Chapter Text
I think about you, sometimes.
“Now, we welcome this year’s batch of graduates.”
The applause sounds. The claps ensue and the excited mumblings of the crowd commence. “Joining me today on this memorable day is our very own Grand Sage and the respective Great Sages, who will gift the certificates and awards to our students and future leaders in the making.”
One by one, names are called from each Darshan and the students walk up to the stage and receive their certificates any medals or awards they may have gained from their time at the Akademiya.
Parents excitedly cheer or wave while their friends who are in the crowd are happily applauding and congratulating them as they make their way to their seats.
As per any other year, there always isn’t a large number of graduates. And there are some who are older or younger than others. But there’s always enough to fill the stage, and there’s always enough to fill the seats who watch this memorable day.
It’s a special day. A day many scholars and students can only dream of for years— the Akademiya is tough and only the best can graduate. Without a thesis, graduation is a faraway dream to a scholar.
The thesis matters. “Alhaitham. Graduating from Haravatat with Full Honours. Awarded with Academic Excellence from the Haravatat Darshan…”
Alhaitham couldn’t care less about what he’s won and what he hasn’t. “Prodigies”, “Talents” and “Extraordinary” are words the Akademiya abuses to no end and are words which are used to marginalise what the Akademiya perceives as useful to the non. But Alhaitham does believe in the idea that people are special— everyone is, only that they have to discover it to unveil their true potentials.
He believes he’s found his, and quite fortunately, at a young age as well. His fascination with linguistics, his interest in knowledge and the world around him— isn’t that a wonderful gift? Perhaps it could extend further into his own personality. His firm philosophy, his own beliefs in objectivity and peace, his ability to discern the world.
He crosses the stage to receive his awards.
And there’s the clapping and the applause. But it’s not from the people he wanted the most.
He spots, towards the front row— a bouquet of flowers sitting. It has a wonderful blend of pastels and vibrant flowers.
Rich reds, warm golds, but soft whites and spots of pastels. Decorated beautifully in white and grey wrapping and a dark green ribbon to tie it altogether. There’s a card in it as well.
As he turns to the crowd— his eyes can’t help but search. Search for a specific person, despite knowing how low the chances were of him coming to his graduation. But he couldn’t help but look for that person. He knows that person is probably nowhere near the Akademiya currently; they’re likely setting their path ablaze and working on a new project or commission which has come through for them.
But he can’t help, but look.
And so he feels his heart deflate a little, when he confirms that Kaveh did not come. Amongst the crowd— the multicoloured hairs and variety of faces. He does not see Kaveh, anywhere. And so, he accepts his awards and walks to his assigned seat.
Disappointed, but not so. Because he always knew he would be alone during his graduation.
The death of his parents and the looming knowledge of his grandmother’s age already cemented that difficult-to-swallow fact. But he grew up accepting it. That thought didn’t hurt as much when he was younger, probably because he didn’t have many friends to begin with and the idea of graduation was still such a life away. He was sure, he likely wouldn’t care on the day itself.
But then Kaveh entered his life, and for the first time— he looked forward to his graduation. Because Kaveh promised he would attend, and he promised Kaveh he would attend his as well when the day came.
The day came, whether he liked it or not. But their relationship changed.
Ultimately, Alhaitham attended Kaveh’s graduation quietly. He remembers he entered quietly and sat amongst the many other students who came to show their support— it was one of the only few times he wore his hat. It wasn’t that he was ashamed to come, but rather, he didn’t really want Kaveh to see him nor did he feel things were resolved yet.
Kaveh gave a speech, and he won plenty of awards. Many were congratulating and clapping for him, and Alhaitham slipped away as soon as the ceremony ended.
In contrast, Alhaitham sits on stage with the other graduates and he hears someone giving a speech. He was initially offered a speech as well, but he declined because he simply wasn’t interested nor did he want to give one.
Besides, no one would be here to hear it anyway.
So when the ceremony finally ended, Alhaitham walked off stage and collected the bouquet on the seat. Many had left that seat alone, thinking that maybe someone left it there while they went to use the restroom or something.
But Alhaitham actually left it there. Because it was the last thing he was able to receive from his grandmother.
“My child, take care of these plants alright?”
“What for?” Alhaitham asks as he looks up from his book while his grandmother tends to the many flowers she has.
“I’d like these flowers to be used for your graduation,” she explains as she waters them. “Now, I’m not quite sure if I’ll be able to attend it. But if I don’t, then take care of these for me, and then use them for your graduation.” She gives him a smile. “As a last gift from me, to congratulate you.”
He followed her wishes.
