stares and parses through his thoughts.
“What Kaveh does is none of my business,” he says slowly. “If Kaveh decides his best course of action is to move out, I will not stop him. He has already had too many things chaining him down over the course of his life, and I refuse to become another.”
Arama stills. Around him, the other three Aranara fall silent.
“But, Nara Alhaitham,” Arachatora starts, their mushroom-topped head tilting up to stare at him. “What if the reason Nara Prakasa thinks Nara Prakasa’s best course of action is to leave is because Nara Alhaitham never told Nara Prakasa he could stay?”
“Kaveh knows he can stay for as long as he wants,” Alhaitham insists.
“But does Nara Prakasa know he can stay forever?” Arachatora asks.
Alhaitham stiffens, blinking at the Aranara.
“Nara Prakasa won’t want to intrude if Nara Alhaitham doesn’t say it’s okay, Nara Alhaitham,” Arama murmurs. He glances to the side, watching the pari cross their tiny arms. “Nara Alhaitham should tell Nara Prakasa how much Nara Prakasa means to Nara Alhaitham, and how much Nara Alhaitham wants Nara Prakasa to stay.”
Alhaitham presses his lips together, his next words dying in his throat. He looks away from the Aranara and grabs one of his books, hands idly flipping through the pages. Next to him, Arama sits down on the divan and uncrosses their arms, their tiny legs kicking against the cushion.
“Are things not good as they are now?” he asks, quietly.
“Wouldn’t things be better for Nara Alhaitham if Nara Prakasa knew Nara Alhaitham wants him to stay too?” Arama asks.
“If Arabalika was here,” Arapacati starts, “Arabalika would call Nara Alhaitham a coward.”
Alhaitham snorts, snapping his book shut.
“He may not be that far off.”
He feels their home’s wards shift in his chest, just before the sound of a key slipping in their lock echoes. In the next moment, Kaveh steps into the room with a bag of groceries tucked in the crook of his arm—Arabalika dutifully marching behind him.
He takes one look at the scene and grins.
“They look like your children with the way they’re sitting,” Kaveh says, making his way to the kitchen. The door shuts and locks itself—their wards slipping back into place until Alhaitham’s chest no longer itches.
“Are you worried I’m kidnapping your children?” Alhaitham asks, rising from his seat to follow Kaveh, the Aranara trailing behind him.
“Worried? More like relieved you aren’t angering them anymore,” Kaveh says, pulling his hair up while he magicks the ingredients to their respective places. Alhaitham watches, his eyes trailing Kaveh’s silhouette before settling on his nape. The Aranara’s stares burn into his back, judgmental. “Besides, we all know who their favorite is.”
Alhaitham hums, fingers twitching.
“Rather hard to compete against the Light of Kshahrewar there.”
The levitating ingredients teeter. Kaveh stills and looks back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, forcibly light.
“Who can compare to you?” Alhaitham asks, leaning against the threshold.
He blinks, brows furrowing and cheeks pinking.
“You’re acting weird,” he mumbles, rigidly turning back to pull out their pans. Alhaitham’s lips twitch.
The sudden smell of flowers spreads through the air. Alhaitham glances down and finds a bundle of padisarahs in Arama’s grasp. His smile falls.
“Kaveh—” Arama shoves the padisarahs in his hands.
“What?”
Kaveh turns, eyes drawn to the flowers.
“The Aranara have more flowers to give you,” Alhaitham drawls, handing them over. He feels four forceful jerks on his clothes.
Kaveh’s lips curve up, even while his eyes narrow in confusion. He takes the flowers, running a finger across the petal before meeting Alhaitham’s gaze
“Is something happening?” he asks, eyes flicking between him and the Aranara.
Alhaitham exhales. He can feel all five Aranara burning their judgment into him like glowing pokers trying to stoke a burnt-out flame.
“Nothing at all,” he says.
He makes it a single step into their home before he realizes something has gone terribly wrong—a fact that becomes more apparent when all five pari and Kaveh are nowhere to be seen.
One look at their wards tells Alhaitham all six beings are safe in their home. It does nothing to ease the tension pulled taut across his shoulders.
He checks the living room, then the kitchen, then their shared study and finds no sign of anyone. It’s not until he’s passing by the bedrooms that the sound of muffled conversation reaches his ears from Kaveh’s room.
“—doesn’t want Nara Prakasa to leave. Nara Alhaitham brings Nara Prakasa home and buys fruits for Nara Prakasa and cooks for Nara Prakasa and lets us Aranara stay for Nara Prakasa. Nara Alhaitham loves Nara Prakasa.”
“But Nara Alhaitham is scared to tell Nara Prakasa.”
“Nara Alhaitham is such a coward.”
“Arabalika, don’t be a bully.”
“But it’s true!”
