The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 4
LEILA
It had been four days, and I was still annoyed with myself.
I kept replaying the moment in my head — the way Elias smiled when he thanked me for the food suggestion, the way he looked a little surprised when I jumped into the conversation, like he hadn’t expected me to speak. Not just speak, but speak his language.
He’d been interesting. Thoughtful. There was something quiet about him — not shy, exactly, just ... careful. I didn’t think he knew what to make of me, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that either.
But I told myself not to overthink it. I always overthought things. That’s what Darya always told me.
Of course, she also thought I’d missed an opportunity.
“He liked you,” she’d told me the next morning over coffee, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You should’ve asked him about English lessons.”
“I didn’t even know his name at that point,” I’d said.
“Exactly. What better way to ask than ’by the way, do you teach English?’”
I’d rolled my eyes and reminded her that not all of us were born with her boldness. Still, the thought lodged itself in my mind and stayed there like a pebble in my shoe.
Now, three days later, I was sitting cross-legged on the rug in my bedroom, half-reading through an English grammar book I’d already marked up a dozen times, and half-staring at my phone. The language institute’s website was still open in my browser. I’d read it cover to cover. I’d even mapped out how long it would take me to walk there from the office.
I didn’t know what I was waiting for.
Maybe it was just that the idea of sitting in a room full of strangers, all probably younger than me, practicing English out loud ... it made me feel exposed. I hated that feeling. Even if I knew it was the right move.
My phone buzzed — a soft vibration against my knee — and for a wild second I thought it might be Darya with some kind of sign from the universe. But no.
Nasrin: __
Just checking in! Are you free two weeks from Thursday? Dr. Moradi will be back in town — I told him about you again 😊__
I groaned out loud.
Of course. That again.
I tossed the phone onto my pillow and flopped backward with a sigh, staring at the ceiling like it might open up and swallow me. Or send down a lightning bolt. Either would have been fine.
Dr. Moradi was Nasrin’s coworker’s cousin or something like that — thirty-six, polite, owned a dental clinic, drove a foreign car, and as far as I could tell, had the personality of warm tofu. I’d met him once at some family thing months ago, and he’d asked if I liked music. I told him I did. He asked if I liked classical. I said I liked all kinds. He said, “classical is best.” That had been the entire exchange.
But my cousin kept trying. She said he was a good catch. That I was being too picky. That there was no such thing as perfect.
But I wasn’t looking for perfect. Just real. Someone who saw me — not someone who thought I’d grow on them.
I sat up again, fidgeting, scrolling away from Nasrin’s text and back to the language institute page. I tapped the contact info. Typed out a message.
Then deleted it.
I closed my eyes, sighed again, and whispered to no one, “Maybe tomorrow.”
Then I got up, brushed the crumbs off my skirt, and headed to the kitchen. My mother was cooking and I could already hear the sizzle of oil, the soft clatter of dishes. Maybe I’d offer to help. Maybe she’d let me escape to the market instead.
What I really wanted, though — more than perfect English or the approval of dentists — was another accidental meeting. A familiar smile. A quiet conversation.
A second chance.
The kettle was still whistling when my mother called my name.
“Leila-jan? Are you almost ready?”
I had just finished tying my scarf and was giving my eyeliner one last check in the hallway mirror. “Almost,” I called back, though I hadn’t even put on my shoes yet. I was already running late, and I knew she didn’t just want to say goodbye.
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