Chapter 1: “Silent Mornings”
Focus:** Arash
1-2. Unread Messages
Arash sat behind his desk and took his phone out of his pocket. He touched the screen, and it unlocked. Eighteen unread messages: fourteen were advertisements, two were from the bank, one was from Farhad. And one was from Baran.
His finger paused on Baran’s name. That same feeling he always had when reading her messages clawed at his heart. A mixture of longing and fear. Longing for her voice, for her laughter, for the days when she would hug him and say “Dad, I love you.” And fear that this time there might be a message that would shatter him, something like “I don’t love you anymore” or “Leave me alone.”
He opened the message, even though he had memorized the text. For three weeks, he had read this message every day, as if hoping that maybe once he could read it differently, maybe once it would find another meaning.
“Never mind, Dad.”
Just that. Three words. No hello, no goodbye, no “How are you?” Just three words that sank into his heart like a knife. Every time he read them, right there, below his sternum, pain would grip him. A pain that was neither physical nor spiritual, something between the two, something like when an old wound throbs in cold weather.
He looked at the message date: three weeks ago, Wednesday, six in the evening. The same day he had waited for her in front of the school. When Baran came out the door, she was with her friends, laughing. The moment her eyes fell on Arash, the laughter vanished from her face. She said something to her friends and separated from them. She came forward, stood facing her father. They were two meters apart, but it felt like an ocean.
**Flashback: Three weeks ago, in front of the girls’ school.**
Baran was squeezing her bag in her hand, her gaze fixed on the ground. Arash took a step toward her; the girl instinctively stepped back. That small movement broke something inside Arash.
– Why don’t you call, Dad?
– I called, you didn’t answer.
– You called once. Once. And it was in the middle of the night. I was asleep.
Arash said nothing. She was right, he had called only once. But why? Why, despite helping dozens of people every day to have better relationships with their families, couldn’t he make a simple phone call to his own daughter?
Baran lifted her gaze, looked into her father’s eyes. Eyes that Baran always said looked like her own.
– Mom says you don’t love us.
– She didn’t say that. Your mother wouldn’t say something like that.
– She does say it. She says you only care about yourself.
The blood froze in Arash’s veins. Not because of Sara’s words, but because Baran was repeating her mother’s words, and there was belief in her voice.
– Baran, my dear, I…
– Enough, Dad. Every time you come here, you want to talk, but you say nothing. You just look. I’m tired of it.
The girl turned, took a few steps, then stopped. She turned back and said:
– Do you know when my birthday was? Fifteen days ago. I waited for you to call. You didn’t. To send a message. You didn’t. The photo of the cake I cut, I posted it in my story, you didn’t see it. Or you saw it and didn’t care.
Arash wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. Baran waited, maybe her father would say something to close this distance, something to show he loved her, something she hadn’t heard all these years.
Arash only said: “Forgive me, my beautiful one.”
The girl looked at him, a look that was a mixture of anger, disappointment, and longing. Then she turned and left. She disappeared among her friends.
**Return to the present: Arash behind the desk, phone in his hand.**
That same night, Baran had sent this message: “Never mind, Dad.” And Arash read this message every day, morning and night. Each time hoping that maybe once its meaning would change, maybe once he could read it differently. “Never mind, Dad” – did it mean everything is fine, don’t worry? Or did it mean I have let you go?
Arash opened Baran’s profile picture. She hadn’t posted a new one, it was the same photo from three years ago, taken on their trip to the north. Baran was laughing in the picture, the sea behind her, sunlight shining in her hair. Arash remembered that day. Baran had run into the water, her clothes soaked, laughing and saying “Dad, come into the water.” And Arash had gone, had taken his daughter’s hand, the waves had washed over their feet, both had gotten wet and laughed together.
When did those days end? When did the girl grow distant from her father? When did Arash forget how to be a father?
He returned to the message list. His finger froze on the screen, then he started typing: “Baran, good morning. How are you?” He looked at it for a few seconds, then deleted it. He typed again: “My daughter, I miss you.” Deleted it. Once more: “Forgive me.” Deleted it.
He didn’t know what to say. When words reached Baran, they all seemed like lies. Even he himself didn’t believe them.
He put the phone on the table, screen facing down. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes. His eyelids were hot. He wanted to cry, but there were no tears. He hadn’t cried in six months. Maybe more.
He remembered once Sara had told him: “You’re an icy person, Arash. Everyone thinks you’re the best psychologist because you’re calm, but this isn’t calmness, it’s being frozen. You don’t show any emotion. Not even for your own daughter.”
She was right. Sara was always right.
Arash opened his eyes. He looked at the bookshelf across from him. Child psychology books, books on parent-child communication, books he had written himself in which he had spoken about the importance of expressing love. He had said parents should tell their children every day that they love them. He had said not to forget hugging and kissing. He had said…
He looked at the clock. Eight-thirty. Half an hour until the first client. He had to get ready. He opened Mrs. Ahmadi’s file, but Baran was still in his mind, that cold look still in his memory, those three words still sinking into his heart.
Never mind, Dad!
Maybe she was right. Maybe he should let it go. Let go of a father who was never there, of a person who didn’t know how to love, of the wall that Sara had spoken of.
Arash buried his head in his hands. Elbows on the desk, forehead in his palms. He remained like that, in the darkness behind his eyelids, in the silence of the clinic, in the sound of the rain falling outside, reminding him of the girl whose name he himself had chosen.
