Diary

Write for The Iranian Editorial policy

Part 36
New York, Friday August 12

9:36 a.m.
Another successful night last night! I am so happy. I have actually succeeded in making my parents proud of me, even my mom. They have come to every single performance and are showing no sign of being bored yet. I am in such a good mood these days I even let mAmAn get away with her comment of "CherA behett naghshe kolfataro dAdan?"

Sunday August 14

10:04 a.m.
I can't believe what happened to me last night.

I was taking off my make-up in my dressing-room (Woo-hoo I actually have my own private dressing room!), eager to join Ali and my parents for a snack when I heard a knock on the door.

-- "BiyA too Ali jAn, it's okay."

I was continuing to apply my make-up remover, when I saw in the mirror the tall silhouette behind me enter the room. Despite my astigmatism, I recognized the figure right away and turned around, alarmed.

-- "Peerooz! What are you doing here?"

I don't know why the mere sight of him was turning my stomach. I was actually surprised at the ferocity of my reaction. It's unbelieveable how feelings can change from one extreme to the other in a short amount of time. This was the same guy who could spark electricity in all of my limbs just a few months ago. Now he was positively making me nauseous standing there in my little room, the two of us alone together. Uncomfortably alone.

Peerooz was carrying a big bouquet of fuscia colored tiger lilies in his usual Bollywood manner. As soon as I caught sight of the flowers, I knew instinctively what was coming. For the second time, I could predict what he was about to say to me. I mean this guy really WAS a walking cliche. I felt at this moment the eerie sensation that life is not real and we are all just a bunch of characters acting our parts in a play, the product of the imagination or dream of some Supreme Being.

-- "Naz darling, you were wonderful... I hope you don't mind but when I heard... I had to come see you and congratulate you."

I retorted with a harshness that was not calculated:

-- "Peerooz. You shouldn't be here!"

-- "Naz darling...With the other one, it's over... I love you..."

He took one step towards me.

I stood up from my chair and he misread my intentions. He thought I was walking towards him when really I was trying to get to the door. To safety.

He took one of my hands and slipped his other behind my back. Before I could free myself from his grip, his lips were touching mine and I heard the door swing open.

Ali took one look at me in the arms of Peerooz and silently walked away.

Comment for The Iranian letters section Comment for the writer Nazanin