The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 17
ELIAS
I knew the moment I saw Omid’s shadow fall across our table that something was about to unravel. The way he stood there—smug, arms folded like some self-appointed authority—made my skin crawl. But I kept my face blank, even as my heart pounded.
He hadn’t heard our conversation. I was sure of that. And he didn’t show any signs of knowing about the plan. That was something.
But what came next hit harder than I’d expected.
“Leila,” he said coolly, “it’s time to go home.”
She didn’t even turn to look at him. “No.”
His jaw tightened, but then he pivoted. “Darya.”
She met his gaze squarely, even as he pulled out his phone and held up a string of images—pictures of Darya, out in public, scarfless.
“This is just a taste,” he said. “Unless you stay away from Leila, I’ll make sure these are seen by the right people. Or the wrong ones, depending on how you look at it.”
Darya let out a laugh—sharp, bitter. “You think that’ll stop me?”
But I saw it. The hesitation in her eyes. The mental math she was doing. The consequences, the fallout. She was brave, but she wasn’t reckless—not really. And Omid had just turned her courage into a liability.
Then his gaze turned to me.
“And you,” he said. “I know you’re an American.”
The words hit the table like a dropped grenade.
Leila gasped. Darya, too.
So did I—but inwardly.
He didn’t know everything, but he didn’t have to. That one truth—spoken aloud—was enough to tip the scales dangerously.
“I imagine you didn’t mention that when you applied for your job here,” he added, voice oily. “Your employer might take offense to being deceived. Maybe even report you to the authorities. There are people who’d love to know where the American’s been hiding.”
I kept my mouth shut, jaw clenched. He was right, in a way. I hadn’t lied explicitly, but I’d definitely omitted. Technically, they hadn’t asked—only assumed I was German, and I’d let them. Let them, and built my life on that silence.
“You have forty-eight hours,” he said. “Leave Iran. Or I’ll make sure every government office, every employer, every nosy neighbor knows exactly who you are. And if I see any of you three talking again, texting, anything—I’ll follow through on every one of these threats.”
My hands balled into fists beneath the table. I wanted to punch him. But I didn’t move. I knew better. He had me—us—cornered. One call, one message, and my entire presence here would be spun into something dangerous, something disloyal, something criminal.
Leila looked stricken. So did Darya. Their eyes shone with tears they couldn’t let fall. My gut twisted. We were so close—so close—and now this.
Then Omid turned back to Leila. “Come home. Now.”
“No,” she said again. Her voice was hoarse but firm.
He leaned in slightly. “You want Elias destroyed? His name handed over to the wrong people?”
She faltered.
For a second, I thought she’d shout. Thought she’d fight. But instead, her face crumpled.
She looked at me, eyes wide and shining. Her lips moved: I love you.
I pressed my fingers to my chest, over my heart, trying to breathe through the pain. I nodded.
She stood slowly. Omid took her by the arm—not roughly, but with possessive insistence—and began to lead her away.
I watched them go, every part of me screaming to stop it. But I couldn’t.
Because this time ... he really had us.
LEILA
I sat on the edge of my bed with the door closed, the noise of my family’s joy filtering through like static. My mother’s voice rose now and then—laughing, already referring to Farhad’s family as our in-laws. I stopped listening an hour ago. I had nothing left to say to any of them, and they wouldn’t have heard me anyway.
Friday. Just days away.
But somehow, despite everything—despite the threat hanging over Elias, Darya’s pictures, Omid’s gloating face—I wasn’t giving up.
Not yet.
I don’t know where it came from, the strength I felt. Maybe it was Elias’s hand tapping his chest, the love he felt for me obvious. Maybe it was the fire I saw in Darya’s eyes even as Omid threatened her. Maybe it was just sheer desperation clinging to hope.
But I still believed there might be a way out.
I stood and pulled the old box from the back of my closet—the one with the things that mattered. A worn-out paperback Elias had given me, with English notes scribbled in the margins. My grandmother’s delicate earrings. A scarf I’d always loved but never wore around my family. A tiny carved bird from Darya. A photo of the three of us taken in secret on a day we were free.
One by one, I tossed them out the window into the night.
I couldn’t risk contacting Darya—not after Omid’s threats. I didn’t even dare send a coded message. But I could still hope. Hope that she remembered the plan, that she’d circle by after midnight and pick everything up. That she still had the strength to hold the line when I couldn’t.
The only thing missing was my passport.
I knew exactly where it was—locked in my father’s desk drawer. And I had the key. The copy we’d made before, just in case. I could get it when the moment came, when there was no other choice left.
I moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. The night was silent. The courtyard empty. Somewhere out there, hidden in the shadows, were the pieces of my life I still hoped to take with me abroad. I didn’t know if they’d still be there in the morning. If someone else might notice. If Omid was watching.
But I stared out into the darkness anyway. Waiting and hoping.
DARYA
The city was hushed, wrapped in that strange middle-of-the-night stillness that always felt more like a pause than peace. The taxi dropped me a few blocks from Leila’s house, just like I asked. I told the driver I needed to pick something up and wouldn’t be long. He barely looked up, just nodded, tapping away on his phone.
Good.
I tightened my scarf, slung the empty plastic bag over my shoulder, and stepped into the shadows.
It felt surreal—moving like this, half-crouched, silent, dodging pockets of streetlight as if I were some kind of criminal. But I wasn’t the one doing anything wrong. Not really. I was just trying to help my friends escape a trap before it snapped shut.
I hadn’t stayed at the café after Leila left. I couldn’t. Omid’s threats still rang in my ears, and the last thing I wanted was to give him an excuse to carry them out. Still, I’d hated leaving Elias there, alone at the table, the shock still raw in his eyes. He’d looked ... broken. It was the first time I’d ever seen him like that. It made me ache.
But I wasn’t going to let that be the end.
I slipped down the narrow side path I knew so well, past the jasmine bush her mother always threatened to trim but never did. Leila’s window was dark. Good. She was either asleep or pretending to be.
My flashlight flicked on for just a second. And there they were.
Her things—tucked carefully under the edge of the wall, just where we’d planned. A few bundles wrapped in cloth, a couple of small bags, flattened for easier gathering. I smiled, despite myself.
She hadn’t given up either.
I crouched and began loading everything into the plastic bag as gently and quickly as I could. A book slipped out—a creased novel with English scribbles in the margins. I could see them in the dim glow of the flashlight. I paused, just for a second, running my thumb over the bent corner. Elias’s handwriting. My throat tightened.
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