Alhaitham swings the door open, eyes darting around to land on Kaveh. Said man is sitting in the small armchair with Arabalika in his lap—hand stilled just above the pari’s head like he was in the middle of patting them. Around his feet are the others, leaning against the arms of the chair and his legs like a group of gossiping kids.
Kaveh’s head jerks the moment the door opens, cheeks slightly flushed and eyes wide. Every single denial Alhaitham thought of dies on his tongue—watching Kaveh’s eyes flicker through a set of emotions too quick for him to name. His hand tightens on the doorknob, the handle digging into his palm.
“How much did you hear?” Kaveh asks, voice even and lips pursed.
Alhaitham takes a steadying breath.
“Enough,” he says, resigned.
“Is it true then? What they’re saying?”
“Does it matter if it is?” Alhaitham asks.
Kaveh’s brows furrow, a frown on his lips. “Of course it matters!” he says.
“Do you think the Aranara would lie to you about something like this?” Alhaitham asks. “What does it matter getting my confirmation about something you’re already aware of?”
“Because it directly relates to you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh crosses his arms. “Stop trying to get out of answering the question.”
“Nara Alhaitham.” He feels a tug on his robe and looks down, finding Arama just below him, their little sprout wiggling in the nonexistent breeze. “We will destroy Nara Alhaitham’s books if Nara Alhaitham does not tell Nara Prakasa the truth.”
Alhaitham grimaces.
“Your children are resorting to threats, Kaveh.”
“My children are helping me out,” Kaveh says, flippant. “Answer the question.”
Alhaitham presses his lips together and exhales, holding the handle like it’s a lifeline.
“You are very important to me, Kaveh,” he says, slowly.
“Is everything the Aranara said true?” Kaveh repeats.
“I did not hear everything the Aranara—”
“Nara Alhaitham,” Arama warns.
Alhaitham stares.
“To the best of my knowledge, yes,” he says, arms crossed, ignoring the growing heat at his nape.
Kaveh stares back, cheeks turning pinker under the light, and clears his throat.
“Would you mind giving us some privacy, everyone?” he asks the Aranara.
Arabalika slides off of Kaveh’s lap. The pari glance at each other, before filing one-by-one out of Kaveh’s room, Arasaka shutting the door behind them, but not without sending Alhaitham one last baleful look.
The room falls quiet.
“You know,” Kaveh starts offhandedly, “the children really like you now.”
Alhaitham turns away from the door and raises a brow.
“It would seem so,” he drawls.
“And, if you think about it, I’m currently a single father of five.”
“You’re hardly—”
“Shut up,” Kaveh interrupts. “I’m trying to say—I mean… it wouldn’t be awful to have a partner to take care of the Aranara with.” He averts his eyes. “It wouldn’t be terrible if it was you.”
Alhaitham blinks.
“Me.”
“You.”
“Okay,” Alhaitham says, soft.
Kaveh beams.
“We told Nara Alhaitham it would be fine.”
“Nara Alhaitham wouldn’t listen.”
“Clearly you all are smarter than Alhaitham will ever be,” Kaveh agrees.
Alhaitham rolls his eyes.
“Sleep well, everyone.”
“Good night, Nara Prakasa!” the Aranara chorus.
Kaveh laughs, quietly shutting the door.
“Are you done ganging up on me with a bunch of children?” Alhaitham asks.
“As if,” Kaveh says, proud. “The Aranara think you’re the most embarrassing Nara they’ve ever met.”
“They must not have met many Nara then.”
“Or you really are that embarrassing,” Kaveh says, raising a brow at him.
Alhaitham snorts. He curls his fingers into his palm, letting his magic weave itself together until it forms into a padisarah in his loose grasp.
Kaveh blinks, staring at the flower—a smile on his face.
“You finally finished translating that spell,” he says, head tilted and lips curved up. There’s something shining in his eyes that makes Alhaitham want to preen. “How long did it take you?”
“I’ve been working through that grimoire since you first grew the Aranara,” Alhaitham says, twirling the flower between his fingers by the stem.
“Who knew a spell for flowers could keep you so stumped for this long,” Kaveh says, eyes alight. “The Aranaras have known how to conjure flowers since day one, you know. Either they are magical prodigies, or you are seriously inept at your job.”
Alhaitham narrows his eyes, magnanimously deciding not to mention that the Aranara are the Devi’s familiars. He pulls Kaveh toward him and snakes an arm around his waist. Kaveh lets himself be pulled, bracing his hands on Alhaitham’s shoulders and smiling—eyes twin fires under the lamplight.
He tucks the padisarah against the curve of Kaveh’s ear.
“Do you think I’m as embarrassing as the Aranara claim?” Alhaitham murmurs, tilting his head forward until there’s a scant few inches between them.
Kaveh smiles.
“Of course!”
And before he can respond, Alhaitham feels the curve of Kaveh’s smile pressed against his—sweet and warm.