Chapter 23

LEILA

I floated through the next morning on nerves and adrenaline — though for once, the good kind. The day after I took my A1 exam, I was still half-convinced I’d imagined how smoothly it went. But when the results came back, clear and official, stating that I had passed with an excellent score, I felt something inside me spark like a struck match.

I’d done it. I’d actually done it.

Elias lifted me off my feet and spun me around the tiny living room, nearly knocking over one of our plants. I didn’t care. I laughed until my chest hurt.

The very next day, we marched straight to the German embassy, my certificate carefully tucked into a folder pressed tight against my chest. The waiting room was its usual blend of seriousness and fluorescent lighting — and stress, always stress — but I wasn’t intimidated the way I had been the first time. I sat there with my hands folded in my lap, feeling ... capable.

When we met with the agent and handed over my A1 documentation, his eyes lit up.

“This is excellent,” he said, looking it over. “Very good result.”

My heart hammered. “Does that mean the visa will come soon?”

He hesitated, thoughtful. “It should not be too much longer. We will try to check if anything can be done to accelerate the process.”

Elias mentioned — gently, politely — how my Turkish visa was running out in barely two weeks. The agent nodded, sympathetic, and jotted down a note.

“We understand. We will look into it.”

It wasn’t a promise, but it was something. And right now, anything hopeful felt like a blessing.

That evening, after a celebratory dinner (Elias insisted on making dessert, and I didn’t protest), we spread our notebooks, laptop, and stack of German location printouts across the little kitchen table. It was properly chaotic — mugs, pens, a stray grocery list, my dictionary — but it was our chaos, and I loved it.

It was time to search in earnest for a place to live in Germany.

We started by listing what we wanted: good public transportation, reasonable cost of living, reachable job opportunities for both of us, language options, a community where we’d actually want to build a life.

Around eight, my phone buzzed, and Darya’s face filled the screen, waving energetically.

“Did the genius woman pass with flying colors?” she sang out before I could say hello.

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks still burned happily. “Yes, yes, I did. And now we’re trying to decide where in Germany to live.”

“Oh good,” she said, shifting to get comfortable. “Obviously the correct answer is whichever place has the least snow.”

Elias snorted. “Unhelpful, as always.”

She spent the next half hour chiming in — mostly jokes, some actual opinions. She approved of Berlin immediately (“Culture! Art! Coffee!”), and then critiqued our first short-list option for having “ugly train stations” based on a single photo. By the time she had to hang up, she’d managed to make us laugh enough that the stress of embassy timelines thawed just a little.

After we ended the call, Elias squeezed my hand. “Okay. So it looks like ... somewhere near Berlin is our best bet.”

We narrowed it down to three towns just outside the city — each with their own charm, each with pros and cons. By the time midnight crept close, we had them ranked and highlighted.

“We’ll visit all three first once we’re there,” Elias said, leaning back with a tired but satisfied grin. “And choose the one that feels right.”

I exhaled softly, staring at the three names like they were magical incantations.

For the first time since leaving Iran, the future didn’t feel like an idea. It felt real. It felt close. But most of all, it felt like it was waiting for us.

Several increasingly nervous days went by. One idle Wednesday, I was sitting at the little table in our kitchen, half-studying my German notes and half-counting the days on the calendar for the thousandth time. Six days left on my Turkish visa. Six days before the clock ran out. I tried to tell myself not to panic, that we’d done everything right, that the embassy knew our situation ... but my stomach still felt tight.