The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 22
DARYA
For the first two days of my visit, I barely set foot outside the flat. Between Elias’ teaching schedule and Leila’s German classes, it made sense — and honestly, I was perfectly content just being with them again. But by the third day, a Saturday, Elias smiled at us over his morning tea and said, “You two should go have a proper girls’ day. I’ll hold down the fort.”
Leila and I exchanged one look, and that was all it took. We practically sprinted to get ready.
In the taxi, we dissolved into giggles the way we used to in Shiraz, when we would talk late into the night and try not to wake her parents.
“I still can’t believe Elias’ face when he opened that door,” I said, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. “I thought the poor man’s soul was about to leave his body.”
Leila snorted. “He screamed like someone had thrown a cat at him.”
“You screamed too!” I reminded her.
She folded her arms, trying to look dignified and failing miserably. “Well, I thought some beautiful stranger was jumping into my husband’s arms!” That made us both laugh so hard the taxi driver checked the mirror twice.
The hair salon looked exactly as it had a few days earlier — warm lighting, bright colors, busy stylists who greeted us like they’d been expecting us. I told Leila, “You know ... you’d look amazing with shorter hair.”
She hesitated, running her fingers through her long dark waves. “You really think so?”
“I do. Trust me,” I said, remembering how freeing it had felt to walk out of here with my new style.
She trusted me. She always had.
The stylist worked her magic, and by the time she spun Leila around to face the mirror, my jaw dropped just as dramatically as Elias’ had when he first saw me. The bob cut framed her face perfectly, the highlights catching the light in this soft, elegant way.
“Oh my god,” I whispered. “Leila, you look incredible.”
She blushed, but I could see in her eyes how good it felt. How free it felt.
After that, we went shopping — which for us was less “shopping” and more “liberation ceremony.” Leila added to her rapidly growing wardrobe, and I picked out a few more outfits for myself. I held one dress up and sighed.
“I’ll take this home,” I said, “hide it away, and look at it whenever I need to remember that the world is bigger than the streets of Shiraz.”
Leila touched my arm gently. “One day, you’ll wear it out in public. I know it.”
Maybe I would. I wanted to believe it.
Back at the flat, Elias looked up from the kitchen counter as we walked in — then stared at the pile of bags we dumped onto the floor.
“Oh no,” he groaned playfully. “What have you two done?”
Leila stepped forward, showing off her new hairstyle, and his expression softened into something warm and admiring.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
She beamed.
I just crossed my arms smugly and tipped my chin up. “Told you so.”
Leila swatted my shoulder, smiling so wide it almost hurt to look at her.
It was one of those small, perfect moments — the kind you tuck into your heart for when life gets dark again.
LEILA
The next morning we decided that nothing — absolutely nothing — was going to keep us indoors. It was Sunday, the sky was clear, and I had my two favorite people in the world with me in one of the most beautiful cities on earth. So, the three of us set out, armed with comfortable shoes, bottled water, and the collective determination to make a full day of it.
Our first stop was Sultanahmet Square. I had seen pictures before, but nothing prepared me for the sight of the Blue Mosque rising up in front of me, elegant and vast, framed by the early sun.
“Wow,” Darya breathed, her eyes shining as she craned her neck. “Okay, I get it. This is why people travel.”
Elias chuckled. “Welcome to the outside world, Darya.”
She elbowed him. “I liked you better before you got smug.”
He pretended to stagger dramatically. “Oof. Violence.”
I just rolled my eyes at both of them.
Inside the Hagia Sophia, we wandered slowly beneath the massive dome, our voices barely above whispers without anyone telling us to lower them. The freedom of that alone made my heart swell.
Darya kept spinning around, trying to take everything in. “Leila, look at this,” she said for the fifth time, pointing at mosaics on the upper gallery. “This is insane. I feel like I walked into some kind of magical dimension.”
I smiled. “I know. Me too.”
Elias added, “Just wait until we hit the markets. You two are going to destroy me financially.”
“We already do that emotionally,” Darya quipped.
I laughed so hard a tourist glanced at me.
We spent late morning wandering through the Grand Bazaar — a riot of colors, scents, and sounds. Merchants shouted greetings. Fabrics shimmered in every direction. Handcrafted jewelry glinted temptingly. I bought a couple of scarves — not for covering my hair, just pretty accessories — and Darya insisted on getting matching bracelets for the three of us.
“So we stay connected,” she said, fastening mine around my wrist. “Even when we’re far apart.”
I almost cried right there between a spice stall and a leather shop.
When we stopped for lunch, we found a tiny place serving döner wraps and fresh pomegranate juice. We ate outside at a wobbly metal table, laughing as Elias tried — and failed — to keep the juice from staining his shirt.
“You’re hopeless,” I teased him.
He dabbed at a red spot. “I am a dignified, educated man. I refuse to be bullied by fruit.”
Darya snorted so loudly the server smiled at her.
After lunch, we walked across the Galata Bridge. Fishing lines dipped into the water from every direction, and the Bosphorus glittered beneath us. Darya leaned far over the railing until Elias yanked her back gently.
“Can you not fall into the water on your first trip abroad?” he said. “I’d feel obligated to jump in after you.”
“Relax,” she said, “I can swim.”
“I can’t,” he deadpanned.
I shook my head. “He’s actually serious.”
We climbed up the narrow streets to Galata Tower, where we waited in line for the viewing deck. At the top, Istanbul stretched out in all directions — rooftops, domes, ferries slicing across the water. The wind whipped my hair and brought the faint scent of the sea.
“It doesn’t look real,” Darya murmured.
“Neither does our life right now,” I said quietly.
She slipped her arm around my waist and hugged me sideways. “Good. Real was overrated.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon browsing small boutiques, tasting sweets we definitely didn’t need, and stopping every few blocks so one of us could take a picture. Darya insisted on touristy poses. Elias played along with mock suffering.
By the time the sun drifted lower and the sky turned warm and golden, the three of us were tired in the best possible way — full of food, full of laughter, full of something kind and soft that felt a lot like hope.
It was one of the happiest days of my life.
ELIAS
I let myself into the flat and closed the door behind me, the familiar click echoing in the quiet. The place felt strangely still without the girls’ chatter filling the rooms. I slipped off my shoes, loosened my tie, and let out a long breath as I crossed to the sofa. My body was tired from teaching, but my mind was wandering miles away.
Five days. That was all it had been since Darya had burst into our life in Istanbul like a firework — loud, bright, unexpected, impossible to ignore. And now she had only one day left before she had to go back.
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