The Distance Between
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 7
ELIAS
I had just dropped my bag on the floor of my flat when it happened again—that quiet little tug in the back of my mind. Leila. She was there in the quiet moments now, when the day finally stilled. I’d had a solid day at the institute, even enjoyed a decent back-and-forth with one of my classes, but the minute I stepped into my apartment, there she was again. Not physically, of course, but somewhere behind the thoughts I was pretending to have about dinner or lesson planning.
We’d traded a few texts over the past couple of days—friendly stuff, nothing major—but they’d been enough to keep her in my head. Enough to make me wish we had more than just a few scattered conversations between us.
I was debating whether to text her when my phone buzzed in my hand. Her name lit up the screen.
Leila:
We’re in the bakery – me and Darya. I’m getting bread and sweets again for the family. Thought I’d say hi 😊
I smiled. The bakery—my bakery, in a way. Just downstairs.
I didn’t bother fixing my hair or changing out of my work clothes. I grabbed my keys and was halfway out the door before I even thought about how eager I probably looked. I caught myself—again. I slowed down on the stairs, took a breath, and walked in like I hadn’t just run down a couple of flights to catch her.
The warm smell of fresh bread and sweet spices hit me the second I stepped inside. Leila was at the counter with Darya, chatting easily with Masoud while he boxed something up. She turned a little—and when she saw me, I could swear her expression softened. Just a little. Maybe I imagined it. But I didn’t think so.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone casual.
“Hi,” she replied, smiling. “Did you just get home?”
“Yeah. Good timing, I guess.”
Darya shot me a look that said she was already ten steps ahead of us both, but she didn’t say a word. For once.
We talked a little. Work, sweets, the usual light stuff. Leila mentioned her day had been long. She didn’t say much else, but she didn’t seem in a rush to leave either. Until her order was ready.
Masoud handed over a neatly packed paper bag, and Leila adjusted her purse as she took it.
“Well,” she said, glancing at the time. “We should go before my mom starts checking the clock.”
“Good seeing you both,” I said.
“See you,” Leila said, a little quieter.
I watched them go, the door jingling behind them like the end of a song. I was about to head back upstairs when I caught Masoud smirking at me from behind the counter.
“So,” he said, dragging the word out like it meant more than it should.
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You like her,” he said, not even pretending it was a question.
I gave a small shrug, a little too slow to be convincing. “She’s ... great.”
“She is.” His voice softened for a second, then shifted into something more serious. “But if you’re serious about her—or even just starting to think you are—there are some things you should know.”
I nodded, my smile fading. “I’m listening.”
“It’s not like where you’re from,” he said. “Here, people notice. If you’re alone with her, someone will talk. Even texting too much can be a problem if the wrong person sees it.”
“I understand,” I said. And I did. At least, I wanted to.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he added. “Just ... be smart. If you care about her, protect her reputation. You can’t be careless. Not here.”
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. “I appreciate that.”
Masoud gave me a firm pat on the shoulder. “You’re a good guy. Just keep your eyes open.”
I headed back up the stairs, slower this time, his words rattling around in my head. He wasn’t wrong. I had to be careful—for her sake more than mine.
Still, I couldn’t stop the quiet pulse of energy running beneath my skin.
She’d reached out.
That meant something—especially here.
The next day, I kept checking my phone more often than I’d like to admit. Nothing urgent—just a lingering thought of Leila. I hadn’t planned to text her, but by early afternoon, I gave in and typed a quick message.
Me:
Hey, how’s the training going?
A little while later, she replied.
Leila:
Hi! It’s going okay ... I actually have a couple of questions. Some of the material’s a little confusing.
I stared at her message for a moment, smiling like a complete idiot.
Me:
Want to drop by the institute later? I can help walk you through it.
Leila:
That would be great, thank you!
I told myself to play it cool. Professional. Friendly. Helpful. I even remembered to straighten up the lounge area a bit—stacked a few chairs, tossed out a stray coffee cup. By the time she arrived, I was pretending to check a handout, though I hadn’t read a word of it.
When I looked up and saw her step into the room, my chest actually lifted. She was wearing her usual simple attire—nothing extravagant—but she had this calm presence that made the space feel warmer.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hi,” she replied, with that soft little smile that always made me feel like I was in the right place.
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