InsaneJournal

In late January, Samira’s father had a heart attack.

When the call came, Samira found herself surprised by how shocked and upset she was to hear that he was in hospital. She had come to assume that she didn’t really care about her father, but the realisation that he had almost died was like being slapped across the face: surprising and sharp.

So Samira got herself a flight home and when her father was let out of hospital, she found herself staying to make sure he was doing everything the doctors told him to. Did Samira actually… love her father? She’d been so apathetic, so quick to distance herself from him. But now she wondered how much of that was just because he’d distanced himself first, not knowing how to parent her after her mother had died.

She resented him for all of that, but it turned out that maybe she still cared anyway.

God, how Samira hated the idea that she might care.

Samira spent three months back in Iran, running the house (and taking a sneaking look at the business) before he seemed well enough to get back on with his life. As soon as that happened, Samira didn’t really want to be around anymore. Maybe she didn’t love him. Maybe she was just endeared to him because of the suffering.

Back in New York she took a taxi home and checked to see if John had replied to her text about how she was coming back, and that she’d be interested in meeting up with him.

Two weeks before she’d left New York, Samira had found herself strangely opening up to John and showing him her real face. She still didn’t know why, but she had. And then they’d gone to dinner together, twice, and it had been pleasant not to hide what she was or the things that interested her. She didn’t have to pretend to be dull, to be simple, to be easy. She had her suspicions that there was more to John than he was letting on as well, and Samira couldn’t help but be intrigued by that.

Back at the apartment building, Samira left her bags to the doorman and headed for the elevator. That was where she ran into John in the flesh, he coming from the direction of the restaurant.

“Fortuitous timing,” she stated, letting her gaze travel up his fine suit. Her own outfit was a neat white skirt and blouse, her headscarf white as well. There was a power move to traveling long distance fully in white.