Forbidden by Faith

by Negeen Papehn

  “I know. I love you too,” he said, no longer able to hide behind the façade of his disinterest.

  He leaned in and kissed me then‒the gentlest kiss, filled with the mourning we were doing for the loss of each other. The intensity increased and I matched him with a fierceness of my own. My body pushed up against his, my hands running up his shirt, pulling him closer. I wanted to melt into him, to escape this Earth and become part of him. We tore at each other’s clothes and, before we could blink, they were thrown in a pile on the floor. He kissed me fiercely, as if he was trying to survive. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He took me into the bedroom and laid me on the bed. His tenderness returned as he looked down on me from the edge, as if he realized this could be the last time we would ever be together again.

  He gently eased his body on top of mine and made love to me that night, the pain and sadness we both felt smothering every kiss, every touch, invading every moment. I feared I would break into a million pieces, melting away into the sheets, to be lost forever. Who knew what we would be in the morning, but in that moment all I knew was that I needed him.

  I didn’t linger in bed with him afterward. The longer I stayed, the more I would miss him later. I went to the living room and got dressed. He trailed behind me a few minutes later in his sweats. I turned to face him.

  “Goodbye, Ben.”

  “Bye, Sara.”

  I left his apartment and walked the block to my house in slow motion. My mind was a muddled mess of thoughts swirling in all directions and I could hardly breathe past the fear in my chest. Sandra came rushing out of her room when she heard me open the door. I just looked at her and started to cry. I slid to the floor of our living room, fierce sobs vibrating off the walls. I could no longer hold the pain confined within the small space of my body. It wanted to be freed, to rush into every corner around me, claiming my life as its own.

  Sandra sat on the floor with her arms around me and let me cry as she cried along with me. At some point in the night, when I no longer had tears to shed, or a voice to cry out with, she guided me to my bedroom. I was exhausted, too broken to do anything but sleep, gladly surrendering to its darkness when it came for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next morning brought with it the familiar dread upon waking up. That stomach-knotting panic that reminded me what had happened the night before wasn’t a dream. I was supposed to get up and get my things together so I could head home, but I could do nothing but lie there. I stared up at the light shining through my curtains, the butterfly swirls it threw all over my walls. I was reminded of the morning before when I lay in Ben’s bed. Had it really just been twenty-four hours ago when my life felt so perfect?

  I heard a soft knock on my door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  “Hey, how are you doing? Feeling any better?” Sandra was looking at me with a mix of worry and sadness. I could even see pity. I hated that part the most. I couldn’t stand the look everyone gave me every time my life fell apart. I knew they were just concerned, but it made me feel like some sort of failure.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  She could sense I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so she left, closing the door gently behind her. I rolled over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. Staring back at me were five missed text messages. One was from Nima, asking me what time I would be home. Then, there were four from Maziar.

  I stared, stunned. His name looked foreign on my screen and I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. With shaky hands I opened them up.

  12:45 Sara, I need to talk to you. Can you please call me? I hate how things happened tonight.

  * * *

  12:55 Sara, I’m coming over. I have to see you.

  * * *

  1:20 I’m outside. Please come out. PLEASE.

  * * *

  1:45 Sara, don’t hate me.

  I bolted up in bed like I’d been struck by lightning. Maziar had come over to my house? What?

  First off, how the hell did he know where I lived? I’d moved into my apartment long after our breakup. Neda. She must have given him my address. The way things had gone down, she wouldn’t have tried to stand up to him if he demanded it from her. He was probably as angry with her as I was. The idea of Maziar being a psycho stalker didn’t seem plausible.

  That left the question: what was Maziar thinking? Why was he suddenly so adamant to talk to me? An entire year had passed and there had been nothing but crickets. Why now? I didn’t understand where all this urgency was coming from.

  I began to feel as if I were stuck in a tornado, everything flashing by so fast that I couldn’t make anything out. I had four pleading text messages from my ex-boyfriend and none from my current boyfriend. Everything felt ridiculously backward.

  All of a sudden my phone began to ring, flashing Maziar’s picture on my screen. I held the phone for a half a second before throwing it across the bed like it had spontaneously burst into flames. I felt panic rise in my throat, as if I were going to be sick. I just stared at the phone, watching it ring in succession until the call went to voicemail. The shock of it all had yet to fade and I couldn’t make out a single thought spinning in my head. I was very confused.

  A few seconds later, I heard the familiar ping of a message. He’d sent me another text.

