The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 30
LEILA
June came quickly, folding spring into summer before I even realized the seasons had changed. Elias and I flew to Istanbul for a long weekend, excited as always to see Darya. But the moment she walked into the arrivals hall, I knew something was wrong.
She smiled—of course she did—but it didn’t reach her eyes. She hugged us tightly, and I felt the tremor of exhaustion in her arms. For the first time since we’d met her, Darya looked ... worn. Not just tired from a long day, but the kind of tired that lives in the bones.
“How are you?” I asked as we stepped outside into the warm evening.
“Oh, you know,” she said, waving a hand. “Managing.”
That was all she gave us, but it was enough. I could hear the strain under the word.
Throughout the weekend, the signs were everywhere. She laughed at our jokes, but her laughter was thinner, fading too quickly. She took us to her favorite spots—tea gardens, bookshops, the little café where she’d once declared the lemon cake “holy”—but her steps were slower. She rubbed her temples when she thought we weren’t looking. And when we asked about her mother, she shrugged in that helpless way she’d adopted lately.
“She’s ... worse,” she admitted one afternoon as we walked along the Bosphorus. “Some days are better than others. Lately, there are more ‘others.’ But she’s stable. For now.”
The words were calm, but her voice wavered. I could feel the loneliness radiating from her, like a quiet plea she was too proud to speak out loud.
That night, after dinner, she nearly fell asleep over her tea. Elias and I exchanged a glance. We cut the evening short and walked her home, and when she hugged us at her door, her hold lingered longer than usual.
“I’m fine,” she assured us. “Really.”
But I didn’t believe her.
On the flight back to Berlin, I stared out the window at the darkening sky, feeling a heaviness settle over me. Elias squeezed my hand.
“She’s not okay,” I whispered.
“No,” he agreed. “She’s really not.”
I kept thinking about her face—the fatigue behind her smile, the way her shoulders drooped when she thought no one was watching. I’d never seen her look lonely before. Darya had always been our sunbeam, the one who made jokes even when things were hard. But this time, she felt ... dimmer.
“We check in with her every day,” Elias said. “We do everything we can. But it still feels like nothing.”
Because it wasn’t enough. Talking to her on video chat once or twice a day helped, but when the call ended, she was still in that apartment, still alone with the weight of her responsibilities, still carrying more than anyone her age should have to.
“Everything in her life is just...” I searched for the right word. “Stacked against her.”
Elias nodded slowly. “She deserves so much more.”
“She deserves a life. A future. A chance to do the things she wants.” My chest tightened. “And she can’t. She won’t leave her mother. And even if she wanted to come to Germany—”
“She can’t,” he finished quietly.
It was the truth neither of us wanted to say out loud. Her reality was a set of walls closing in on her. Duty, culture, circumstance—every piece locked into place to keep her exactly where she was.
I leaned my head against Elias’s shoulder, feeling that familiar helplessness sink deeper. “I hate it,” I said softly. “I hate seeing her like this and not being able to do anything.”
His hand tightened around mine. “We’ll keep trying,” he said. “She’s part of our lives. We’re not leaving her behind.”
No—we weren’t. But as the plane carried us farther from Istanbul, I couldn’t stop imagining Darya going back to her mother’s bedside, alone again, fighting sleep, fighting worry, fighting everything without us.
I silently wished—prayed, even—that something in her world would finally shift.
Because if anyone deserved a break, a miracle, a way out of the darkness ... it was Darya.
ELIAS
I was on my break between classes, nursing a cup of terrible staff-room coffee, when Markus wandered in and dropped into the chair across from me with a theatrical groan.
“End of the school year,” he said, rubbing his face. “I swear, if one more student asks me if we’re doing anything fun today...”
I laughed. “Mine asked if we could just watch movies for the rest of June.”
“Ah yes,” Markus said, pointing at me, “the eternal dream.”
He leaned back, eyeing me over the rim of his mug. “So. You and Leila—off exploring the continent again soon?”
I shrugged. “Not immediately. We were in Istanbul a few weeks ago. And before that—Greece, the Amalfi Coast.” I smiled at the memory. “We’re trying to see as much as we can while we still have the energy.”
Markus snorted. “You’re in your early thirties, Elias. You’ll have energy for years.”
“That’s what they all say,” I replied, taking a sip. “But honestly? I love it. I never thought I’d spend weekends wandering through Italian alleys or sitting on a cliff in Santorini.”
“Living the dream,” he said. Then he tilted his head. “You ever think about teaching somewhere else? I mean—longer term? You two seem pretty attached to the whole travel lifestyle.”
I blinked, a little surprised. “Not seriously. Berlin’s home now. Leila’s work is here. My job is here.”
“Sure,” Markus said, waving that off. “But I’ve been thinking—you’ve got a knack for this teaching thing. The students — both young and old — like you. You explain things clearly. Honestly, you’d be an asset anywhere in Europe. Schools are always looking for English teachers, especially ones who know how to actually handle a classroom.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Flattery? From you?”
“Write it down,” he said dryly. “It won’t happen again.” Then he leaned forward a little. “But really—if you ever wanted to try life somewhere else, you could. Greece. Italy. The Baltics. Even Ireland needs teachers, apparently.”
“Ireland?” I repeated, amused. “That’s random.”
“Yeah, well,” Markus said, shrugging. “I read an article last week. Big shortages. They’re snapping up qualified people wherever they can find them.”
I chuckled. “Noted. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You joke,” he said, pointing his mug at me, “but sometimes opportunities come from unexpected places.”
I rolled my eyes, but something about the way he said it stuck with me—a seed planted without either of us realizing it.
He stood when the bell rang, stretching. “Back into the arena,” he sighed. “Try not to inspire your students too much. It’ll make the rest of us look bad.”
“No promises,” I said.
We left the staff room together, and as I headed for my classroom, I found myself thinking—why, I couldn’t say—about Markus’s comment.
LEILA
The weeks flew past, and it was now late August. The mornings still felt like summer, all warm light and soft air, but by late afternoon there was this faint hint of autumn sneaking in—just enough to make me want to walk a little faster or wrap my hands around a warm cup of tea.
On this particular morning, though, I didn’t take the train. I tossed my bag into my little silver hatchback—my car, still new enough that I felt a small thrill unlocking it—and slid into the driver’s seat. I still wasn’t fully used to driving. In Iran, it had never really been an option for me, not seriously. Now, every time I merged onto the street, it felt like crossing some invisible threshold into an adulthood I hadn’t been allowed before.
Work was only about fifteen minutes away, but I loved the drive. It gave me time to switch from home Leila to work Leila, and sometimes—like that morning—to practice a bit of French out loud.
“Je m’appelle Leila ... je travaille comme traductrice... ”
My accent was still clumsy, but improving. I could almost hear Darya teasing me, telling me to stop being such an overachiever.
When I stepped into the office, the familiar sounds of keyboards clicking and low conversation greeted me. It felt like home now—this space of languages, coffee cups, and post-it notes stuck everywhere.
Dr. Keller caught sight of me almost immediately. “Leila! Perfect timing,” she called, waving me over with that graceful efficiency she somehow made look effortless. She always reminded me a little of a professor from a novel—sharp, composed, and endlessly curious.
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