Fear of reveal

Days passed, split between my family life and the time I spent in the capital with Farhad. It was strange, but slowly, I found myself falling for him—not just in words, not just in the game I had started, but in a quiet, undeniable way.

Farhad knew that I wanted nothing more from him. I didn't need his wealth or his power; financially, I was secure on my own. What grew between us was something else, something unexpected.

Yet, it was difficult to talk about him, especially with my friends. There was no label that fit what we had, no simple explanation that wouldn't raise questions. Even in my own mind, the lines blurred. Was this love, or was it just another chapter in the story I had written for myself?

The past no longer haunted me, not the way it once had. Instead, I found a strange comfort in looking back—revisiting the things I once wanted, understanding why it was better that I never got them.

And Aamz...

I had spent so much time trying to trap him, to hold him under a weight I thought he could bear. But now, I saw something I had overlooked before. He was weaker than I had imagined. Easier to break under pressure than I had once believed.

Another thing I had overlooked was Farhad's family—specifically, his teenage daughter, Yasmin. She was almost the same age as Negin, but unlike Negin, she terrified me.

I hadn't been introduced to her as her father's partner yet, but I knew that moment couldn't be avoided much longer. And that fear settled deep inside me—not just the fear of rejection, but something more personal, something I had seen before. The way Darya and Dina had never truly accepted my mother, despite all her kindness. Would Yasmin look at me the same way? Would I always be an outsider in her world, no matter how gentle I tried to be?

Yasmin was a quiet girl, polite and poised, with a kind of elegance that made it difficult to read her emotions. She never showed too much, never revealed what she was thinking. Every now and then, she would show up at small gatherings in my coffee shop, staying just long enough to be noticed before slipping away.

One night at my coffee shop, I noticed Yasmin approaching me. She moved gracefully, her posture composed, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was polite yet firm, carrying a weight far beyond her years.

"If my father is more than just a passing amusement to you, then marry him officially," she said, her words precise and deliberate. "If this is just a game, then leave him. A relationship like this—kept in the shadows—can become a scandal. And for a man in his position, that could be dangerous."

Her words took me by surprise. I hadn't expected her to confront me so directly, let alone with such calm authority. For a moment, I just stared at her, searching for any sign of emotion behind her measured tone. Was this concern? Disapproval? A warning?

I started gently, trying to ease the tension. "Look, dear Yasmin, I care about you as if you were my own daughter—"

She cut me off sharply. "Stop!" Her tone was firm, almost cold. "I don't want to hear things like that. Just tell me—will you marry him or leave?"

Her directness sent a chill through me. There was no room for sweet words or empty reassurances. She wasn't here for comfort—she wanted a decision.

I took a deep breath and said, "Things are not as simple as you think, Yasmin..."

She crossed her arms, her sharp gaze locking onto mine. "Then make them simple. If you truly love him, why not make it official? And if you don't, then stop playing with his life."

Her words stung. There was no malice in her voice, just a quiet, firm demand for clarity. I realized she wasn't just speaking as a daughter—she was speaking as someone protecting the only parent she had.

It was hard to guess exactly how much she knew or what she had heard. But one thing was clear—she wasn't a child who could be dismissed easily.

I forced a smile and said, "Let us talk later, Yasmin. This isn't the right time."

She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving me with a strange sense of unease.

Soon, I went to Farhad and asked urgently, "How does she know?"

He looked at me, surprised but not entirely shocked. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe she found something at home… or in my office… or overheard something."

I stared at him, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth. Yasmin didn't seem like the type to act without certainty. If she had confronted me, it meant she knew more than just rumors.

I said urgently, "Look, Farhad! She asked me to either leave you or marry you. But you know there's no space for that right now…"

He looked at me seriously. "Why not?"

His response made me anxious. I felt my heartbeat quicken. "I told you… let's just wait until Baran turns ten."

Farhad frowned. "That's too long. There are too many risks. We've already faced one—Yasmin. There could be more dangerous situations ahead."

A shiver ran down my spine. "That's… really terrifying," I admitted, feeling a deep unease settle over me.

I said, "Just talk to her and buy us some time to think and find a solution."

The next morning, Farhad came to the coffee shop with Yasmin. They sat at a table, waiting for me. When I joined them, Farhad got straight to the point. "We all know about Yasmin's talk with you. Yasmin?"

She looked at me and, with surprising politeness, said, "I apologize."

Farhad nodded and turned to her. "Yasmin, be patient. Things will take shape as expected."

She gave an unreadable smile. "Sure, Daddy.

That evening, Yasmin returned alone, surprising me even more. She sat down calmly and said, "I'm just worried about his position. I fear rumors and scandals, not you or him personally. I don't have any emotional stance on this—I just don't want my father to lose what he has worked for."

She paused, her gaze steady. "So, you have time, but not too much. And just so you know, I'm aware of things my father doesn't yet know about you. Okay?"

That night, as I was packing to return to my family, anxiety weighed heavily on me. Farhad noticed right away.

He watched me for a moment before speaking. "You seem troubled," he said, his voice calm but curious.

I didn't share my thoughts with him. There was too much to untangle, too many worries I wasn't ready to voice.

Sensing my unease, he moved closer, attempting to soothe me. Then, with a slight smirk, he asked, "Do you want one more of those recordings?"

The recording began with Farhad's voice: "What do you want?"

Aamz responded, frustration clear in his tone: "I've checked multiple times. Every time, I hear something new. Once they told me it's forgotten in bureaucracy within official organizations, and told me to wait for approval. Then I was tempted to buy my duties over. And every time, it's something new. Why? I've done enough, worked for two years with a low salary, and yet I still don't know where to follow up on my status. My life feels like it's on hold. It feels like I've stopped..."

Farhad, with a detached tone, replied: "Not my business, boy."

Aamz, now with rising anger, shot back: "Who? Where is the one who can give me answers?"

He continued, voice strained: "I can't focus, and it's destroying my life. I can't make the money I need, and everything is on hold. Just tell me where to follow up!"

The recording ended.

Farhad, with a chuckle, said: "Isn't it good? Searching and still confused... Haha."

The recording ended, and I sat there, reflecting on how everything had unfolded. Farhad's laughter echoed in my mind, but it didn't bring any comfort. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of control slipping away. I had wanted him to be in chaos, to be in confusion, but what did it truly accomplish?

The weight of everything—Aamz, the promises, the manipulation, and the feelings I had been suppressing—pressed heavily on me. I had orchestrated so many moments to keep him on edge, but now, I was beginning to wonder: was this really what I wanted?

The truth was undeniable, the pieces were falling into place in ways I hadn't planned for, and the consequences were becoming clearer. How much longer could I keep pretending to be in control?

With that thought, the chapter closed, leaving more questions than answers.