The Woman Who Was Almost Me

Better routines started to take shape in our lives—dates, work, and planning for the future. Everything felt steady and good. My father, on the other hand, continued to plan for his retirement, and his demeanor remained calm, almost distant. Life seemed to be moving forward, and for once, there was a sense of peace.

One day, Kaveh and I were sitting in a coffee shop, chatting casually. I asked, "What's the most stupid thing you've ever done?"

He laughed and started to tell me a story. "Well, there was this one time during a Taekwondo competition," he said. "I was so tired after the last match that I asked my opponent to consider it a friendly sparring session instead of an official match. And the worst part? He said it out loud to the whole arena, and everyone burst out laughing."

We both chuckled at the memory, and I could see how embarrassed he still felt about it, even after all this time.

He asked about mine, so I shared a story. "Well, I once tattooed the first letter of my ex-boyfriend's name on my shoulder. And thank God, your name starts with the same letter," I said, smiling.

Kaveh laughed, shaking his head. "That's a lucky coincidence," he teased, clearly relieved it wasn't anything too serious.

We both laughed, and for a moment, I felt a bit lighter, enjoying the easy flow of conversation and the connection we shared.

Kaveh raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. "So, what about Dina? What's her most stupid moment?" he asked, leaning in slightly.

I chuckled, thinking about it. "Dina? Well, there was this one time she tried to convince everyone she could play the piano, but when she sat down, she had no idea what keys to press. She pretended to play for a whole hour, just pressing random keys and acting like she was composing a masterpiece. It was hilarious, but also a bit embarrassing for her."

Kaveh laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Classic Dina," he said, shaking his head. "She always knows how to make things interesting."

But why Dina was still involved in our casual time? That was a bit questionable for me, but I brushed it off, telling myself it was just because we both liked gossiping.

Kaveh seemed to notice my moment of hesitation and casually changed the subject. "So, what's next for you two? I mean, with all the things happening around, what's the plan?"

I thought for a moment, feeling a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "I don't know. Things are smoother now, but I can't help but feel there's still something we need to figure out. Maybe something bigger than just our usual routine."

Kaveh nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, we get so caught up in the moment that we forget to look ahead."

I said, "Isn't it time to raise our income from the projects? We need to talk about it in our sessions. We're getting 9 percent each, while Aamz takes 40 percent alone."

But Kaveh didn't agree. He had some reservations. "But Dina gets nothing and leaves everything for others."

I paused, considering his words. "True, but don't you think we deserve more for the work we've put in? We're the ones handling the projects day in and day out."

Kaveh looked uneasy. "I just don't want to upset the balance. Aamz has his reasons, and Dina... well, she's always had her own way of handling things."

I knew there was truth to what Kaveh said, but it didn't make me feel any better about our current situation. It felt like we were being left behind, even as we were working so hard.

"Maybe it's time we talk about this, really talk about it," I said, more firmly this time.

In the next working session, I brought up the issue of the unfair income distribution.

Aamz responded casually, "Okay, I'll consider giving more to each of you. You're like Karl Marx," and then laughed.

I pressed, "How much?"

He seemed to get a bit irritated. "Anyone who wants more, tell me. I'll increase both your income and your duties. I'm really tired of being responsible for everything. I want to go back to my scientific journey. Software? I don't like it anymore. I want to focus on theoretical stuff. If anyone wants to take over my duties, I'm more than happy to hand them over."

It was an unexpected turn. For a moment, the room went silent as we all absorbed his words. I looked around at everyone else, unsure of what to say next. This was more than just a salary discussion; it was a major shift in the team's direction.

Kaveh cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "Are you serious about stepping away, Aamz? That's... big."

Aamz leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, I am. I've been stuck here too long, and it's draining me. I want to return to what I love, the pure theory. Software is... just not it anymore."

It felt like everything was suddenly up in the air.

Later at home, I was talking to Dina. "Why do you always support him in this unfair income distribution?" I asked, frustrated.

She seemed a bit upset by my question. "Dina, duties determine income," she replied, almost defensively.

