The Book of Fate by Parinoush Saniee

merging and now spoke in the plural.
    â€˜I can’t,’ I said nervously. ‘I don’t know what to write. You write.’
    â€˜Me? I don’t know how. You are a lot better than me in composition and you know a lot of poems.’
    â€˜Write whatever comes to your mind. I’ll do the same. Then we’ll put them together and come up with a proper letter.’
    Late that afternoon, I was jolted from my thoughts by Ahmad’s shouts and hollers out in the yard. ‘I hear that vulgar girl is coming over here every day. What’s the meaning of this? Didn’t I tell you that I don’t like her and her airs and pretensions? Why is she constantly here? What does she want?’
    â€˜Nothing, my son,’ Mother said. ‘Why are you making yourself so upset? She just comes to give Massoumeh her homework and she leaves quickly.’
    â€˜The hell she does! If I see her here one more time, I’ll throw her out with a kick in the ass.’
    I wished I could get my hands on Ali and give him a good beating. The little twerp was spying on us and telling Ahmad. I told myself there was nothing Ahmad could do, but still I had to warn Parvaneh to be careful and to come over only when Ali wasn’t at home.
    I spent the entire day and night writing and crossing out. I had written things to him before, but always in my made-up script and it was all too emotional and familiar for a formal letter. The script was an invention rooted in need. First of all, there was no such thing as privacy and personal space in our house. I didn’t even have a drawer all to myself. Second, I needed to write, I couldn’t stop, I had to put on paper my feelings and dreams. It was the only way I could organise my thoughts and understand exactly what I wanted.
    And yet, I didn’t know what to write to Saiid. I didn’t even know how to address him in the letter. Dear sir? No, it was too formal. Dear friend? No, it wasn’t proper. Should I use his first name? No, that would be too familiar. By Thursday afternoon when Parvaneh came to see me after school, I still hadn’t written a single word. She was more excited than ever before and when Faati opened the door for her, she didn’t even pat her on the head. She darted up the stairs, threw her bag on the floor, sat right there at the door and started talking while trying to pull off her shoes.
    â€˜I was walking back from school just now and he called me and said, “Miss Ahmadi, your father’s medication is ready.” My poor father, who knows what disease he has that requires so much medicine. Thank God, that nosy Maryam wasn’t with me. I went in and he gave me a package. Hurry up and open my bag. It’s right there on top.’
    My heart was beating out of my chest. I sat on the floor and quickly opened her bag. There was a small package wrapped in white paper. I tore it open. It was a pocket-size book of poetry with an envelope sticking out of it. I was drenched in sweat. I took the letter and leaned against the wall. I felt faint. Parvaneh, who had finally got rid of her shoes, crawled over to me and said, ‘Don’t swoon now! Read it first, then pass out.’
    Just then Faati walked in, clung to me and said, ‘Mother wants to know whether Miss Parvaneh would like some tea.’
    â€˜No! No!’ Parvaneh said. ‘Thank you so much. I have to leave soon.’
    Then she pulled Faati away from me and kissed her on the cheeks. ‘Go now and thank your mother for me. That’s a good girl.’
    But Faati again came over and clung to me. I realised she had been told not leave us alone. Parvaneh took a piece of candy out of her pocket, gave it to Faati and said, ‘Be a good girl and go tell your mother I don’t want any tea. Otherwise, she will climb up the stairs and it’s bad for her. Her legs will start to ache.’
    As soon as Faati left, Parvaneh snatched the letter from me