"CAREFUL, CAREFUL."
Zayaan sighed again, trying to protest. "Do I really need a wheelchair? It's all of ten steps between the corridor and the hospital exit."
I ignored him, just trying to help him settle in without getting distracted. "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," he repeated.
"Your cast doesn't itch, does it?"
"No, Faithe."
"Nezrin put all of your medicine in your bag, right?"
He finally looked up at me. "Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?"
Rude. "Has anyone ever told you that you complain too much?"
He rolled his eyes with an amused sigh. "Only my wife."
"Only my husband then."
"And only I have to end up with the pleasure of watching the two of you flirt under the guise of arguing." Zakariyah stepped inside, crossing his arms as he shot us both a large grin.
"Not flirting," we both said at the same time.
Zak's grin only grew larger. "Oh, the couple doth protest too much. Ready to go?"
"Uh-huh." I grabbed Zayaan's hospital bag and thrust it into my brother-in-law's arms. "Here. Take this."
He pulled it over his shoulder with a smile and followed behind me as I pushed the wheelchair through the corridor, with a very disgruntled Zayaan actively ignoring us.
A few doctors and nurses stopped in their path to bid us farewell with a smile that Zayaan was too polite to not return. Zak and I snickered the entire way to the exit until Reza came over to help Zayaan get to the car.
"I'm fine, bâbâ," he said, but Reza shook his head, silently shutting his son up.
The car was parked right next to the entrance, where the lorry had been parked a few days ago. The difference was, the sun has risen over the night to give us a sunny day, much more optimism and hope in the air. Most of the children had returned home, where tearful parents had come to thank the Haidars during our time at the hospital with Zayaan. It was just as heartbreaking as it was heart-warming to see the parents reunite with their kids when no one had the right to separate them in the first place.
Zak had also filled Reza in on everything earlier on, about Mahmoud's betrayal and the plane crash, and it even scared me a little to see the way Reza's eyes darkened with unfiltered rage. I was just going to reiterate what I'd realised the first time I met him; Reza Haidar was not someone to be messed with.
We ended up taking two cars back to the Haidar mansion. Reza, Nafasat, Zayaan, Riyad and I in Reza's car; Nezrin, Zak, Banu and Sahil — aka Dr Rezaei — in Zak's car. And of course, Ehan took his motorbike, annoyingly speeding in front of us with a purposefully loud rev of the engine like the asshole that he was.
Instead of sitting in his booster seat, Riyad hopped onto my lap and I hugged him to me, resting my chin on top of his shoulder lightly. I noticed Nafasat glance at us in the rearview mirror and offered her a smile that she returned along with a secret look that I couldn't dissect.
Riyad cuddled into me, and I softly rocked him side to side, finding it so adorable how he preferred to sit on my lap than in his seat beside me. No wonder he had everyone wrapped around his little finger.
Reza cleared his throat, glancing at his wife and as soon as she nodded, he began to speak. "Faithe, Zayaan, we wanted to talk to you about something."
Zayaan nodded. I tilted my head to the side to look at Reza.
"This is just a suggestion but I wanted to bring it up to the two of you before talking about it in front of the entire family."
"Is it something bad?" I asked hesitantly.
He smiled at my question. "No, sweetheart. Nothing bad, I hope. All good things."
"It's just," Nafasat continued. "We wanted to propose the idea of building a branch of Tales of Persia in London. We've recently started talking about expanding, not only in the Middle East but parts of Europe and other parts of Asia too. Why not begin in England, where you two live? It'll also mean that the two of you won't have to stay separate for long periods anymore if Zayaan's work also ends up shifting to where you're staying."
A part of me liked the idea, but another part of me felt bad that so much of Zayaan's life was shifting to adapt to mine. He loved Iran and flying back not only for work but also to see his family, and putting a halt to that for me just seemed like a selfish move.
"Is this a suggestion so that I'll spend less time in Iran and supposedly in less danger?" Zayaan asked.
