Rooftops of Tehran by Mahbod Seraji Page B

console myself that nothing will ever come of this. So what’s the harm in a little bit of fun, especially since she’s getting married to Doctor in a couple of months anyway? The summer stands open like a doorway between adolescence and adulthood with the four of us on the threshold. After this year I’ll go to the United States, Zari and Doctor will start their life together, and Ahmed will marry Faheemeh. Things will be very different for all of us. So why can’t I enjoy the company of a beautiful girl in a completely harmless way?
    Ahmed and Faheemeh sit next to each other and Zari is directly across from me. She brings us iced drinks in the early parts of the afternoon, and then later, as the weather cools, hot, sweet Lahijan tea—the best black tea in the world.
    Ahmed and Faheemeh look great together. Faheemeh is a beautiful woman, although I would never compliment her on her looks because it’s not polite to tell a friend’s girlfriend that she is pretty. She has long black hair, which she habitually tosses back over her left shoulder with a graceful movement of her head. She almost always ends her comments with a question and an inquisitive look. The personal way she addresses you makes you feel like an old and trusted friend. Her black bell-bottomed pants and white silk shirt fit her perfectly. I know I’m going to like Faheemeh a lot.
    Zari and I are not in tune with each other. She talks about Doctor, a sure sign that she misses him dearly. “He’s gone away on a university project,” she tells us.
    A university project? I ponder. He told me he was going to work with the peasants.
    “Doctor and I have been together since birth,” Zari says. “Our parents vowed that their children would marry each other. This was their way of ensuring that their friendship would be preserved for as long as they lived.”
    “Wow, I didn’t know that,” Ahmed says, genuinely surprised.
    “I feel lucky that Doctor has turned out to be a great guy, or I would have had a difficult time agreeing to it.”
    Arranged marriage? I think cynically. Doctor is one of the most progressive thinkers in our neighborhood. How could he go along with such an absurd and outdated tradition?
    Ahmed winks at me, raises his eyebrows, and nods a couple of times as if he’s reading and confirming my thoughts.
    As Zari talks, I look at her tiny ears, her rosy lips, her silky, fresh skin, and my face burns with desire. She has a soft, low voice that sounds confident, even a little too mature for her face, but perfect in my ears. When she leans forward I can see some of her chest through the opening of her shirt. Then I remember that she is Doctor’s girl and I am once more seared by guilt. She looks mostly at me when she speaks, but she seems to have a restrained attitude toward me.
    “I don’t think she wants me here,” I tell Ahmed and Faheemeh when Zari goes inside to check on Keivan.
    Ahmed’s thoughts are preoccupied. “Arranged marriage?” he mumbles, irritated. He looks at Faheemeh. “What is it with you girls? Why’re your parents always trying to ditch you?”
    “Oh, be quiet,” Faheemeh says, smiling.
    When Zari comes back, she pours tea for us in small teacups she brought from the kitchen. Then she asks Faheemeh and Ahmed how they met.
    “I used to follow her home from school every day,” Ahmed explains.
    “Did you know he was following you?” Zari asks Faheemeh.
    “The whole world knew.” She tells Zari about Ahmed’s public display of affection, after she was set up for an arranged marriage.
    Zari laughs. “Good for you.” She taps Ahmed on the back. “I’m proud of you.” Then she asks Faheemeh, “How do your parents feel about what he did?”
    “They aren’t happy. They’re embarrassed. The groom’s parents don’t talk to them anymore.”
    Ahmed sits straighter at the comment, puffing his chest out as if proud of his accomplishment, and Faheemeh swats his arm playfully.
    “Would your parents ever