The Woman Who Was Almost Me

Dina was the only good thing in my life during those days. She showed up for me when I needed her most. Through all the confusion and heartache, her support was unwavering. It felt like she was the anchor in my storm, grounding me with her presence and wisdom.

She made sure to divide her time fairly between me and Aamz. Despite the tension in the air, she balanced everything with surprising ease. It was as if she was holding everything together, making sure none of us were left behind.

One evening, while we were sitting together, she said softly, "You know, we both are seeking sweet lives, but it's not easy to reach them."

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. I nodded, feeling the truth of her statement deep in my bones. Life had never seemed so complicated, yet here we were, trying to find a way through it all.

"I just want things to be okay," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dina smiled gently. "Things will be okay, Dorsa. Maybe not in the way we expect, but they will be okay."

Her confidence gave me a small sense of hope, and for the first time in a while, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to make it through this.

But as the days went on, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything was changing. The world around me was shifting, and I was left trying to keep up, struggling to understand where I fit into it all.

I wondered if the sweet life Dina spoke of was truly possible for us. Or were we simply chasing something that was always just out of reach?

One day, I was at home, playing with Negin, Darya's daughter. I was trying to teach her to call me "aunt," but no matter how many times I said it, she always called me by my name. For her, "aunt" only meant Dina.

When Dina arrived home, my father, who was sitting nearby, turned to her and said, "Dina, aren't you supposed to be starting your education again? What are you doing? Nothing?"

The tone in his voice was sharp, and there was an underlying sense of disappointment. Dina, as always, remained calm, but I could see the frustration building behind her eyes. She didn't answer immediately but took a moment to collect her thoughts before responding.

"I'm figuring things out, Father," she said, her voice steady but firm. "There's no rush. Things are different now."

Her answer hung in the air for a moment, and I could feel the tension growing. It was clear my father had expected something more from her, but Dina wasn't one to let that pressure define her choices.

My father's words hung in the air, heavy and direct. "You know, Dina, my friend Ahmad wants to come over for a marriage proposal for his son, Shahed."

I could see the weight of his statement pressing down on her. I felt the storm of thoughts running through her mind—Aamz, their love, the pressure from our father, the life she had built in the shadows of expectations.

Dina stood there for what seemed like forever, frozen in the middle of the living room, her eyes distant. The silence was suffocating. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "No."

The single word echoed in the room, leaving an uncomfortable quietness in its wake. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the struggle beneath her calm exterior. She didn't elaborate, but I knew. I knew it wasn't just a rejection of Shahed—it was a rejection of everything that her father represented in this moment. And yet, I could also sense the fear in her. Fear of disappointing him, fear of the consequences that might come with defying his expectations.

My father's tone remained firm as he insisted, "Let a proposal party be held. Then you can think more."

Dina, visibly shaken but resolute, replied again, her voice steady but filled with conviction: "No."

The air in the room grew tense, thick with unspoken words. My father's brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and disbelief crossing his face. But Dina stood her ground, her refusal clear and unwavering.

I could see how much this was costing her, how deeply torn she was. On one hand, she wanted to break free from the chains of expectation, and on the other, she didn't want to let down the man who had raised her, no matter how hard his demands were to bear.

My father's voice grew colder, a sharp edge to his words:

"Maybe the final decision will be yours, but responding respectfully to my friend's request is not in your hands, girl."

Dina stood frozen for a moment, the weight of his words pressing down on her. Her eyes met his, filled with a mix of defiance and exhaustion. Then, without hesitation, she responded, her voice unwavering:

"No."

The silence that followed was deafening. My father's face reddened with frustration, but Dina didn't flinch. I could feel the tension between them, an unspoken battle of wills. Dina wasn't just refusing a proposal; she was rejecting the weight of all the expectations that came with it. And in doing so, she was stepping into a space of her own, one where her choices were hers to make, regardless of what anyone else thought.

My father's voice remained firm, almost cold:

"The proposal will be held on Friday."

This time, Dina couldn't hold back any longer. She screamed, her voice breaking through the tension:

"No, no, nooooo!"

Her outburst echoed through the room, a cry of frustration and defiance. I watched as her shoulders shook with emotion, her hands balled into fists at her sides. It was as though everything inside her was coming to a head, and I could feel her struggle—between honoring her father's wishes and her own need for control over her life.