I shook my head. "But he doesn't do four times more than the rest of us. Maybe two times, but not four. He's the one with the most free time, and you two spend so much time together, enjoying yourselves, yet you're getting the biggest share of the income. It's just not fair."

Dina paused for a moment, looking like she was processing my words. Then she said, "It's not about fairness, Dorsa. It's about the bigger picture. Aamz is doing this for all of us, for the future. You just don't see it yet."

I wasn't sure what to think of her response. It sounded like she was justifying the situation, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. The imbalance in our roles, the income disparity—it just didn't sit well with me. Later at home, I was talking to Dina. "Why do you always support him in this unfair income distribution?" I asked, frustrated.

She seemed a bit upset by my question. "Dina, duties determine income," she replied, almost defensively.

I shook my head. "But he doesn't do four times more than the rest of us. Maybe two times, but not four. He's the one with the most free time, and you two spend so much time together, enjoying yourselves, yet you're getting the biggest share of the income. It's just not fair."

Dina paused for a moment, looking like she was processing my words. Then she said, "It's not about fairness, Dorsa. It's about the bigger picture. Aamz is doing this for all of us, for the future. You just don't see it yet."

I wasn't sure what to think of her response. It sounded like she was justifying the situation, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. The imbalance in our roles, the income disparity—it just didn't sit well with me.

I said, "If that's the case, just be clear with everyone. Tell them this is temporary, or at least explain why you two need more."

Dina softened a bit and revealed her concern. "I don't know. I just know he likes being rich. I think he's just able to live like that, but when it's time to focus on plans and make things work, he seems uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to balance costs and just likes to be free in spending."

I felt the anger rising inside me. "And we, the rest of us, have to pay for this?" I snapped.

Dina looked at me with a mix of guilt and helplessness. "It's not like that, Dorsa. You're not paying for anything. We're all in this together."

But I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't adding up. It was hard to ignore the fact that I was working just as hard, yet the rewards didn't feel like they were being shared equally. It was becoming harder to just accept the situation, especially when there were so many unanswered questions hanging in the air.

I said again, "Like to be rich? But he acts like he's generous."

She sighed, clearly frustrated. "That's the point. I try to make him think about saving, not just spending, but I fail. He doesn't get it. He just enjoys being able to give and spend freely."

I could sense Dina's struggle, but I still felt uneasy about it all. "So, you're saying he can't see beyond the surface? That he just enjoys the idea of wealth, but doesn't understand the responsibility that comes with it?"

Dina nodded, her expression heavy. "Exactly. He thinks being rich means being generous, but he doesn't consider the long-term consequences. It's hard for him to understand the balance."

I was silent for a moment, processing everything. I knew this situation wasn't just about money, but it was getting harder to ignore how his behavior was affecting all of us.

In the next working session, Aamz was unusually calm and kind. He made bank transfers to everyone from the last group income—equally for all, and zero for himself.

It seemed like the problem had been solved. For a moment, everything felt balanced again. But then, Aamz dropped the bombshell—he announced his goodbye.

He tried to act as though everything was fine, but the atmosphere shifted. His kindness that day seemed like an attempt to soften the blow, yet there was an undeniable tension in the room. Everyone was holding their breath, unsure of what this goodbye meant.

There was a collective sense of fear, not just about the loss of a leader, but about the unknown that his departure would bring. What would happen to the group? What would happen to us without him?

Late that day, it was me, Kaveh, and Dina sitting in a coffee shop. Aamz was absent. I asked, "He will be back, right?"

Dina sighed, shaking her head. "No. He's starting a job at a new research center—one he's been working on establishing with a few friends and his university supervisor."

Kaveh seemed concerned. "Can we keep the team going without him?"

Dina, looking serious, responded, "I'm out too."

The words hung in the air, and a sense of finality settled between us. Aamz's departure had shaken things more than we realized. Without him, it seemed like everything was falling apart. The foundation of the team—what we'd built—was crumbling. And now, Dina's departure was the tipping point.

We all sat there in silence, unsure of what came next.

A few days later, Kaveh and I were back in the coffee shop, discussing our options. It was clear there was no chance of the team surviving.

