A break

Yasmin was becoming my new concern. She was unreadable, her intentions unclear. Suspiciously, she had started spending more time at my coffeeshop, effortlessly blending in with my employees, getting close to them in a way that felt too deliberate. Was she watching me? Gathering information? Or was it just my paranoia?

At the same time, my mother's requests were growing more persistent. She wanted me to leave the capital altogether, to step away from everything and focus on Baran.

It was as if the walls were closing in from every direction—Yasmin's silent observations, my mother's pressure, and Farhad's expectations. Something had to give.

Things took a turn for the worse when, one day, Kaveh walked into my coffeeshop. The moment I saw him, fear gripped me. He wasn't here for a casual visit—I could tell by the way he carried himself.

Without hesitation, he got straight to the point: he wanted Baran back.

Anger flared inside me. I shot back immediately, rejecting his request. But he didn't back down. He stood firm, his voice calm but insistent.

"I know you're not fully focused on Baran," he said. "You're too caught up in your business. I can't stop wondering—would she be better off with me?"

My heart pounded. How did he know anything about my life now? About how much attention I gave Baran? Who had been feeding him this information?

I clenched my fists under the counter, trying to mask my panic. This wasn't just about Kaveh anymore. Someone had been watching me.

Everything felt tangled together, and I wasn't even in good physical condition.

One day at the coffeeshop, I was checking my bank accounts when, suddenly, my vision went black. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital bed.

Confusion washed over me. I hadn't been brought here by my employees or my friends. Instead, Kaveh was sitting beside me.

A strange feeling settled in my chest—he had taken care of me. And yet, Farhad had never even shown up.

As I struggled to gather my thoughts, Kaveh spoke again, his voice steady but firm.

"I don't want Baran to suffer," he said. "If you can't take care of her, let me."

His words cut deep, but I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the dizziness.

"I can take care of her myself," I said. My voice was weak, but my determination wasn't.

Even as I said it, though, a question haunted me—was he right?

That night, I was upset with Farhad and rejected him when he reached for me.

He sighed in frustration. "Why are you so cold? Do you want a gift?"

I ignored him, but he continued, "A recording."

At first, I refused. But when he mentioned that Aamz had physically attacked him that day, my curiosity got the best of me.

The recording started with Aamz's voice, sharp with anger.

"Now tell me—will you answer me and let me complete my things or not?"

There was a brief silence, then the sudden, jarring sound of something shattering.

"What was that?" I asked.

Farhad smirked. "He broke my monitor."

I turned to him, intrigued. "And what did you do?"

"Nothing," he said casually. "But I will take legal action against him."

I shook my head. "Don't do that—at least not yet."

A thought crept into my mind. Was Aamz the one who had been watching me? Was he the one feeding information to Kaveh? It wasn't impossible. I knew that, from time to time, my mother still sent him messages to greet him—she still saw him as a son.

The recording continued, and at the end, I heard Farhad's voice, calm and unbothered.

"What do you want?"

Aamz's voice was louder now, filled with raw frustration.

"My real status! It doesn't even matter what it is—just something true! Something I can tell my wife! I'm tired of giving her explanations that turn out to be lies every single time. I just need to tell her something real."

His words hung in the air, heavy and desperate.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt something other than anger toward him.

I told Farhad, "Keep him confused. He's under a lot of pressure, and I know if he figures out his problem, he'll solve it. And if he solves it, he might come for revenge—on us, on our life."

Just a few days later, my coffee shop had an unexpected visitor. Marya.

The moment I saw her, my mind raced. Could this be connected? Were things finally coming together?

I checked her face multiple times to be sure. I had never met her in person before—only seen pictures. But it was definitely her.

I stayed hidden, listening carefully. It was a birthday celebration. Marya, another woman, and a man who was not Aamz were sitting together, laughing, talking. They were celebrating Marya's birthday.

But one thing stood out. Why wasn't Aamz there? Why wasn't he with his wife on her birthday?

From their conversation, I quickly realized that Marya's presence here had nothing to do with anything else. But more importantly, I suspected that this gathering wasn't something Aamz was particularly interested in. I knew him—if he wasn't there, it was probably because he wasn't comfortable with it.

I discreetly asked my barista to take photos of their meeting. As I watched them, deep in thought, a realization hit me.

Aamz—the man who had always tormented me with his indifference. And Marya—the woman who had directed so much anger at me over a single sentence.

Wasn't this the perfect opportunity to turn things against them?

I finally made my decision that night. After some effort, I managed to find him on a messenger and sent Aamz the photos, asking: Why weren't you there? Say happy birthday to Marya.

He took a while to respond: What did you do there? Where is this?

I typed back: Wasn't this appointment something you were informed about? Oh, sorry.

He replied: By the way, something's wrong. This isn't even close to her birthday.

I decided to turn up the pressure, trying to make him feel uneasy: Strange. You two seem like such a perfect couple, yet you appeared alone at the party.

He responded, somewhat confused: Party? Not a party. What do you mean?

I pushed further: Do you even know anyone there?

His response was sharp: What do you mean, you idiot?

I typed back, adding a hint of danger: Maybe you need to be more careful.

He sent one last message: I was informed about this, but I couldn't join because I was busy. Send me the address of the place, please.

I knew he was lying—he hadn't been informed at all. The next day, he showed up at my coffee shop. It was the first time I had seen him in years. But I didn't reveal myself. I didn't say that I was the owner of the place. Although I wanted to speak to him after all this time, I didn't.

I simply observed him from afar. He looked older, broken. His face was sad, filled with a quiet sorrow.

Soon, I pushed thoughts of Aamz aside again when Farhad called. But this time, I wasn't in the mood to see him. Something in me felt exhausted—maybe from everything tangled around me, maybe from the silent weight of old emotions resurfacing.

I decided it was time to leave the capital for a while, to return to my home city and stay there for an extended period. A break from everything.

But Farhad didn't agree at first. "Why now?" he asked. "Everything is fine. What's bothering you?"

I didn't have a clear answer. I just knew I needed distance.

I told him firmly, "I have my reasons. I need to be near Baran more. It's good for us—trust me."

Farhad hesitated. I could see the reluctance in his eyes, the way he wanted to argue, to pull me back. "You can be near Baran without leaving everything behind," he tried to reason.

But I stood my ground. "It's not just about Baran. I need this."

After a long silence, he finally sighed and nodded. "Fine. But don't disappear completely."

And just like that, I left. I packed my things, knowing this wasn't just about a temporary visit home—it was the start of another shift in my life. A break. A reset. Maybe even an escape.