The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 15
LEILA
When I opened the door that evening, I could feel it before I even heard it—that strange, electric charge in the air, like something had already happened and I was the last to know.
Voices came from the sitting room. Not angry or distressed—worse. Cheerful. Hopeful.
I stepped in and Omid spotted me immediately. He stood up, smiling like someone who’d just closed a business deal. “There she is. Leila jan, come sit. We have some good news.”
I didn’t move. “What kind of news?”
My mother clapped her hands together in that overly theatrical way she did when trying to get me excited about something I didn’t want. “A proposal, Leila. A proper one. From a very good family. His name is Farhad Esmaili. He’s older—early thirties—but very stable. A small business owner. Hardworking. Well-connected. Conservative, of course. The right kind of man.”
My stomach twisted. No. Not again. Not now!
Omid cut in. “I’ve known him for a while. I trust him. This could restore everything. Your reputation. Your future.”
I laughed under my breath, a short, bitter thing. “My reputation doesn’t need restoring.”
Omid frowned. “Let’s not pretend this hasn’t been a problem, Leila. People talk. This is your chance to stop all of that.”
I held back an angry response. After Omid had slapped me across the face, I’d lost whatever respect I’d had for him.
My father, who rarely spoke up in these matters, added his approval. “Farhad’s father and I served together. The Esmailis are good people. Respectable.”
I tried, gently at first. “I don’t want to get married right now.”
“Then you’ll never want to,” my mother sighed, already shaking her head, already mourning a wedding that hadn’t been canceled. “You can’t be a girl forever. It’s time.”
“I have work,” I said, weakly.
“Farhad respects that,” Omid replied. “He’s open-minded—for someone like him.”
I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t want to.
They were all looking at me like it had already been decided. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not when we were so close. Any resistance, and they might start watching me more closely. Ask questions. Make it harder to leave. My only choice was to play along.
I nodded faintly, just enough to avoid more attention. “When?”
“Friday evening,” my mother said brightly. “You’ll wear your green scarf. It brings out your eyes.”
I mumbled something about being tired and excused myself to my room. My hands were shaking as I shut the door behind me.
I pulled out my phone and texted Darya.
Me:
They found another man. They want to force me into marriage again. Omid arranged it. Meeting Friday. I couldn’t say no. Not right now.
Her reply came quickly.
Darya:
Are you okay?
Me: No. But I didn’t fight them. I can’t afford to, not now. Can we meet tomorrow? I need help figuring out what to do. We have to tell Elias.
Darya:
Of course. We’ll talk tomorrow. We’ll figure it out.
I sat on the edge of my bed, gripping the phone like a lifeline. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t rage. I had to hold steady.
But at the same time, this was not what we needed right now.
I got to the café a little early and picked the table farthest from the windows. Even though we’d never seen anyone suspicious around here, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder every few minutes. The waitstaff knew us by now, which was comforting. Familiarity was the closest thing to safety these days.
Darya arrived a few minutes later, dropping into the seat across from me with her usual effortless confidence. I envied that about her—how she could act like the world didn’t scare her into silence.
“Well?” she asked, pulling the scarf off her head with a sigh. “What happened?”
I told her everything. How the moment I walked in the door, it was like I’d been ambushed. How they’d already picked a date for the meeting. How Omid had called it a chance to ‘restore my reputation.’ How my mother had already chosen what I would wear.
Darya didn’t interrupt. She just listened, her brows drawing closer together as the story went on.
When I finished, she leaned back, arms crossed. “You know you can say no, right? They can’t make you say yes.”
“I know,” I said. “But I also know what happens when a woman says no too loudly. Especially to something like this.”
She sighed. “You’re not wrong. You’re walking a fine line now, and I think they’re watching you more closely than you think. You need to get through this without making any sudden moves.”
“I didn’t protest,” I said quietly. “I didn’t fight. I just nodded. I figured—I’ll act polite, go through the motions. And then vanish.”
“That might be the best play,” Darya admitted. “But this makes our timeline a lot tighter. If they try to push a quick engagement...”
“I know.”
I paused. Something inside me had been tugging at me the whole day.
“I want to tell Elias,” I said. “I don’t want to keep this from him. His opinion matters too. I want him to be part of figuring out what we do next.”
“Of course,” Darya said immediately. “Let me text him. He might be free.”
She tapped out the message quickly and showed it to me before hitting send. A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.
“He says he’ll be here soon.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Good,” I said. “I need to see him.”
And I meant it with all my heart.
ELIAS
The message from Darya hadn’t said much—just that Leila needed to talk, and could I come now. But I knew the tone. Something was wrong.
I left my place without even changing out of my work clothes, walking fast, hands shoved deep in my pockets. By the time I reached the café, my mind had already run through a dozen worst-case scenarios. Had her father found the passport missing? Had Omid intercepted something? Had someone reported us?
I spotted them right away—back corner, same table we always used. Leila’s eyes met mine before I even sat down. There was tension in her shoulders, and she didn’t smile.
“What happened?” I asked as I slid into the seat next to her.
She launched into it without delay. Her family had found another suitor. Omid was calling him reputable, conservative, wealthy. Her mother had started talking about wedding plans the moment she walked in the door. A formal meeting had already been arranged for later in the week.
I felt my stomach drop. Here we go again.
I looked between the two of them. “But ... all you have to do is say no, right?”
Leila and Darya exchanged a glance. It was Darya who answered.
“Technically, yes,” she said. “But saying no can raise suspicions—especially if she doesn’t have a solid reason. They already think she’s been acting strange lately. Refusing now, too strongly, could cause trouble at exactly the wrong time.”
“They’re watching me,” Leila added softly. “I can feel it. I’m trying to stay invisible, not cause any ripples. Not when we’re this close.”
I looked at her, the way her eyes carried both resolve and dread. I hated this. Hated that she was trapped in this performance, even temporarily.
“What do we do then?” I asked.
Leila glanced down, fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. “I have an idea. There’s something called a symbolic engagement. It’s not legally binding. Just a way for families to feel like things are moving forward. No ceremony, no vows, nothing final. Just ... stalling.”
Darya nodded. “It’s common enough. A kind of verbal placeholder. It buys time.”
“I could agree to that,” Leila said. “It might stop them from rushing anything. But only if you’re okay with it. I won’t do it if you’re not.”
My first instinct was to reject the idea outright. It felt wrong, even if I knew it wasn’t real. But then I looked at her again—how tightly she held her composure, the quiet plea in her voice, the sheer stress she was carrying. This wasn’t about pride. It was about survival. Timing.
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