Chapter 14

LEILA

I wasn’t working today, and for once, I let myself drift a little.

There was a quiet in the house that felt rare—almost borrowed. My parents had already gone out, and Omid was somewhere in the house, brooding in his usual silence. But I let myself ignore that for a moment.

Instead, I let my mind go where it wanted. Germany. Or maybe somewhere in Italy. Or who knows where else in Europe. Elias and I walking hand in hand through a crowded plaza. I’d be wearing a light dress, something floral, something that made me feel like myself. No scarf. My hair—my actual hair—long and dark, catching the wind. Elias has never seen my hair. Not once. I imagined the look on his face the first time he did. I imagined going shopping without a second thought, vacationing without second glances, laughing too loudly, kissing him in public without the fear of eyes that cut like blades. A life where we could just be.

I was still wrapped in that fragile little dream when I heard the front door click shut. I froze for a moment, realizing it must be Omid.

I moved to the window, barely parting the curtain. Sure enough, I saw him disappear around the corner, his walk fast, purposeful. He wasn’t coming right back.

My heart started to pound. It was now or never.

I turned from the window and walked quickly but quietly to the entryway. There was a ring of keys hanging near the door—one of those bundles that had grown over the years, cluttered with old keys to who-knows-what. I tried them all on my father’s desk drawer, holding my breath with every soft click.

Nothing.

I closed my eyes, swallowed the rising frustration, and kept looking.

I opened the kitchen drawer, the one full of odds and ends—rubber bands, loose batteries, receipts from three years ago—and there, beneath a torn envelope, was another smaller ring of keys.

I took them, hurried back to the desk, and tried them one by one.

The third one slid in smoothly. Turned with a soft, mechanical sigh.

Open.

I blinked. For a moment, all I could do was stare.

There it was. My passport. Tucked between a few folded documents like it didn’t mean anything at all. One major obstacle—possibly the biggest one—had been pushed aside.

I reached for the passport, my hands trembling just slightly, and opened it to the photo page. My own face stared back at me, so much younger than I felt now. I exhaled slowly. I had it.

I realized there still was one small problem. I needed to put it back after it had served its purpose for the visa, and take it again when the time came to leave.

After thinking it over for a moment, I slipped the key off the ring and into the pocket of my tunic. I’d ask Darya to have a copy made. It was a risk. But a necessary one.

I stood for a moment, staring at the now-locked drawer, heart still thumping.