[ he is see-through in a way that only alhaitham's eyes can do it. he is seen, he is read, unspoken wonders answered nonetheless. alhaitham is kind. the kiss is warm. it leaves a scar more than it heals his wounds, but kaveh does not shy away from the touch. isn't he used to pain by now? ]

Then, what is it? It is not pity, and you do not see yourself as kind. Why else would you be here, so adamant to hold my hand, so gentle with your touch?

[ the padisarahs, suddenly, do not seem as purple. the sun is hiding behind grey clouds, and it is cold. it's despair given form, and kaveh's reality. ]

Are you, then, Alhaitham created out of my own dreams and wishes? Is that the only way you would be so nice to me? You know that's not true.