"Of course not, asheq," Nafasat replied. "We'll always want the best for you, and I know that simply relocating your work won't make you magically stop coming back to Iran. Our restaurant is only half of your job, the rest belongs somewhere I'd rather it not, but I know it's something that you feel like you need to do. It's something that you feel you owe to yourself, and I won't stop you as much I hate how you put yourself in danger every second you're out in those streets of Tehran. But we're only suggesting this idea so we can not only branch out but also so you and Faithe get to spend more time together. It's not fair to her if you keep leaving her for half of every month."
He owed it to himself?
Everyone in the car — including Riyad — simultaneously turned to look at me to see what I had to say. But all I could do was shrug.
"It's your choice, Zayaan. If you want to run another branch of your restaurant in London, I'll be more than happy to help where I can and it'll be great to have you home more often. But if you don't, that's also completely fine."
Zayaan nodded silently.
"Don't feel forced to make a decision right now though. You're still recovering and it wouldn't be fair to force something important on you at this time for my own sake."
He smiled, acknowledging my statement.
"It's been a while since the both of you came home together," Nafasat said suddenly. "Do you think you'll stay for a while?"
"I'm not sure," Zayaan replied. "Faithe has school, and we also need to get back to the pet shelter soon."
"Pet shelter?"
"Yeah," I chimed in. "We've adopted a cat from a shelter. Or at least, almost. We need to go back and finish all the paperwork."
"A cat?" Nafasat asked in surprise. "Wow. When did you go to the shelter? What breed is she? Oh, is it a he or she?"
"She's a Turkish Angora," I said, tugging at my headscarf. "We went, what — six days ago?"
"Yeah," Zayaan confirmed. "Her name's Moon."
"That's adorable," she beamed, nudging her husband. "Isn't it, Reza?"
He agreed readily. "Very."
They fell into a quiet conversation after that, and when I continued to prod at my scarf, trying to fix it, Zayaan gripped my wrist and pulled it back.
"Wait." He leaned in, the sudden proximity making me shiver. But he just pulled at the chiffon with his right hand, shifting it slightly to adjust it. "Here."
"Thanks." My hand floated back down awkwardly.
Riyad wiggled about in my lap. "Move away, amoo. You're crowding me."
Zayaan's lips twitched. "Then, you little man, need to sit in your own seat instead of Faithe's lap."
"Nope." Riyad shook his head. "I'm comfy."
Everyone laughed at his little protest, and Zayaan moved away after giving Riyad's hair a ruffle. And I was left staring outside the window, the blazing sun and azure Tehran sky not enough to ward off the goosebumps on my arms and the fiery chill that didn't want to ease.
════════
MY FIRST THOUGHT after the car drove past the gates and past the fountain where we saw a new car was that we had visitors. My second thought was to run away because after the last time I'd visited Iran and had to welcome far too many of the Haidars' distant family, all that my introverted self wanted to do was hide.
But all those thoughts flew away when a familiar figure stepped over the threshold and onto the porch.
I immediately opened the door, helping Riyad out and waiting till Nafasat came over to his side before running over to my brother. "Aden!"
He grinned, skipping down the stairs to meet me with both arms wide open. I fell into my brother's arms, only just realising how much I'd missed him after not having seen him for far too long.
"Oh my God." I pulled back. "You're here. What are you doing here?"
"The first part of your welcome was nice," he said, pulling at my scarf. "The second part not so much. What would I be doing here, Faithe?"
"Visiting. Obviously." I rolled my eyes. "I thought you were busy. But you've flown all the way to Iran, so I guess not."
"Never too busy for my injured brother-in-law, little sis."
I shook my head. "And here I was thinking you'd missed your sister."
"Oh, I know someone who missed my sister," he said ominously, grinning at Zayaan when he walked over. "Hey, Zayaan."
"Hey, Aden," he greeted and the two of them did this weird half-hug that men did. "How are you?"
"I'm good. Though I should be the one asking you that question." Aden gave me a look from the corner of his eyes that implied 'after he narrowly missed his death and all.'
