The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 31
LEILA
I got home from work early the next day. I stared at the phone number in the email for a long time. It was ridiculous how nervous I felt. It wasn’t as if I was cold-calling a stranger—I reminded myself that I had worked with someone at O’Shea Languages before. Briefly. Months ago. But the details were hazy, and the unexpected flattery in the email had made everything feel twice as intimidating.
Elias was still at work, so the apartment was quiet—too quiet. My tea had already gone cold. I kept picking up my phone, putting it down, then picking it back up again.
“This is absurd,” I muttered. “Just call.”
So, I did.
It rang twice before a man answered, brisk but warm. “Michael O’Shea speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. O’Shea. This is Leila Nouri—you emailed me yesterday about a position.”
His tone shifted instantly, brightening. “Ah! Ms. Nouri. Delighted you called. Do you have a moment now?”
I froze. I had expected to arrange a later time—something official, on a calendar, with time to panic beforehand. “Yes, I—yes, of course.”
“Wonderful,” he said, as if I’d just agreed to tea rather than an interview. “Let’s chat.”
Just like that.
I pressed the phone closer to my ear, forcing myself to breathe. “You mentioned you had an opportunity available?”
“Yes,” he said. “And to be frank with you, I’ve been hoping to reconnect since we worked with you earlier this year. Your attention to nuance impressed the entire team. Some people translate words; you translate meaning. There’s a world of difference.”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to remember what I had done that was so impressive. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “That means a lot.”
“And your language combination is rare,” he continued. “English, Farsi, Turkish, German—four languages with completely different structures and histories, and somehow you navigate them effortlessly. We need someone who can do exactly that.”
I swallowed. “What would the role involve?”
“High-level translation, linguistic analysis, document review, and occasional cultural consultation.” His voice was smooth, practiced, but also genuinely enthusiastic. “The beauty of the position is its flexibility. The work is primarily remote—you can live anywhere in Ireland. We only meet in Dublin three or four times a year for staff gatherings and project briefings.”
Anywhere in Ireland. The words sank in slowly. I hadn’t even let myself imagine that part.
“That sounds...” I hesitated, not sure how to phrase it without sounding overeager. “Ideal.”
“I think so too,” he said cheerfully. “It’s specialized work, and we compensate accordingly. The starting salary would be—”
He gave the number.
I nearly dropped the phone.
I must have gone silent for too long, because he laughed softly. “I presume that means it’s acceptable?”
“Yes,” I blurted, then winced. “I mean—yes, it’s ... certainly more than I expected.”
“Excellent,” he said. “We’re keen to bring in someone who can grow with us. And you come highly recommended from the colleague who collaborated with you before. He described you as ‘driven, observant, and frustratingly good at predicting what a text should feel like.’ His words.”
I blinked several times. “I had no idea.”
“Well, now you do.” There was a faint shuffle of papers. “If you’re willing, we’d proceed next with a short trial assignment. But to be honest, this conversation is already giving me a good sense of your fit. You communicate clearly. That’s rarer than it should be.”
My pulse thudded in my ears. I forced myself to sound composed. “I’m definitely interested in learning more.”
“Excellent. I’ll send the next-step details by email before the end of the day. We can move as quickly or slowly as you need.”
“Thank you,” I said again. I kept saying it because I didn’t know what else could possibly convey the swirl inside me. Gratitude, shock, hope.
“One more thing,” he added gently. “Take your time. Opportunities like this should never feel rushed. I want this to be the right move for you, not just for us.”
Somehow that sentence made my eyes prick with heat.
“I’ll consider everything carefully,” I said.
“Good. Speak soon, Ms. Nouri.”
When the call ended, I lowered the phone onto the table and pressed both hands to my face. My heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might rattle the dishes in the cupboard.
Remote work. Anywhere in Ireland. A salary that made my Berlin pay feel like pocket change. And someone who genuinely valued my linguistic instincts.
I laughed into my palms, the sound shaky and disbelieving.
Elias wasn’t home yet. I couldn’t wait to tell him.
I couldn’t wait to see his face.
ELIAS
When I got home that afternoon, I barely had the door closed before I sensed something was different. The apartment was quiet, but in a charged way—like the air right before a summer storm. I set my bag down and toed off my shoes, listening.
“Leila?”
“In here,” she called from the kitchen, her voice tight with something that wasn’t quite excitement but wasn’t normal either.
I walked in and found her sitting at the table with her hands wrapped around a mug she clearly wasn’t drinking from. Her eyes turned up to me, wide and almost luminous.
“Okay,” I said, half-laughing. “Tell me what happened.”
She exhaled, the kind of breath that carries the weight of an entire day. “I called Michael O’Shea.”
“Oh, the Ireland guy,” I said, dropping into the chair across from her. “How did it go? Did he schedule a proper interview?”
She blinked once, like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or shake her head. “He interviewed me on the spot.”
“What, right there on the phone?” I asked, eyebrows shooting up. “No notice? No prep?”
“None at all,” she said. “He just ... started.”
I let out a low whistle. “He must have been eager.”
Her lips curled into a small, stunned smile. “That’s exactly what it felt like. He said he’d been hoping to reach out again since that project I did months ago. Apparently, I impressed someone on their team. I barely remember the job.”
I sat up a little straighter. “You impress people more often than you realize.”
She waved that off like she always does, but her cheeks colored slightly. “He talked about the position. It’s ... it’s perfect, Elias. It’s all linguistic work at a higher level. And it’s remote.”
“Remote meaning ... Berlin remote?”
She hesitated just long enough for me to understand.
“Ireland remote,” she said softly. “I could live anywhere in the country. Just go to Dublin a few times a year for meetings.”
I stared at her for a moment, letting that settle in. Ireland. A real possibility, not just an idle remark Markus had tossed out weeks ago.
“And the salary...” She pressed a hand to her forehead and laughed under her breath, still in disbelief. “It’s almost double what I make now.”
My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
She nodded, still looking like she wasn’t convinced she hadn’t hallucinated it.
I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine. “Leila ... that’s incredible.”
Her eyes softened, but the uncertainty behind them remained. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself. It’s just a phone conversation. He’s sending a trial assignment. I still have to do that well. And—”
“And,” I added quietly, “there’s immigration.”
She deflated a little. “Yes. That. Germany was complicated enough. Ireland will be ... I honestly don’t know. I’m not an EU citizen. I can’t just move.”
I squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure it out. This sounds like a real opportunity, not something to brush off.”
“You really think so?” she asked. “I don’t want to drag you into uncertainty again.”
“You’re not dragging me anywhere.” I leaned back, smiling. “And besides ... Markus already set the foreshadowing in motion. Remember? ‘Even Ireland needs teachers.’ He’ll be unbearably smug if this actually happens.”
She laughed—finally, really laughed—and the tension eased slightly from her shoulders.
“What does Darya think?” I asked.
“I haven’t told her yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
I nodded. “Let’s talk to her tonight. She’ll probably tell you you’re insane if you don’t take it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said with a nervous smile. “She’ll expect me to start packing tomorrow.”
We sat there for another moment, both absorbing the magnitude of what had just shifted in our lives. Ireland. Remote work. A huge salary increase. A future that wasn’t blocked by bureaucratic walls.
“Well,” I said, rubbing my palms together, “I guess tomorrow begins Operation Irish Investigation.”
She groaned. “Please don’t call it that.”
“Too late,” I said. “It’s canon now.”
But underneath the teasing, a small flame of real possibility was catching fire in both of us—soft, warm, and strangely steady.
LEILA
We called Darya that evening, like we always did. It had become a ritual—if too many hours passed without at least sending her a message, all three of us felt slightly off-balance.
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