My father, visibly taken aback by her reaction, stood still for a moment, his eyes narrowing. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words. It was clear that Dina wasn't going to back down.

But Friday came, and the proposal went ahead as planned. According to our culture, they would wait a while for my family's response.

Shahed didn't seem bad at all. Dina, ever thoughtful, even gave him a nickname—the "mountain boy"—because of his solid, grounded demeanor. Yet, despite his good qualities, her heart was no longer with him. It was with Aamz.

She was in love with him now, and that love overshadowed everything. Even though the proposal from Shahed's family was out of respect for tradition, it felt like a distant obligation. Dina's mind was already elsewhere, lost in thoughts of Aamz and the life she envisioned with him.

But the pressure of family expectations hung heavily over her, as if they were closing in with every passing day.

I went to Dina's room and gently asked, "Dina, are you okay?"

She snapped, "Go away!"

I was shocked. "What?"

She repeated, her voice shaking with frustration, "Go away. You and your mom both know about Aamz, and neither of you said a word to me through this damn dark day."

I stood there, at a loss for words. The weight of her pain was clear, but I didn't know how to respond. The silence between us felt thick, almost suffocating.

I said, "Dina, we are sisters, but it wasn't easy to stop Dad."

She looked at me with determination and said, "Invite Shahed for a coffee."

I blinked in confusion. "What? What do you want to do?"

She sighed, her voice soft but firm, "Ask him to withdraw his proposal himself. End this. Finish it."

I paused, trying to process her words. It seemed like an impossible task, but I could see the resolve in her eyes. She wanted to take control of the situation, but could it really work? Could I ask Shahed to back out of something that had been arranged by our families?

I arranged the meeting.

Dina was speaking to Shahed with an icy tone, and I was there, silently observing.

She said, "Please cancel this proposal. The conditions are not good for any of us."

I could feel the weight of her words, but I never truly understood if Dina had grasped it herself, or if she realized how Shahed interpreted them. He didn't seem to see it as a rejection; instead, he appeared to think of it as a postponement for a while.

Though he agreed to cancel the proposal, fulfilling Dina's request, I couldn't shake the feeling that in his mind, it was just a temporary setback—not a complete rejection.

I arranged the meeting.

Dina was speaking to Shahed with an icy tone, and I was there, silently observing.

She said, "Please cancel this proposal. The conditions are not good for any of us."

I could feel the weight of her words, but I never truly understood if Dina had grasped it herself, or if she realized how Shahed interpreted them. He didn't seem to see it as a rejection; instead, he appeared to think of it as a postponement for a while.

Though he agreed to cancel the proposal, fulfilling Dina's request, I couldn't shake the feeling that in his mind, it was just a temporary setback—not a complete rejection.

I said, "This might make him think your rejection wasn't serious, and he could propose again."

She shook her head. "On the contrary, I think being friends with him might help him stop thinking about me that way."

Her response was calm, but I couldn't help but wonder if it would truly work that way. Would keeping things casual really keep Shahed from harboring any more expectations? Or would it only complicate things further?

I said, "Please ask Aamz about it. He's knowledgeable, and then you can decide."

She replied firmly, "Neither you nor I will talk to him about this."

Her tone was resolute, and I knew there was no point in pushing further. Dina had made her decision.

For a while, she kept attending the sessions. Sometimes, she would say, "I think I am forgetting about my mother's death with Shahed's help. It makes me feel better."

I replied, "You're forgetting because my mom made some clarifications. It's helping you move on."

Dina looked at me thoughtfully but didn't respond. It seemed like the weight of everything was slowly easing, even if it was through a temporary distraction.

One day, Dina came home looking upset.

I asked, "What's the matter?"

She sighed and said, "I was with Aamz at that coffee shop with the bookstore next to it. I saw Shahed there and went over to say hello. But when I came back, Aamz was gone. He left without a word and won't answer my calls."

I frowned. "Where do you think he went?"

She shook her head. "I don't know… maybe his lab?"

I grabbed her hand. "Come on, Dina. Let's go to his lab. Don't take a risk with this."

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and we rushed out the door.

It wasn't easy to find his lab at the university, but after asking around, we finally managed.

What we found was more of a cluttered basement than a proper lab—filled with electronic kits, tangled wires, and stacks of computers.

