Chapter 13

ELIAS

I got her text around mid-morning.

Leila:

Bakery tonight? Darya might come too, if you don’t mind.

I texted back right away.

Me:

Of course. I never mind Darya being around.

And that was true. After everything she’d done for us—risking her own peace at home, standing by Leila (and me, too) without hesitation—I respected her more than most people I’d known.

I got to the bakery first and claimed our usual quiet table near the back. Masoud gave me a little wave from behind the counter but didn’t come over. He must’ve sensed that tonight wasn’t going to be full of light-hearted chatter.

Leila and Darya arrived a few minutes later—separately, but nearly at the same time, as if by some unspoken plan. Leila’s eyes swept the café and found mine quickly, but she didn’t smile. That was the first thing I noticed. That look in her eyes—like someone who hadn’t slept, or had, but not well.

Darya sat beside her and gave her a long look. “Are you going to tell him, or should I?” she asked gently.

I blinked. “Tell me what?”

Leila looked at both of us, then glanced down at her hands. “It was last night. Omid confronted me.”

Just like that, the air shifted.

She told us everything—how he’d seen her messages, how his friend had apparently spotted us near the alley, how Omid had done his digging and figured out who I was. And then, she said it:

“He slapped me,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the table. “First time he’s ever done that.”

Darya gasped, loud and sharp, and clapped her hands over her mouth. She obviously hadn’t heard that part yet.

I felt my jaw clench. My fingers curled into fists under the table. My whole chest was suddenly tight—anger rising like a tide I had to hold back.

“Are you okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low. Calm. I didn’t trust what would come out if I let myself speak freely.

She nodded, still looking down. “It didn’t bruise. It was more the shock than anything. But ... it’s not something I’ll forget.”

None of us said anything for a moment.

The idea had been stirring in me for a while, but now it was screaming. Loud, insistent.

We couldn’t stay. Not if we wanted a future together.

I opened my mouth to say something—but Darya beat me to it.

“I already told her this,” Darya said, turning to me, “but I’ll say it again: if the two of you want to have any kind of real, peaceful life together ... it’s not going to be here. There’s too much in the way. Too many eyes. Too many people who think they have the right to control you.” She looked at Leila, voice softening. “It’s time to start thinking seriously about leaving.”

I didn’t say a word—I just nodded slowly, every part of me agreeing. It was the first time we’d said it out loud, the three of us, in the same space. And Leila was watching me as I nodded. She didn’t look alarmed. She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she met my eyes and said, “I agree.”

That surprised me.

I thought she’d push back. I thought she’d say it was too soon, too risky. That she still held onto the hope of making it work here.

But she didn’t.

“The time has come,” she said, her voice steady. “We can’t keep doing this. Not like this.”

And just like that, something shifted between us. Not panic. Not fear. Just resolve. It was no longer just an idea in the deepest recesses of our minds. It was the beginning of a plan.

We leaned in closer at our little corner table as our discussion continued. Our voices were low, and the stillness of closing time was in evidence. I could hear Masoud in the kitchen, humming softly as he wiped things down, but otherwise, it felt like the world had quieted just for us.