Chapter 36

DARYA

I left before the sun even considered rising—before the birds, before the sweeping ladies in the courtyard downstairs, before Shiraz remembered to breathe.

The world was silent. Perfect for disappearing.

My suitcase felt heavier than it should have—just one, the absolute limit of what I could manage without drawing attention. It wasn’t filled with clothes, not really. Just the essentials: my laptop, two pairs of jeans I’d bought secretly in Istanbul years ago, a few tops, and the soft gray sweater Leila once said looked “so Darya.” Everything else was keepsakes—my mother’s favorite scarf, still holding the faintest trace of her perfume; her old reading glasses; the silver bracelet she used to wear on Fridays; a stack of handwritten notes she’d left me over the years.

Things that weighed nothing. And everything.

I stood in the doorway of our apartment for one last moment, fingers hovering over the light switch even though all the lights were already off. I didn’t know if I was saying goodbye to the walls or to the life inside them. Maybe both.

I didn’t tell a single person I was leaving. Not my aunt. Not my cousins. Not my coworkers at the publishing house. Not even Leila and Elias.

Leila and Elias ... they’d scold me, I knew, for not telling them I was planning this. But lovingly. I’d call them once I reached Istanbul. Once it was safe.

As I walked down the stairs, every sound felt magnified—the clack of my suitcase wheels, the creak of the front gate, the soft thud of my shoes on the pavement. The entire street felt half-dreamed, like something I might wake from if I blinked too hard.

I wondered, absurdly, what my coworkers would think when I didn’t show up for work.

First, confusion. Then whispers. Then nothing. People vanished in Iran all the time. For many reasons. Mine, at least, was hope.

At the airport, I kept my head down and my steps steady. I wore my traditional attire—long black manteau, headscarf perfectly pinned. I hated it, but it kept questions away.

It was the last time I would ever wear it. I was sure of that.

The line at passport control moved slowly, every inch forward a prayer. My heart hammered so hard I worried the officer would hear it through the glass.

He barely glanced at me.

A stamp. A nod.

“Next.”

Just like that.

I walked toward the gate, hands trembling.

The moment I sat down on the plane, the tremble became a full-body shake—fear, adrenaline, disbelief. The flight attendants moved calmly up and down the aisle. Other passengers chatted quietly. I sat rigid, clutching the straps of my bag, listening to the announcements blur from Farsi into Turkish into English.

I was leaving Iran. I was leaving Iran.

I half expected someone to rush onto the plane shouting my name, dragging me back. But no one came. The doors closed. The engines thrummed to life. My breath caught in my throat.

As the plane began its ascent, I pressed my forehead to the tiny oval window.

Shiraz spread beneath me—once familiar rooftops shrinking into a patchwork of muted colors, the haze of morning light settling over the city like a fragile blessing. The mountains stood watch, the same mountains I knew by heart, but from up here even they looked small.

This wasn’t just a city I was leaving. It was a version of myself.

The girl who stayed. The girl who bowed her head. The girl who waited for someday.

The plane rose higher, and Shiraz dissolved into distance.

Fear twisted inside me, but so did something sharper—something electric and new.

Exhilaration.

I whispered softly, lips barely moving, “I’m coming, Leila. Just wait for me.”

The plane doors opened. I stepped into the terminal feeling unsteady, as if the floor beneath me wasn’t quite real. People rushed past in every direction, but I moved slowly, my phone already in my hand.

My fingers shook as I searched for Leila’s number. I remembered that she and Elias had told me a hundred times: Call us the second anything changes.

Well ... this was a change.

I pressed the call button.

She answered so quickly I wondered if she’d been holding the phone in her hand. “Darya? Is everything okay?”

I swallowed. “Leila ... I’m in Istanbul.”

For a second there was complete silence.