The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 26
ELIAS
Another month had slipped by—quiet, steady, full of work and small victories. By then, Leila and I had saved enough money and built enough goodwill with our supervisors that we could finally do it: ask for a week off. Our honeymoon, the trip we’d postponed through chaos, fear, running, paperwork, waiting—it was finally within reach.
One evening, after dinner, we sat at the small kitchen table with our laptops open and a pile of scribbled notes between us. Leila had made a color-coded chart comparing destinations, which I found both adorable and slightly intimidating.
“All right,” I said, tapping the chart. “Greek islands ... Amalfi Coast. We need to decide.”
Leila’s eyes sparkled. “I want both.”
“I know,” I laughed. “But unless we win the lottery in the next five minutes, we need to pick one first.”
She sighed dramatically, then pointed at the Amalfi Coast column. “Look at this. The cliffs, the colors, the sea ... and the food! Elias, the food.”
“You can’t choose a honeymoon destination based solely on pasta,” I said.
She gave me a look. “Watch me.”
I grinned. “Okay, but the Greek islands ... Santorini alone could make you forget every pasta dish you’ve ever had.”
She hesitated, twirling a pen between her fingers. “I know. And I’ve wanted to see Santorini my whole life.”
“We can’t go wrong,” I said. “Either way, we’ll be somewhere beautiful with nothing to do except eat too much, swim, sleep, and pretend we’re normal tourists instead of constantly navigating immigration forms.”
She laughed at that—a soft, warm sound that always hit me right in the chest.
“All right,” she said finally. “Let’s weigh it properly.”
We did. Carefully. Like responsible adults who were clearly not just looking at photos and saying ooh and wow.
Amalfi Coast: Closer from Germany, slightly cheaper flights, ridiculously beautiful.
Greek Isles: Leila’s long-held dream, more variety in islands, a little more relaxed, a little less crowded.
“And,” I said, leaning across the table, “you deserve to have your dream place for our honeymoon.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Elias...”
“Greece,” I said gently. “And next time—Amalfi.”
She covered her face with her hands and let out a muffled squeal that made me laugh. When she lifted her head again, she was glowing.
“Let’s book it before I change my mind.”
So, we searched flights—Berlin to Santorini, good schedules, decent prices. My heart thudded strangely as I clicked purchase. There it was. Our names, our dates, our first real vacation that wasn’t about survival or bureaucracy.
Leila leaned over to kiss my cheek. “We’re really doing this.”
“We are,” I said. “One week from now.”
She bounced in her chair like a child who’d been promised candy. “I need to plan outfits. And sunscreen. And find all the food places. And learn a few Greek phrases. And—”
“And I need to prepare myself mentally for how many photos you’re going to take,” I teased.
She swatted my arm, grinning. “It’s our honeymoon, Elias. You’d better look good in all of them.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She closed her laptop with a soft click and leaned back, dreamy. “Santorini.”
Hearing the name out loud made it feel real. After everything—after Shiraz, after Istanbul, after the endless worry—we were finally stepping into a part of life we’d once thought impossible.
DARYA
My mother was having a good afternoon—good by recent standards, anyway. She was sitting up on the couch, wrapped in her favorite blanket, the one with the faded roses on it. I set a cup of tea beside her, and she gave me a tired smile.
“Thank you, joonam,” she said, patting my hand with her thin fingers. “How was work today?”
“Not bad,” I answered, dropping into the chair across from her. “A little boring. Same things, same people.”
She nodded knowingly. “You’ve been there too long.”
I laughed softly. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.” She studied me for a moment, as if reading thoughts I hadn’t spoken. “You need change, Darya. You always have.”
That struck me harder than I expected. My mother wasn’t wrong. I did need change. But the idea of change felt impossible when her health kept tapering downward like a candle running out of wax.
I stayed with her a bit longer. We talked about groceries, the neighbor’s noisy children, a new TV series she’d begun watching. Light, familiar things. When she dozed off, I slipped away to my room.
As soon as I sat on my bed, the quiet pressed in on me.
My job ... it wasn’t bad. I was good at it, and everyone knew it. But lately I’d felt like I was floating, repeating the same days over and over. No challenge. No growth. No spark.
And then there were the restrictions. The rules. The weight on your shoulders that you learned to ignore because you had no choice. But after Istanbul ... I couldn’t un-feel what I’d felt there. That freedom—walking without a scarf, wind in my hair, choosing clothes based on my taste instead of regulations—it had changed something deep inside me.
Leila had warned me before my trip, half-joking, half-serious: “Be careful, Darya. Once you taste freedom, going back is painful.”
She’d been right. I was different now. And every day back in Shiraz, I felt that difference like a bruise I kept pressing.
I sighed and lay back on the bed. Then I remembered—Leila and Elias were leaving for their honeymoon tomorrow. Just the thought brought a smile to my face.
If I couldn’t be in that world yet, at least I could live a little through them.
I grabbed my phone and hit the video call button.
Leila answered instantly, her face bright. Elias leaned in from the side, grinning, looking slightly exhausted in the way only a man preparing for travel ever does.
“There you are!” I chirped. “I was wondering if you two had forgotten about me.”
Leila snorted. “Impossible. You’d break into the plane to remind us.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So. Tomorrow’s the big day! Are you two ready?”
“As ready as we can be,” Elias said.
“Wrong answer,” I cut in. “You should be unbearably excited. This is your honeymoon! All work, all bureaucracy, all stress—forget them. You need to walk into Greece looking like you’re starring in a romance movie.”
Leila laughed, covering her face. “Darya...”
“No, no, don’t try to be humble now.” I pointed at them dramatically. “I expect daily check-ins. Videos. Photos. Long ones. Artistic ones. Stupid ones. If I don’t get them, I’ll assume you died.”
Elias shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you love me,” I said sweetly.
“We do,” Leila said, her voice softening.
“Good,” I replied. “Now go pack something beautiful, Leila. And Elias, try not to dress like a lost tourist.”
He groaned. Leila burst out laughing.
The three of us talked for another ten minutes—jokes, teasing, reminders, more teasing. I made them promise again that they’d send me updates every day, and they agreed with exaggerated solemness.
When we finally hung up, my room felt a little warmer, a little lighter.
Maybe my life was still small, still bound by responsibilities I couldn’t escape. But somewhere out there, my two favorite people were stepping into their dreams.
And knowing that always made mine feel a little closer.
LEILA
The moment we stepped off the plane in Santorini, the light hit me like something alive—warm, golden, almost too beautiful to be real. For early autumn, it was unseasonably warm, the sky an impossible blue with barely a cloud in sight. I tugged lightly at my sundress—flowy, floral, exactly the kind of thing Darya would have approved of—and slipped on my sunglasses, grinning like a child on her first holiday.
Elias, beside me, adjusted his shirt collar with exaggerated dignity. He’d followed Darya’s “rules”: no oversized backpack, no socks-with-sandals, no giant printed T-shirts announcing he was FOREIGNER HERE. I had to admit—he looked effortlessly good. Casual, clean, a little European even. She would have been proud.
“We made it,” I told him, hardly able to believe it.
He smiled back. “Yeah. Finally.”
Our taxi wound its way through the narrow, winding roads toward Oia, and I kept pressing my face to the window like someone in a movie. Whitewashed walls, domed rooftops the color of lapis, bright pink bougainvillea spilling over terraces. Every turn revealed something new and unreal.
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