At first, the wisdom felt like a gift.
Faust began to see the world with startling clarity. Patterns he had once missed now revealed themselves: the alignment of stars whispering cosmic truths, the rustling of leaves signaling the ebb and flow of natural forces. Everything interconnected, everything meaningful. His newfound insight extended to Faouzia, whose movements, silences, and words now seemed like pieces of an intricate puzzle. He saw the constellations she mapped not as mere stars but as mirrors of her soul, each one carrying a truth she had yet to realize.
With this wisdom, he sought to bridge the growing gap between them. Faust became more attentive, more precise in his care. He anticipated her needs before she voiced them, brought her solutions before she could identify problems. For a while, it seemed to work. Faouzia softened, her guarded posture easing as she allowed herself to believe in his promise of change.
But as the days stretched into weeks, the curse of wisdom began to manifest. Faust no longer admired Faouzia’s touch as she pressed acacia thorns into her skin; instead, he analyzed it. He no longer shared in her fascination with the stars but instead dissected her passion, searching for its origins, its purpose, its meaning. Every smile, every sigh, every glance became a clue in the grand equation of who she was. His love, once organic and unstructured, had become clinical.
Faouzia noticed.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
They stood in the grove one evening, the stars overhead dimmed by the encroaching clouds. Faouzia sat cross-legged, her tools spread out before her as she traced the constellations with a slender finger. Faust stood behind her, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her like a scholar studying a rare phenomenon.
“You’re staring,” she said, her voice sharp but tired.
“I’m thinking,” Faust replied. His tone was neutral, calculated, as though he were trying not to upset the balance of their fragile reconciliation.
Faouzia turned to look at him, her brows furrowing. “Thinking about what?”
“About you,” he said simply.
She tilted her head, waiting for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, her irritation flared. “If you have something to say, say it.”
“I’m trying to understand why you spend so much time with the stars,” Faust said carefully, his words chosen with precision. “You map them, you study them—but to what end? You already know so much.”
Faouzia stiffened. “And you think that’s a problem?”
“No,” Faust said quickly. “But I think... if you focused more on what you already know, instead of chasing new constellations, you might—”
“‘Might achieve more’?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “Is that what you’re about to say?”
He hesitated, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean to sound like you know better than me?” she snapped, standing abruptly. “Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Again.”
“I’m trying to help,” he protested, stepping closer. “I want you to reach your potential.”
Faouzia’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “My potential? Or your idea of it? You don’t love me, Faust. You love the version of me you’ve created in your head.”
Her words struck like a mace, leaving Faust reeling. Before he could respond, she turned and walked deeper into the grove, leaving him alone under the darkening sky.