Chapter 11

LEILA

The office was quiet — that midafternoon lull where most of the day’s energy had already burned itself out and no one had yet started watching the clock. I sat at my desk, scrolling absently through a spreadsheet, though my mind was far from numbers and formatting.

It kept drifting back to last night.

I could still see my mother’s face, that taut line of disappointment around her mouth. Baba had just sat there silently, lips pressed together, as Darya calmly explained what she’d learned. It wasn’t until the word illicit came up that he blinked. My brother had actually winced.

They hadn’t argued with me. Not once. Not after that.

But what stayed with me — what I couldn’t stop turning over in my mind — was how the disappointment had nothing to do with him. Not his character, not the engagement that had ended in scandal, not the fact that I would’ve been shackled to a man with secrets and pride and arrogance.

No. They were disappointed the match hadn’t worked out.

Like it was a lost opportunity. Like I’d dropped a ball they’d been carefully carrying on my behalf.

I should’ve felt victorious. In a way, I did. But it was a hollow sort of victory — like winning a game I didn’t want to be part of in the first place.

My phone buzzed. I reached for it quickly, hoping — and knowing — who it would be.

Elias:

You free? Meet me at the bakery?

A smile bloomed on my face before I could stop it. That bakery was quickly becoming more than just a neutral meeting place. It was ours. A little space carved out from all the noise and rules.

I typed back without hesitation.

Me:

I’ll be there.

I locked my phone and let it rest on my desk. The spreadsheet wasn’t going anywhere.

But something in my life finally was.

ELIAS

I was already at the bakery when she walked in — early, for once. The place was quiet again, just the low clatter of Masoud and Saeed in the back, cleaning up trays and closing up for the night.

Leila spotted me and smiled — that small, private kind of smile that felt like it belonged only to me. She crossed the room and sat across from me, slipping her bag from her shoulder.

“Tell me everything,” I said. “I want the whole story.”

She did. From her mother’s coaching to Dr. Moradi’s smug demeanor to Darya’s well-timed revelation. She told it plainly, but I could hear the strain in her voice when she mentioned how her family reacted. She didn’t sugarcoat it — they were disappointed. Not relieved. Not outraged at him. Just ... disappointed that it hadn’t worked out.

We sat in silence for a few moments after that. Not the awkward kind. The kind where everything that needed to be said had been said — or almost everything.

I looked at her. She was tracing a faint line in the woodgrain of the table with her fingertip. I knew I’d never have a more perfect moment than this.

“I have to tell you something,” I said quietly.

She looked up, curious, expectant.

“These last few days were awful,” I admitted. “Not knowing what was going on, not being able to do anything. But it made one thing really clear — something I’ve felt for a while now.”