I elbowed him in the side lightly but squeezed my eyes shut when another familiar voice came forward. Why?
"Faithe!"
"Mum." I pasted a welcoming smile onto my face that was too sugary sweet it made my teeth ache. "You're here."
Her smile dropped. "What's with the disappointed tone?"
"What? Oh, no, no. I'm glad you're here. I haven't seen you in so long."
"I don't think we've ever gone this long without seeing each other, honey. Your father and I really missed you."
She couldn't even say that she missed me without pulling Dad into it.
"Me too," I murmured, trailing off. "Where's Dad?"
"He's with Reza. Over there." She pointed past my shoulder, where my father was talking with my father-in-law. He must have felt my eyes on him because he turned around, still chuckling from whatever the two had been talking about.
They both walked over, Reza stopping to wait for Nafasat midway while my dad came over to us.
Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulder but directed his attention to Zayaan. "How are you feeling, son?"
"Great, thank you, kayın baba," he faltered slightly at the greeting, looking at me in confusion.
I shrugged one shoulder, and his jaw tightened.
"Hey, Dad," I greeted quietly.
"Hi, sweetheart." He took in my hijab. "You look great."
"Thanks."
It was so fucking tense. It was sad, really. It showed how distance just made my relationship with my parents worse. Whoever said distance made the heart grow fonder was a fucking liar.
Since Zayaan and Aden were in conversation about something, my dad turned his attention back to me and asked me how Zayaan was treating me in Turkish.
"Really well, baba."
"Tamam, janam." He nodded approvingly. "As he should."
As if you care, I wanted to say. His concern was uncalled for; his approval even more so. But at the end of the day, I still loved my parents and wouldn't even dare to hurt them in any way, despite however much they deserved it. If Aden could care less about their neglect, then I could too.
"We've been standing outside on the porch for far too long," Nafasat quieted down the chatter. "Why don't we go inside?"
She led us forward, welcoming my parents with a bright smile, and closed the heavy doors behind us after we all stepped inside. The lights were switched on, the paintings and tapestries and colourful space leading to the living room.
Everyone walked into the living room, but Zayaan murmured something in his mother's ear and when she nodded, he gestured his head to the stairs at me.
"Let's go."
"Upstairs?"
"Yeah." He waited for me to climb up before following behind. "Coming from the hospital can be handy sometimes when you can use the excuse of rest."
"You don't want to stay around and talk to everyone?"
"You don't." He relayed his observation. "So we're going upstairs."
"Who told you that I didn't?"
"Remember when I said you were like an open book, Faithe? It was kind of obvious you didn't want to be around your parents all that much."
My lips parted. "It's not that I don't want to be around them, but—"
"But they unnecessarily drain all the happiness and energy out of you," he continued, "and I prefer the joyful, talkative version of my wife."
I smiled, following him through the dimly lit corridors. As modern as the Haidar mansion was, it was still old-fashioned and traditional in many different ways. Culture bled from the walls, and I still got sucked into each story the designs and paintings told.
I came to a halt in front of one portrait. It was of a woman, but it felt wrong to call her just a woman. She was stunning. Dark chestnut hair, bronzed skin, golden eyes; the tips of her fingers that were splayed across her necklace were dyed a deep red, most likely from henna. She wore a headscarf on her head loosely, a dark green that accentuated the curves of her face, and there was a golden hoop in her nose.
"Was she real?" Was the first question that came out of my mouth.
Zayaan chuckled. "She was, yes. One of our eldest ancestors." He leaned against the wall beside the painting. "She wasn't only known for her beauty, but also her wit and intelligence. She had men falling for her wherever she went, but it's said she always stayed humble and gracious. Everyone loved her. My — I don't even know — great-great-great-great-grandfather? Well, whoever he was, he was so smitten by her, he had made one of the most expensive pieces of jewellery to today's date for her. This blue-diamond necklace made by a Lebanese jeweller in the 1800s."