We considered the idea of a small team, just the two of us, but it didn't feel right. It didn't seem like a sustainable path forward.

Finally, I sighed and said, "Let it go. We can at least survive on our savings for a year and see what happens in the meantime. Let's focus on something more interesting, like improving our relationship, psychologically."

Kaveh looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. We've been through a lot together, and maybe it's time we took the time to really understand each other better."

It felt like the right decision. Instead of forcing ourselves into a new business venture right away, we could use this time to grow closer, work through any unresolved issues, and make sure our relationship was stronger than ever.

We both agreed it was the best course of action, and from that moment, we decided to focus on ourselves, taking things one step at a time.

Things weren't bad. In fact, being free from the job made us closer. One day, I jokingly said, "You were a member of the pretenders first," and laughed.

Then I added, "So, your current identity is true?"

It was just a joke, but Kaveh seemed a bit upset. He showed me his ID cards, as if to prove that he was genuine now.

I apologized quickly, but the pretenders group always lingered in my mind. I couldn't shake off the way they had worked together so seamlessly, their harmony, and the potential they'd shown. Despite everything, I couldn't help but wonder what might have been if the team had stayed together, if we had all managed to align our goals.

I didn't bring it up again, but the thought stuck with me. There was something about that unity, that sense of purpose, that made me curious—what if we could recreate that, in some other form?

Soon, I realized my mom knew Aamz, but not Kaveh. So, I decided it was time to introduce him.

At first, Kaveh was shy, but soon enough, the introduction happened.

To my surprise, my mom seemed to warm up to him quickly. She asked about his background and showed genuine interest in his work and life. I noticed Kaveh, usually reserved, was more relaxed around her. It was a good sign.

As the conversation progressed, I saw a new side of him, one that I hadn't fully witnessed before—his calm and thoughtful nature shone through. My mom smiled, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of peace, knowing that my two worlds, which had once seemed so distant, were slowly coming together.

Despite my mom's positive behavior, she soon showed me something strange in her next conversation with me.

There was a hint of distrust toward Kaveh, something I hadn't noticed before, but it was clear she didn't seem to trust him as much as she did Aamz.

I couldn't figure out why.

A few days later, Dina asked me, "Did you show something bold to mom?"

I was confused and asked, "What do you mean?"

Dina replied, "She's been acting a bit distant when it comes to Kaveh. Something must have triggered it."

I was taken aback. It hadn't occurred to me that my mom's reaction might have been influenced by something I said or did. I thought back to our conversations, wondering if I had unintentionally said something that had caused her to feel uncertain.

Dina hesitated for a moment before saying, "Mom asked me to check on you for..."

She paused, clearly unsure of how to continue. "Oh God, what was that?" she muttered to herself.

She tried again, but the words wouldn't come out. Finally, with a shy look on her face, she said, "Virginity."

I was stunned. I didn't know how to respond. The thought of my mom questioning such a personal detail left me speechless. Dina, noticing my reaction, quickly added, "I don't know why she asked, but it's... it's been bothering her. She's worried about things she doesn't understand, I guess."

I didn't know what to say. The weight of what Dina had just shared hung in the air.

Dina sighed before continuing, "While Mom is intellectual enough, you know… we live here, in the Middle East." She paused, gauging my reaction. "I know this is making you feel uncomfortable, but she asked me. I didn't want to check on you like she suggested—I'm just asking now. Whatever you say, I'll tell her. And... feel free to lie to me if that's what you want."

Her words hung heavy in the air, and I felt a mix of confusion and frustration. The pressure of this request, the expectations, and the way she'd phrased it left me torn between wanting to protect my privacy and understanding the cultural context Dina was trying to navigate. I could tell she didn't want to push me, but the situation was still complicated.

The only comforting thing in that moment was Dina's behavior. She was incredibly understanding, despite the awkwardness.

I took a deep breath and said, "Tell her what you think will make it better."

Dina hesitated for a moment, then said, "So, I'll tell her that you haven't... lost it yet..."