After she passed away, Alhaitham continued to look after them and tend to them. They took quite some work, but it wasn’t too hard to take care of them either. He pruned them often, changed the pots when they became too big and watered them according to the schedule his grandmother made for them.
In some ways, it became a new source of coping. As a child, he would sometimes garden with his grandmother and they’d spend the whole morning outside. She would tell him all sorts about her flowers, how to manage them and their meaning and significance. She’d tell him stories of his parents and how they liked flowers too.
And so when the day finally came, Alhaitham followed the plan his grandmother made for him. She left him a notebook of things to know when taking care of flowers, and at the very end was a sketch of the bouquet she’d love to gift him for his graduation. And he took the time to pick the flowers before heading to the nearest florist to have it packed and presented.
Happy Graduation, my child.
The card was left in the notebook as well, in great quality paper and in her handwriting.
Alhaitham watches as parents embrace their children and friends congratulate each other. He felt out of place in that hall. He stood there, surrounded by all this love, whilst holding onto the last thing his grandmother had for him.
He watches in silence. Everyone around him and he stands alone in the crowd. Everyone was too wrapped up in their own worlds and happiness to notice his isolation.
Alhaitham is one of the first to leave the hall. Holding the bouquet tight and his awards in his other hand. He tries to tell himself he doesn’t care, but he knows it’s a lie. Because he does care, and it does hurt a little. Knowing that he’s quite alone during that day.
He goes to a spot outside the Akademiya, where he knows it’ll be quiet and he’ll have some peace to himself for a while. The noise inside is too much, it hurts his ears. Sometimes, he wishes he were a little more ordinary, with a more ordinary life. Because then it would perhaps mean that he’d have people who’d celebrate his graduation with.
He remembers hearing people talk about a party and drinks during the night. But Alhaitham isn’t interested in going, and he isn’t invited either, thankfully. But it is a little lonely.
A butterfly rests on his shoulder.
“…But always remember that being different is a gift.”
He wonders what his parents would say to him. He supposes, they must be proud that their son graduated from the Akademiya. And, if his father is anything like him, Alhaitham supposes his father must be a little bit more proud that his son has followed in his footsteps to pursue the same Darshan he did.
He didn’t pick Haravatat because his father was a professor in it. He could hardly care less about what Darshans his parents majored in, he liked linguistics because they represented the strings of the world. The origins of the world— so to speak— lie in language. Language exists everywhere, they form the key to thought, they represent abstraction on all levels and they are walking bouts of history.
Language is as logical as it is conceptual.
It’s why he knows twenty different languages. It’s why he learnt to transcribe and decipher ancient runes and alphabets. It’s why his collection of books is made up of, primarily, linguistics and literature, because novels are an archive of their times.
But underneath all that interest and fascination, Alhaitham sometimes wonders if there was another underlying motive in the sense that he could find a semblance of his parents in the things he did.
A butterfly rests on the bouquet.
He wonders if he picked Haravatat, because his father was a professor in that field and as a result, left many books for his son to read. Notes, references and resources which he has read through more times he could count. There was a little bit of his father in the handwriting and in his annotations. A little bit— he could sometimes visualise.
He wonders if the reason he has a fascination with the ancient desert civilisation and the origins of language came from his mother and her specialisation in aetiology, where they strive to find causation and the origins of phenomena that happens in the world. The journals she left behind still had the faintest scent of perfume, and there were a few stains here and there to show how much she spent her time and life researching.
And he wonders if he has a fondness for the arts because his grandmother was a Kshahrewar graduate, and she spent a lot of her time tinkering and doing little projects all over the house. From crafts to weaving to gardening— her touch was all over the home he grew up in and her presence was constant. The things she left behind were always beautiful, and she taught him to appreciate beauty in ways he wanted to.
Another butterfly lands on his hand.
He wonders if it’s the culmination of all these people that makes him who he is today. It’s fascinating, because he’s never met his parents and only ever knew his grandmother past her prime. And yet, they’ve left all sorts of influence on him and moulded him into the man he is today.
Alhaitham looks at the bouquet again.
He was always ambivalent to flowers. He never really had a particular fondness or any sort of flower or anything— but he supposes he likes them not because of aesthetic reasons but for what they represented.
Peace.
Being at home, with his grandmother tinkering away at a small project she has while he sits on the divan reading. Being in the comforts of warmth and embrace, with the flowers outside in the garden and some in the living room blooming beautifully. Being a child, and still having his grandmother next to him for whatever he needed.
It’s the kind of love he hasn’t felt for a very long time.
He leaves for home after that.