No wonder the necklace looked familiar. It was still sitting somewhere in the Haidar mansion since I'd given it back to Nafasat after my wedding for her to safe-keep. "Oh. Wow. I don't blame him at all. She's stunning. It's hard to believe someone with her looks legitimately existed."
Zayaan just shrugged, smiling.
"What was her name?"
"Laleh. It means tulip flower in Farsi."
Even her name was gorgeous. "It suits her," I said, still admiring the painting. "God, now I wish I were Persian. Your culture is just so damn beautiful and rich."
He laughed. "So is Turkish culture, Faithe. Don't underestimate your background. But, thank you, for the compliment."
"I love being Turkish, don't get me wrong, but I'm just a little jealous. Your names, your food, the colours, the aura that your house and country gives off. It feels like home."
"Well, you are at home and also, you married into a Persian family, so I'd say there's no reason for you to be jealous." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and started leading me in the direction of his room. "If you left it up to my mum, you'd be completely incorporated into Persian culture in no time at all."
"I don't doubt that," I agreed. "She's so unbelievably sweet, though. You're really lucky to have her, Zayaan."
Zayaan was silent as he pushed open the door, revealing the room he'd spent the early years of his childhood in. Although it had obviously changed as he'd grown up, it seemed like I was standing in the past, where a young Zayaan actually stood in front of his bookshelf and picked out books to read.
"You read?" I probed, surprised.
He shrugged. "Yes. Or at least, I used to. I don't really get the time anymore."
"Zayaan, you read," I emphasised again. "Wow."
"Is that something bad?"
"No, of course not. I don't even know why I'm surprised — you literally have all the traits that define perfection."
He sat down on his bed, leaning against the headboard, and patted a spot beside him. "You know, you keep reiterating how amazing and supposedly perfect I am. But what actually makes a perfect person, Faithe? What are all the traits to look out for in your ideal partner?"
"Hmm." I stared at him as I thought, taking the pins out of my scarf and unbuttoning my abaya so I could take it all off before sitting down. I just had on a long flowy skirt and a white t-shirt that I'd borrowed from Nezrin underneath. "My ideal man?"
"Yes." He nodded. "What does he entail? Tell me."
I sat down cross-legged on the bed and put my chin in my hands. I smiled, looking up at the corner of the ceiling as thoughts flew around in my head. "He needs to be kind. Loyal, supportive, honest, trustworthy. He needs to listen. I hate it when you're trying to tell someone something, and it seems like half of their attention is somewhere else. I want his attention to only solely belong to me when we're alone; nothing else. And someone who can not only be my life partner, but also my best friend. I want a a relationship where we can talk our minds freely and share absolutely everything with each other in a non-judgmental zone."
I paused as I wracked my brain. "What else? Someone knowledgeable, hence the reading. Someone who knows how to joke around. Someone who doesn't treat me like a doormat; someone who trusts me and isn't possessive; someone who doesn't get angry or impatient easily. Oh, that's another one: someone patient. I don't have much patience, so I want someone who can balance it out without getting annoyed at me for it. A bonus if they can cook because I can't do anything in the kitchen to save my life. And, someone who knows how to dress. No looking like a road-man 24/7. It's fine if you wear tracksuits and hoodies sometimes, but if that's all someone wears when they go out to look 'effortless and cool' then that's not something I'd want. I want someone who takes pride in everything they do, including the way they dress. Also, they need to be respectful; have basic human decency. Open the door for other people, thank people, give up seats for those who need it, smile at people who smile at you, just be considerate overall. You can honestly tell so much from someone's behaviour based on how they treat restaurant staff; you should thank waiters and waitresses, not make a mess just because you know someone else will clean it up, tuck your chair in before leaving, that sort of stuff. Manners don't cost anything, and my ideal partner needs to have them. I probably have way too many expectations, but overthinking and reading lots of romance novels will do that to you."
Zayaan was just watching when I looked back up at him. I expected him to be amused and laughing, but although the corners of his eyes were turned up, he was just listening to what I was saying. "You don't have too many expectations, Faithe. You definitely don't. People should know what to expect from someone they're likely to spend the rest of their life with. Your expectations are perfectly reasonable."
