The Sound Of Broken Leg/ Part 4

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When I got home, it was already one o’clock. I thought my mother would be very worried about me, but I saw the whole family gathered silently in one room. I greeted them, but no one answered; only Taher nodded slightly. I felt scared and sat down next to Taher and Bahar. Facing Bahar, I asked, “What happened? Why is everyone so quiet?”

She said nothing but with her eyes motioned me to go to my own room. I stood up and went inside my room; she followed. I asked, “Bahar, what’s going on? What happened?” She took a deep breath and said, “It’s worse than anything. Mohammad took all your father’s money and ran away.” Hearing that, my body went weak and I collapsed on the floor. Stammering, I said, “Is it possible for him to do such a thing?” She said, “He caught all of us by surprise.” He had planned everything very cleverly, so none of us suspected anything. In the end, he left a letter reminding us that he would never allow my mother and me to access their money; he claimed he was protecting his father’s investment. Were we ever after the money? When this news reached our relatives, everyone came and with their sympathetic words tried to console my father, saying, “Mohammad really shocked all of us. But it doesn’t matter. Hopefully, Taher and Saboor will manage, and all your problems will be solved.” Except for our home, nothing else remained for us. The joy and excitement we once had in our house were gone, and we were cutting down on expenses. My father’s health was poor; his heart condition had worsened and he was often complaining of joint pain. Despite all the difficulties and the harsh circumstances surrounding us, we adapted. One day, when Dawood and his family came to visit us, my father brought up the topic of my marriage to Dawood and said, “It’s better if you both start thinking seriously about your life, so it’s best to hold your wedding soon.” But Dawood and his family said nothing and treated me differently than before. For many days, he didn’t even accompany me to university, and I didn’t care much, thinking he must be very busy. Until one day, Dawood announced in front of all of us that he was breaking off our engagement; he said we were not made for each other and continuing this relationship would only end badly. My mother started sobbing, my father struggled to get to his room and locked the door from inside; he didn’t come out until dinner. Taher argued a little with Dawood but it was useless because their intention, and that of his family, was money — which we no longer had. So, in truth, there was no reason to continue that relationship. Sahel had become my confidant. I shared all my problems and troubles with her, from the disaster Mohammad had caused us to the breaking off of my engagement. She only listened quietly and finally reassured me by saying, “Don’t worry, everything will be alright.” Due to limited internet use, I spoke with Saboor very little, only once a week for a few minutes. Taher, with his duties at the hospital, was covering the house expenses. But whenever I saw my father’s condition, my hatred for Mohammad grew stronger; with all his strength, he had delivered the last blow and fled. One beautiful, moonlit night, a little angel entered our lives and made us smile after a long time. Bahar, who had been writhing in pain all day, gave birth to a beautiful, beloved daughter, warming our family more than ever. We named the baby Parvaneh. Parvaneh became the best reason for us to forget all the unpleasant events, but our house was still not as lively as before; it was quiet and empty. Only Parvaneh’s cries when hungry broke the silence.

I was busy with my university studies; Taher was doing his best to meet all the household needs. We still needed a lot of money for my father’s treatment, whose condition worsened day by day until he could no longer get up without help. My mother sat by his side all night, reading the Quran; sometimes Taher would take her to sleep for a few hours and watch over my father himself.

My father had an unusual affection for Parvaneh; whenever he felt better, he would say, “Bring my Parvaneh, I want to see her.” With his trembling, frail hands, he would hold her and kiss her face. My mother and all of us quietly shed tears and prayed for his recovery.