The door was slightly open, and we stood there quietly. Aamz didn't even look up but still muttered, "Please don't park in front of the shop."

Then, as if realizing who we were, he turned to face us.

Dina crossed her arms, frustration clear in her expression.

"Why did you leave?" she asked.

Aamz leaned against the desk, exhaling sharply. "Maybe because watching you say hello to a disgusting asshole who looks like a glitch in an inpainting algorithm wasn't exactly my idea of a good time."

Dina's eyes narrowed. "That 'glitch' is someone I just wanted to be polite to."

Aamz smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, I don't do polite with people like him."

Aamz crossed his arms, his expression unimpressed. "Okay, it's not hard to guess. Just tell me—what kind of pseudoscience is he selling?"

Dina sighed, rubbing her temples. "It's not like that, Aamz. He talks about self-improvement, inner energy, things like that."

Aamz scoffed. "Inner energy? Let me guess—some vague nonsense about unlocking hidden potential and cosmic balance?"

Dina frowned. "It helps some people."

"Yeah," Aamz muttered, shaking his head. "Helps them lose their thinking skills."

Aamz leaned in, his eyes sharp. "Give me more details!"

Dina started explaining, but before she could finish, Aamz abruptly cut her off. "Dianetics."

We both stared at him, surprised. He had guessed the exact name.

He shook his head. "Alright, Dina, just stay away from this son of Hubbard."

Dina hesitated. "But maybe it helps me. I just want to attend for a while and then stop."

Aamz's expression darkened. "Any mental harm will be on you. I won't be there to fix the damage if you come out of this broken. I'm warning you—heavily."

Dina sighed, then finally said, "Fine. I'll stop right now. I won't attend even one more session."

Dina was upset for a day or two.

One evening, I said, "Laleh invited us to her place tomorrow. And don't worry—you stopped Shahed's sessions for your relationship, and it was worth it."

She looked at me and, after a pause, said, "I'll join you at 5:30… after my last session with Shahed."

I said, "You want to meet him one more time? You promised!"

She shrugged and said, "Aamz never fact-checks."

The next day at 6 PM, we were at Laleh's home.

I said, "She's late. Let's call her."

There was no answer. I tried again—still nothing.

A while later, the doorbell rang. Laleh answered it. Dina was standing outside, wearing a long Arabic chador and no shoes.

She looked uneasy and, instead of greeting us, she quietly asked Laleh for some money to pay the taxi.

Laleh, surprised, hurried to get the money. When she returned, Dina stepped inside, her expression unreadable.

She entered without saying a word, just leaned against the wall, and slowly slid down to the floor.

Tears silently streamed down her face, but she remained silent, not responding.

We asked her more than ten times: "Are you okay? What's the matter?"

There was no answer. Laleh approached her and gently opened the Arabic chador, then screamed in horror.

I rushed to them, and what I saw was the darkest thing I had ever witnessed in my life.

The top half of Dina's body was bare, and her light blue pants were soaked with blood.

We were both shocked, perhaps more than Dina. It took Laleh about half an hour to move, slowly guiding her to the shower.

Together, we washed her and changed her clothes, without saying a word.

After a while, I asked softly, "Shahed?"

Laleh stopped me immediately, her voice firm: "Ask nothing."

But Dina began to shake uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. With a voice laced with the echoes of intense screams, she whispered, "Yes."

Laleh calmly moved, picking up her phone to call my mother. Laleh said, "They will be at my home tonight, and we'll come back tomorrow evening."

Her words were firm, as if trying to take control of the situation, while I struggled to process everything that

My mind was a blur, but Laleh, despite everything, handled the situation with remarkable composure.

Dina said, "Call Aamz, Laleh."

Laleh replied firmly, "Let's not talk to him right now. No more talking for now, just focus on getting through this."

I said, "Maybe having him here could be good for her."

Dina responded, "He's away for a programming contest."

I couldn't say anything about that night.

In the morning, Laleh said, "We are going to the hospital now to check your health in all aspects."

Dina said, "No, not now. Just take me home."

That day, we returned home, the weight of the events still hanging over us. Dina was quiet, and the silence between us felt heavier than ever. Laleh and I, both trying to navigate the situation as best as we could, exchanged only a few words. The uncertainty of what would come next loomed in the air. We knew things would never be the same, but for now, all we could do was give Dina the space she needed to heal.