The Woman Who Was Almost Me

A bitter ending—more than anyone could have imagined. Dina had left letters for everyone.

The shortest was for my father, just a few words:

"Help Aamz be protected to be forgiven by me."

The longest was for Aamz, accompanied by her daily notes—pages meant only for him.

She had asked us in her letters to bury her in the same garden, beside her mother's grave. We honored her wish. The funeral was quiet, filled with an eerie silence that stretched far beyond the usual grief. It felt like the world had been drained of color.

Forty days passed, but home remained unbearable. The walls of that house held too many ghosts. Living in the room next to Dina's was impossible—I could still hear her voice in the silence, still see the unfinished sculpture on her desk, as if she'd return any moment to complete it.

So, I left. My mom and I migrated to stay near my uncle abroad. She coped by burying herself in work, but I felt like I was floating in a hollow space, detached from everything.

My father, on the other hand, shattered completely. He spent weeks in a mental health center before returning home. But that home was empty now, with no one left to fill it. I wasn't sure how he survived there, alone with the ghosts we had all run from.

As for me, I needed something—anything—to keep myself from spiraling. If I'm honest, a part of me thought of Aamz, but that was impossible. A dead end. There was nothing there for me, not anymore.

So instead, I turned to the one thing that felt within reach—I forced Kaveh to move here for his studies. Not because I loved him. Not because I wanted him. Just because I needed something to fill the time, to make the days pass, to feel like I was still tethered to something, even if it was meaningless.

She had asked us in her letters to bury her in the same garden, beside our mother's grave. We honored her wish. The funeral was quiet, filled with an eerie silence that stretched far beyond the usual grief. It felt like the world had been drained of color.

Forty days passed, but home remained unbearable. The walls of that house held too many ghosts. Living in the room next to Dina's was impossible—I could still hear her voice in the silence, still see the unfinished sculpture on her desk, as if she'd return any moment to complete it.

So, I left. My mom and I migrated to stay near my uncle abroad. She coped by burying herself in work, but I felt like I was floating in a hollow space, detached from everything.

My father, on the other hand, shattered completely. He spent weeks in a mental health center before returning home. But that home was empty now, with no one left to fill it. I wasn't sure how he survived there, alone with the ghosts we had all run from.

As for me, I needed something—anything—to keep myself from spiraling. If I'm honest, a part of me thought of Aamz, but that was impossible. A dead end. There was nothing there for me, not anymore.

So instead, I turned to the one thing that felt within reach—I forced Kaveh to move here for his studies. Not because I loved him. Not because I wanted him. Just because I needed something to fill the time, to make the days pass, to feel like I was still tethered to something, even if it was meaningless.

This time, Kaveh and I were more grown, more mature. Everything between us was calm, steady—almost peaceful. We got closer and closer, rebuilding something that once felt lost.

Until something happened.

I asked Kaveh out, keeping things simple, without too much buildup. When we sat down, I looked him in the eye and said, "We're here because I need to tell you—I'm pregnant."

His reaction was immediate—pure excitement, happiness bursting through him like a child receiving the best news of his life. There was no hesitation, no doubt.

In less than two weeks, we were married. No elaborate ceremonies, no complications. Just something simple, easy, and right.

I felt like I was finally finding my own path, in peace and silence. It was as though the heavy weight that had pressed on my chest for so long had lifted, and I could breathe again. The world felt slower, quieter, almost like I could hear my own thoughts for the first time in years.

Mom returned home and started a new chapter in her life, embracing her retirement years. It was a bittersweet transition, but she was finally able to focus on herself, something she hadn't done in so long. She began gardening, knitting, and taking long walks in the mornings. For once, she was taking time for the little joys, those small, daily pleasures that had been put aside for so long.

Life became simple, nothing out of the ordinary. But sometimes, it's not so bad to have nothing special. In fact, it was a relief. No more chaos or turmoil, just the comfort of routine and stability. The quiet was a friend, the silence a soothing balm for my tired soul. I would often spend my evenings reflecting on the past, thinking about everything that had happened, everything I had lost and gained.

I started to feel like I was healing. It wasn't immediate or dramatic, but I was growing more at peace with the person I was becoming.

During my pregnancy, I began collecting my memories, reflecting on everything that had happened. I started working on some art projects, using creativity as a way to process my emotions and experiences. It became a form of therapy, allowing me to express things I couldn't always put into words. At the same time, I also focused on my education, taking courses and studying topics that had long intrigued me. Balancing these new responsibilities with my growing sense of self was challenging, but it gave me a purpose and direction as I prepared for the next chapter of my life.

While my body changed, my mind was evolving too. I wasn't just a mother-to-be, I was also a woman reclaiming her identity, finding ways to merge the person I was with the person I was becoming.

As the days passed, I found solace in the quiet moments of reflection and growth. My pregnancy, though challenging at times, became a reminder that life always moves forward, and with it, I too was evolving. I had the support of those who mattered most, and in the stillness of those days, I found peace within myself.

This part of my life, filled with change and self-discovery, was coming to a close. But I knew it wasn't the end; it was merely the beginning of a new story, one I was ready to live fully, with all the lessons learned and all the love waiting ahead.