- This Time, Don’t Say You’re Tired
It was afternoon. Negar was sitting on the sofa, laptop on her lap, reviewing an article she had to submit next week. Her phone lit up on the table. It was Maryam.
“We’re having a gathering Thursday. Are you coming?”
Negar looked at the message. Her finger paused on the screen. Her usual habit was to first think about how to politely decline. “Unfortunately, I can’t make it.” Or “I’m really swamped this week.” She had good reasons too. But these reasons looked more like excuses.
Maryam’s second message came:
“This time, don’t say you’re tired.”
Negar smiled. She typed: “Where is it?”
Maryam sent the address of a house in the Niavaran neighborhood. Negar looked at the address. She knew the street name. It was a good neighborhood. Maryam’s next message:
“A few of the old university friends are coming too.”
Negar looked at this sentence. “The old university friends.” She thought for a few seconds. She knew the names of one or two. She looked at the screen for a few seconds. Then she wrote: “Okay.”
- An Empty Space
The house was stylish. But not so luxurious that it made a person uncomfortable. An old renovated house. Brick walls. Tall windows. A yard full of trees. Soft music came from inside. The sound of laughter. The smell of food.
Maryam opened the door: “You finally came!”
Negar laughed: “Was I late?”
Maryam said: “No, but you’re always late.”
She entered. A few people were in the living room. Conversations were natural and scattered. One was talking about her recent trip: “We finally went to Italy this year. It was really good. But it was very crowded.” One about the house: “We’re renovating our house too. It’s a lot of hassle.” One about work: “The company got much bigger this year. I don’t know how I’m managing it.” One about the child: “My daughter started school this year. God help me.”
But Negar, in her own mind, started putting the information together. This one’s job. That one’s trip. That one’s relationship. That one’s house. That one’s book. And then, without wanting to, she placed herself in the middle of this table. An empty column. An empty space.
- A Small But Decisive Moment
Negar looked at her glass. A few seconds. Then she looked around. Everyone was talking. Everyone was laughing. Everyone was living. And Negar, for the first time, felt that she had been left behind by this life.
The party ended. Maryam said: “Did you have a good time?”
Negar said: “Yeah.” And it really hadn’t been bad. The people were good. The food was good. She had laughed. She had even seen a few people after years.
In the car, she opened her phone. She looked at the photos taken at the party. In one of the photos, everyone was standing together. Negar paused on the photo. She looked at the faces. At the smiles. At herself. She was smiling too. But now, in the car, in the silence, that smile no longer seemed so real.
Negar closed the screen. She put the phone on the seat next to her. She looked at the street. The lights passed by her one by one. The city was dark. People were walking on the sidewalk. Each with their own life. Each with their own story.
- Why Am I Miserable?
Negar arrived home. She opened the door. She took off her shoes. She put her bag on the chair. She turned on the light. The house was silent. She sat on the sofa. She put the phone aside. She looked at the ceiling. She wasn’t depressed. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t saying “I’m miserable.” Just a small question formed in her mind. A question that wasn’t there before. A question that was new.
“Why am I behind?”
She looked at the ceiling for a few seconds. A white, smooth ceiling. It had no answer. Negar got up. She went to the kitchen. She took a glass of water. She returned to the room. She turned off the light. In the darkness, she lay on the bed.
“Why am I behind?”
It was a simple question. But for the first time, she couldn’t easily pass by it. This time, sleeping wasn’t so easy.
- A Message That Started Everything
A few days had passed since the party. Negar was at the university, between two meetings, checking her phone. A message had come from Nazanin: “Hi. I found that book you mentioned.”
Negar smiled. She replied. A little later, Nazanin wrote: “Thanks. I need to read it.” The conversation was short and ended. But a few hours later, Nazanin messaged again: “By the way, if you have time Thursday, come to the café. I need to ask you something.”
Negar looked at the message. A few seconds. Then she wrote: “Sure.”
- A Café That Was Supposed to Be Simple
Thursday afternoon, Negar arrived early. The café wasn’t crowded. A few empty tables. Dim light. Soft music. Negar sat by the window. She ordered tea. She waited.
A few minutes later, Nazanin entered. Nothing in her appearance was different; the same neat clothes, the same smile, the same calm behavior. She just looked a little tired. There were shadows under her eyes. Negar noticed. But she said nothing.
Nazanin sat down: “Are you okay?”
Negar said: “I’m fine. How are you?”
Nazanin smiled: “Yeah. I’ve just been very busy these days.”
They sat. Nazanin let out a breath: “It’s good… it’s just this damn project won’t finish.”
She laughed. Negar laughed too. But her laugh was a little more cautious. Nazanin was laughing differently this time. More tired. More real.
Nazanin put her phone on the table. The screen lit up several times. Message. Message. Missed call. Nazanin turned the phone over. Negar asked nothing. A few minutes later, she said herself: “Amir and I have had a bit of a problem.”
Negar paused: “What happened?”
Nazanin shrugged: “Nothing. Nothing special. He’s just been very busy these days, and I have a lot of work too. We keep passing by each other.”
Negar stayed silent. Nazanin smiled: “Of course, it’s nothing special. Everyone has these phases.”
- Something That Wasn’t Seen at the Party
A little later, Nazanin talked about her project. The client keeps changing their mind. Two team members have resigned. She herself has worked late several nights. Negar looked at her in surprise: “But you said your studio was going very well.”
Nazanin laughed: “It is going well. But going well is different from being comfortable.”
This sentence stayed with Negar. “Going well is different from being comfortable.” Negar thought about it. A few seconds. Then she looked at her glass. The tea had gone cold. She took a sip. She didn’t taste it.
The important point was that Nazanin didn’t suddenly become a defeated woman. She still enjoyed her work. She still loved her husband. She still traveled. She still had good friends. She even said: “I really love my life.”
Then she paused. “I’m just very tired sometimes.”
This sentence was heavy for Negar. Because it didn’t make the issue black and white. Nazanin’s life was both good and hard. Like Negar’s life. Like everyone’s life.