"What about you? Your expectations?"
"Mine?"
"Uh-huh. What do you look for in your dream girl?"
Zayaan contemplated it, drumming his fingers against the side of his thigh. "A lot of them are similar to yours, actually. Kind, loyal, supportive, trustworthy. A girl that my family likes and approves of. Someone who accepts them, with all their overbearingness and someone who can be a good friend to Riyad. Someone who I could spend all day and night talking to and never tire of. Someone whose eyes light up when she's doing or talking about something that interests her. Someone passionate. She needs to go for what she wants, not held back by others, despite every hurdle in her way. Someone who is afraid of something but does it anyway for those she loves. Someone down-to-Earth, and appreciates everything around her, however little or not. Someone who feels like home with a heartbeat. Someone who I'd walk into the dark for and vice versa; someone brave. I want her to fall in love, uncaring of the consequences and be someone who isn't afraid to show her emotions. Someone whose smile widens when she sees the sunrise or sunset. Someone who has knowledge and intelligence in spades but doesn't boast about it." He laughed. "You thought you had far too many expectations, Faithe; did you hear all of mine?"
I shook my head. "We both know what we want. Very clearly. That's a good thing. But your expectations are really cute. Really beautiful."
"Cute?" His eyebrows drew together. "What does that mean?"
"Cute. It means cute." I shrugged. "Adorable. Endearing. Sweet. Fascinating. Precious—"
He cut my synonym vomit off by putting his hand over my mouth, blocking me from saying anything else.
"I get the gist, Faithe. I know what cute means."
"You're the one—" My words came out muffled, and when I tried pushing against his wrist, he remained rooted and immovable. "Move your hand."
He raised an eyebrow. "I don't understand gibberish. Sorry."
I glared at him, and not knowing what else to do, I acted on instinct. I bit his palm.
He snatched his hand away, lips parting. "Did you just... bite me?"
"What else did you expect me to do?" I defended myself.
"Not bite me. That's abuse, woman."
"Worse than blocking off my air supply?"
"I did no such thing," he protested indignantly.
"Oh, really?"
"You have your nose."
I did have my nose. I harrumphed anyway, mocking him. "'You have your nose.'"
"You have no other argument to make. Admit it."
"I won't admit to anything."
It was at that moment I realised we were an inch apart from each other. We'd gotten so absorbed in our strange argument that we'd moved closer subconsciously. My arms were unfolded and I was on my knees, which left me eye-to-eye and nose-to-nose with him, our lips less than two inches apart.
I opened my mouth to say something but ended up sucking in a breath when his sigh brushed over my lips. I had the most beautiful view in the world at the moment; all I could see was the melted honey in his irises.
"Hi," I whispered. "You have really pretty eyes."
I saw his smile in his eyes. "Thank you."
There was a pause before we both synchronously said, "I'm sorry."
We chuckled at that together, a warm hand coming to rest at my hip. "I'll apologise first. I'm sorry, Faithe. I didn't mean to cut your air supply off."
The sentence coming from Zayaan made my remark sound immature. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about biting your palm. I mean, I meant to do it, but I won't do it again."
"It's fine, Faithe. It didn't hurt. Getting bitten by you has, by far, been the most interesting thing to happen to me all week. It was cute."
I groaned, pressing my forehead against his. "That word started it all. Don't repeat it."
"Why not?" He pulled back an inch to then just nudge his forehead into mine again. "It's cute."
"The word cute is cute?"
He shrugged.
I officially lost the plot to what was going on. "Dude, do you even know what you're saying anymore?"
"Did you just call me dude?"
"Yeah. So what?"
"Nothing, sweetheart."
I winced. "It's fine when old people call you sweetheart, but I don't like it when you call me that."
"What should I call you then?"
"Anything. Anything else as long as it's not strange or cringe."
His eyes twinkled. "Alright, eshgham."