Her words were gentle, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort in the air. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but at the same time, I knew she was just trying to keep the peace, following her mom's instructions while also looking out for me. The tension lingered, but I appreciated her approach.

I said sadly, "She didn't check the same for you. Did she?"

Dina paused, her face softening, and after a brief moment, she replied, "No, she didn't. But... that's just how she is with you. You're her daughter, and she's worried."

Her words made me feel a bit more at ease, though the discomfort of the situation still lingered. It wasn't about the question anymore—it was about the space it created between us, between me and my mother.

For a while, I just couldn't bring myself to be close to my mom. I spent late evenings out with Kaveh, avoiding home as much as I could.

It felt like there was this invisible barrier between me and her, something I couldn't shake off. Kaveh seemed to understand, never pushing me to talk, just offering his presence when I needed it. But deep down, I knew the silence was growing—between me, my mother, and even Dina.

After a while, another blow hit me. Kaveh asked for a temporary long-distance separation to go to another city with his brother, seeking business opportunities. He said that once they were successful, he would come back to marry me.

I was sitting there, my heart heavy, unable to process what Kaveh had just said. After a long silence, I finally spoke up, my voice trembling with emotion. "Why can't you wait to find a job here? I don't want marriage to happen so soon, not like this, not with everything still so uncertain." My words came out in a rush, and I could see the pain in his eyes as he listened to me.

He sat across from me, taking a deep breath before responding. "Dorsa, it's not just about finding a job. It's about doing something for my brother, for us. He needs me right now, and I can't turn my back on him. This opportunity in another city—it's not just a job, it's a chance for both of us to secure something better."

I shook my head, feeling torn. "But Kaveh, we've been through so much already. I thought we were building something here, together. Why do we need to separate like this? It feels like you're putting everything else first." My voice cracked as I tried to hold back the tears.

He reached across the table, his hand gently resting on mine. "I know it's hard, Dorsa, and I hate seeing you upset. But my brother needs me. If I don't do this now, I may regret it. It's not just about us—it's about family. And I want to come back, I want us to be together, but I need to take care of this first."

I pulled my hand away, wiping a tear from my cheek. "I understand that you're doing this for him, but what about us? What about our future?" My heart felt heavy with the thought of waiting, of being apart for who knows how long.

He looked at me with such sincerity, his voice soft. "I'm not abandoning you, Dorsa. This is temporary. I promise you, once this is done, we'll have our chance. I want to build a life with you. But right now, I need to do this for my family."

I wanted to believe him, I really did. But the uncertainty of it all left me feeling empty. "I don't know if I can wait that long, Kaveh. It's too much. I'm afraid that time will change things between us."

He gently cupped my face in his hands, his eyes locking with mine. "I'll come back for you, Dorsa. I'm doing this for us, so we can have a better future. Please, don't doubt me."

I could see the sincerity in his eyes, but my heart still ached with the thought of being apart from him. "I just don't know how to feel right now. It's all so overwhelming."

"I know, Dorsa," he whispered. "But I need you to trust me. We will be okay. This distance, it's just temporary. We'll make it through this, together."

The days that followed felt like an endless stretch of uncertainty. Despite Kaveh's reassuring words, a part of me couldn't shake the feeling that things might never be the same. We spent what little time we had left together, making the most of the quiet moments, though I could tell both of us were holding onto something fragile.

I tried to focus on the little things—on the love we had, on the future we dreamed of—but the uncertainty weighed heavy on me. Kaveh was right; he had to do this for his family, and as much as it hurt, I couldn't be selfish about it. But still, the thought of him leaving left a hollow ache in my chest.

On the day he left, we stood at the station, the space between us filled with unsaid words. He hugged me tightly, promising that this was just a chapter, not the end. But as the train pulled away, a wave of loneliness washed over me, and I wondered if we'd ever return to the place we once were.

I knew that time apart would test us. But for now, all I could do was hold onto the hope that love, patience, and trust would carry us through the distance. The chapter was closing, but I wasn't sure if it was the end of our story or just a pause.

And with that thought, I turned, walking away, unsure of what the future held but determined to face it, one step at a time.