The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 16
LEILA
Friday arrived like a stone in my chest.
I’d tried, one last time, to escape it—claimed I had to work, that Friday shifts were hard to switch. It wasn’t even a lie. But Omid, ever one step ahead, had already spoken with my manager the day before. Apparently, he’d explained the “importance” of today’s meeting, and my manager—no doubt eager to help facilitate such a promising match—had made sure I wouldn’t be scheduled.
Worse, the news had somehow spread across the office. Maybe Omid had told more than just my manager, or maybe people overheard—either way, by midday Thursday, it felt like everyone knew. I couldn’t go five minutes without someone cornering me, offering congratulations, asking if the rumors were true, praising Farhad’s family, asking when the wedding would be. I’d forced smiles, made vague noises of agreement, but by the end of the day I felt brittle inside. Like if one more person said the word bride, I’d shatter.
Now, Friday. The dreaded day. I was expected to dress nicely and smile for the man they wanted me to marry.
Farhad was exactly as I remembered him from a wedding I’d seen him at once—tall, polished, with the kind of quiet self-satisfaction that never cracked. He was polite, well-spoken, and utterly unbearable. The conversation was stilted from the start. My parents, of course, acted like we were already married. My mother beamed like she’d won the lottery, laughing too loudly at his every remark. My father nodded along as if Farhad’s opinions were gospel.
It felt like a rerun of the Dr. Moradi experience—only with more at stake this time.
And Omid. Omid didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. He just sat there, his arms folded, his expression cool and composed—except for his eyes. There was something fixed in them, something that made my stomach twist. A quiet intensity, a kind of finality. Like this wasn’t just a suggestion anymore.
I barely ate. I barely spoke. I mostly listened. I think I smiled once, and I regretted it instantly—it made my mother tear up with joy.
By the end of it, she was talking as if I were already pregnant. “He’ll be a wonderful father,” she said, eyes shining. “And so handsome—imagine the children you’ll bear for him.”
I excused myself as quickly and politely as I could. I didn’t run, but I wanted to. I wanted to claw my way out of my skin.
Just like before, I pulled out my phone the moment I was clear of the room and texted Darya.
Me:
Can we meet? Soon? I need to get out of here. Please bring Elias if you can.
I didn’t bother sugarcoating anything. She’d know.
I was halfway to the door when Omid’s voice stopped me, sounding like a warden. “Leila.”
I turned, my spine already bracing.
“You need to be careful,” he said quietly. “I’ve heard things about Darya. That she’s been seen without a scarf in public. That she’s reckless. She’s not a good influence.”
I stared at him, stunned by the casual malice of it.
“She’s my friend,” I said, keeping my voice even. “And I don’t choose my friends based on rumors.”
“I’m just trying to protect you,” he replied. His tone was maddeningly calm. “And she’s not your future. Farhad is.”
I held it together, barely. The hypocrisy was almost laughable—he, of all people, lecturing me about influence. About morality. I didn’t say one more word. I didn’t trust myself to.
Instead, I turned and walked out the door.
Darya was already at the café when I arrived. She’d caught the urgency in my text and left work early. Her eyes found mine the second I walked in, and I didn’t even have to say anything—she just opened her arms. I sank into her hug like I was collapsing into a safety net. She smelled like cardamom and shampoo and everything solid in the world.
We slid into a booth at the back, and the second we were seated, I let the words spill out.
“Yesterday was a nightmare,” I said. “Omid talked to my manager. Told him about the meeting with Farhad. Said it was an important family matter. Just like that, I was given the day off.”
Darya raised her eyebrows, arms crossed tight. “He cleared your schedule for your own ambush.”
“And then the gossip started. At work. I didn’t even know yet, but they did. Everyone was already congratulating me on my engagement. Hugging me. Smiling at me like I’d won something.”
I paused, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “And today, the meeting. It was exactly what I expected—Farhad was perfectly pleasant in that way that made me want to run. My parents were practically glowing. My mother was already talking about grandchildren.” I tried to laugh but it came out strangled. “And then, when I was leaving, Omid stopped me. He said I should stay away from you.”
Darya blinked. “From me?”
“He said you’ve been seen in public without a scarf. That you’re a bad influence. Reckless. That I need to distance myself from you.”
For a moment, Darya looked stunned. Then she leaned back and gave a short laugh—sharp and dry. “I’ve been called reckless before. And I’ll be called reckless again. He’s not wrong, technically.”
I let out a breath, grateful for the levity.
“But,” she added more quietly, “if he’s watching me now, that’s new. That’s a problem.” She looked around the café—discreetly, subtly. “We’ll have to be even more careful. No missteps.”
I nodded, anxiety tightening my stomach.
Just then, the bell above the door rang. I didn’t need to turn—I knew it was Elias.
He spotted us right away and came over, slipping into the seat beside me. His eyes searched mine, silently asking if I was okay. I didn’t answer. I just reached for his hand under the table and held it tightly, not letting go. It was a risk. Anyone could have been watching. But I didn’t care.
He glanced down, then looked at me again, understanding something without words.
I repeated everything—for him this time. Omid. The manager. The coworkers. Farhad. My mother’s wild joy. And then the part about Darya, about Omid’s warning.
Elias was quiet, jaw clenched, listening closely. His thumb brushed once over the back of my hand.
“And now,” I said, voice lower, “I’ve agreed to the symbolic engagement. Just to stall them. Like we talked about before. But now all we can do is wait for the visa to come through.”
I looked at them both—my co-conspirators, my lifelines. “It’s like there’s a wall closing in on all sides. But I still believe we can make it out. If the visa comes through in time. And there’s no reason why it shouldn’t.”
Darya nodded once, determined. Elias gave my hand another squeeze. And for just a split second, that crushing wall seemed a little farther away.
DARYA
It was Monday, and I was buried in reports, trying to force my brain to care about a project deadline that suddenly felt about as urgent as folding laundry during an earthquake.
Around mid-morning, I pushed back my chair and headed toward the ladies’ room. I wasn’t even halfway there when I saw him.
Omid.
He was standing near the elevators, talking to someone in a dark blazer, gesturing like he owned the building. My stomach dropped. I slowed, heart pounding, and ducked into the ladies’ room before he could see me. Once inside, I pressed my back against the tiled wall and listened—nothing but the buzz of fluorescent lights and the low hum of the vent.
What the hell was he doing here?
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