It was past midnight. I was busy with my studies when Taher knocked on my door and asked me to come to my father's room. His words made my heart tremble, and I quickly rushed to my father's room. Seeing his condition, my tears flowed uncontrollably. When I approached him, he stared at me for a moment, then turned his gaze towards Taher and, gasping for breath, said, “Taher, I entrust Humaira to you.” Hearing this, my cries grew louder, and I threw myself into his arms. Having already experienced the pain of losing a father once, it was even harder to bear this pain. He had never failed to show me love and kindness and never let me feel any sense of inferiority. Although fate never allowed me to experience the love of my real father, he had been a true father to me in every sense. I don’t know how many minutes I cried in his arms, until I could no longer feel the warmth of his hands on my body. My mother, Bahar, and Taher were all crying too, and with a choked voice, Taher lifted me from my lifeless father's body. With his passing, I understood why my aunt had cried for me and said, “May God have mercy on you; at this young age, you have become an orphan.” My father’s departure left a huge void in my life; he had always been my support. After his death, I felt deeply alone, even though Saboor and the whole family were there with me. But it was as if no one was there. I was sitting alone in my room, thinking about the days when we were all together, when there was a knock at my door. Saboor entered quietly and softly said, “Humaira dear, what are you doing? Hope I’m not bothering you.” I stood up and replied, “No, no! Come in, I’m not busy.” He sat down beside me gently. For a moment, we both sat in silence. But I couldn’t hold back anymore; I threw myself into his arms and let out the tears I had been holding back for days. With his kind and affectionate hands, he caressed my hair while his own tears fell silently. That day, after a long talk and many tears, I don’t know when, but I fell asleep. When I woke up, he was gone and I was alone in my room. I got up to see where he had gone when suddenly my phone came to mind. I returned, took it out of my bag, and saw twenty missed calls and fifteen new text messages—all from Sahel. He had sent me his condolences and expressed his sympathy. In the last message, he insisted that he really wanted to see me. I became curious. Why did he insist on seeing me? Had something happened that I didn’t know about? Questions raced through my mind, and I didn’t know the reason for his insistence. I was lost in thought when my mother called me. Finally, I put my phone away and went to help Bahar in the kitchen. When dinner was served—simple and very plain—we all gathered to eat. After we finished, my mother began to speak. “Your father was dear to us all. He was like a tree whose shade always gave us strength. Now that God did not consider us worthy to have him any longer, we have to continue without him. Starting tomorrow, Saboor must prepare to leave for Turkey, Taher must return to his duties, and Humaira must return to university. From now on, all our hopes rest on the three of you. Mohammad has chosen his own path, so you must continue your father’s path and not disappoint him.” We all lowered our heads and listened to our mother. When she finished, she stood up and said, “Do you have anything to say?” We all shook our heads, indicating no, and said nothing. Early the next morning, as my mother had said, Saboor started packing his things. Taher and I also got ready and set off together. Then he went to the hospital, and I went to the university. As I entered the university courtyard, Sahel’s messages came to mind, but I had neither the mood nor the energy to reply and went straight to class. That day, when the teacher arrived and saw me, he and my classmates recited the Fatiha prayer. Then he expressed his condolences, gave his lesson, and left. I wasn’t feeling well, and I felt suffocated. I grabbed my bag and left the class. I wandered around for a while, exhausted, and went to sit in a quiet corner. I was playing with my phone to distract myself when Sahel’s voice startled me. “Hi Humaira. How are you?” “Hi, I’m fine. How about you?” “Not bad. By the way, did you read my messages?” “Yes, I did. Now tell me, has something happened that you wanted to see me so badly?” He smiled mischievously and said, “If nothing important had happened, or if there wasn’t something I needed to say, shouldn’t I still see you!?” His words made my cheeks flush red with embarrassment. I looked down and said, “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I was just a bit worried.” That day, he looked at me as if it was the last time we would ever see each other. Finally, he said, “Humaira, I want to talk to you about something.” My heart skipped a beat, and I could only nod. After a short pause, he began to speak, though it was clear he was anxious. “Humaira, I want to have you in my life forever, to be part of your beautiful memories. I want to share both my joys and sorrows with you. I want you to be my support whenever I feel lonely and to be my confidant.” He looked straight into my eyes and said, “Yes, I love you.” His words made my heart pound as if it wanted to leap out of my chest. I swallowed hard and tried to catch my breath, but I couldn’t say anything. His last words had stolen my voice. For a moment, we both stayed silent—but for how long? I had to tell him my feelings too. I couldn’t stay silent forever. I said, “Well, I see no problem with that.” Hearing that, he jumped up excitedly and said, “Oh God, I’m so happy!” He took my hand, and together we ran out of the university courtyard, which was nearly empty.

“Sahel, where are we going?” I asked.

He winked at me and said, “That’s a secret.”

“Oh please, what secret?” I asked.

First, we went to a café and had some tea and rested a bit. Then Sahel took my hand again, and we headed off to an unknown place that, according to him, was a secret.