  8:30 Sara, I need to see you. Please. I will meet you anywhere…

  I jumped out of bed and quickly packed my overnight bag. I had no time to get ready, so I pulled a sweatshirt over my head and bunched my hair in a bun as I ran out the door. I needed to get out of here. I needed to think. I needed to go home. I really didn’t know what I needed. All I knew was that there was a chance that Maziar might come back and I wasn’t ready to see him.

  I came out of my room and startled Sandra. She dropped her bag with a little yelp.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, apologetically.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yes…no…I don’t know.”

  “Start spilling,” she demanded, pulling out a chair and gesturing toward the one across from her. “I know you think you don’t want to talk about it, but something is wrong. Keeping it to yourself isn’t helping.”

  I felt like I had no idea what was actually going on, so how was I supposed to put it into words? But I knew Sandra was right. I could feel myself ready to explode into a million pieces if I didn’t make sense of it soon.

  I sat down and began retelling her the events of the night before with Ben.

  “He didn’t walk you home when it was that late at night?” she asked, appalled.

  I started to laugh and she looked at me like I’d officially lost my mind.

  “I just told you that I think Ben was saying that he’s done with me, and even though he didn’t officially break up with me, that seems to be where he’s headed. He then followed it up with some great sex, which confused the hell out of me. And all you’re worried about is that he didn’t walk me home? That’s kind of funny.”

  We both started laughing. It felt good to find humor in the depressing circumstances of the situation.

  “Maziar has been texting me since last night,” I blurted out. Sandra froze mid-chuckle. “He actually ended up outside our apartment, begging me to come out.”

  “He didn’t!” she responded, as baffled as I felt.

  “Yup, he did. He called me again this morning. He said he wants to see me.”

  “You talked to him?” she half-asked, half-shrieked.

  “No. I let it go to voicemail. He texted me after I didn’t pick up.”

  “Well, it was obvious that he still has feelings for you,” she said thoughtfully. “Anyone watching could see it. And honestly, it was also obvious you had them back.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t do anything! I didn’t know they would be there or that Maziar would decide that last night would be the night he wanted to talk to me,” I countered in desperation. I hadn’t caused this; fate had.


  “All I’m saying is that I get why Ben’s mad. I’d be pissed too.”

  Yes, I couldn’t deny that something had happened between Maziar and me, but I didn’t go looking for it. I wasn’t seeking Maziar out or trying to have some heartfelt conversation with him. I understood why Ben was angry, but it wasn’t as if he’d had no idea what Maziar had meant to me or how hard it was for me to get over him. He’d also decided to walk away and give Maziar an open opportunity to approach me. What he should have done was take my hand and walk us both away, getting me out of the inevitable mess that was sure to follow.

  Sandra and I sat there for an hour, both our trips home on pause while we tried to hash out all the different scenarios regarding what Maziar wanted to talk about. Then, we discussed Ben and whether I should try to reach out to him or leave him alone, if no contact this morning was a really bad sign, and if I should be angry about how things went down last night at his apartment.

  “Do you really want to know what I think?” she asked.

  “Of course I do,” I replied. I was tired, thoroughly exhausted from the drama that had become my life, and desperately in need of some guidance.

  “I really think you should talk to Maziar. Ben told you to figure out what you wanted. You’ve been waiting for this opportunity since you guys broke up. And now it’s here. I’m not saying get back together with him, and I’m not even saying stay with Ben, but you deserve some closure and I think this may be your chance to get it. You don’t know what Maziar has to say. Maybe he just wants to say sorry. Maybe what he has to say will make it easier for you to finally walk away. I mean really walk away, Sara. You and Ben, or you and anyone for that matter, don’t stand a chance with your feelings for Maziar still bottled up inside you.”

  I knew Sandra was right. I dreaded seeing Maziar again, afraid I wouldn’t be able to be strong. What if he wanted to get back together? Nothing had changed since we’d broken up. His family hadn’t magically become supportive of inter-religious marriages, they hadn’t suddenly upped and moved away to another country where we wouldn’t have their constant interference, and he hadn’t decided to disown them and sever all ties. Nor had either of us converted. Maziar was still the Jew and Sara was still the Muslim. There was no new pathway forged that would allow us to survive this time. Which meant I would have to be strong enough to walk away from the idea of us once again. I didn’t know if I could do that.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Sandra said, hugging me. “Call me with any new updates on your soap opera,” she teased as she headed out the door.

  After she had left, I threw everything into my car and made the forty-five-minute drive home in silence, allowing myself time to separate my thoughts and make sense of what I was feeling. I desperately needed to talk to Dad. He’d have a rational approach on how to handle the Maziar situation.

  When I opened the door to my house, I was hit with the familiar smells of home. Mom was in the kitchen cooking away, the aroma of food filling my nostrils with nostalgia. I stood there in the doorway, listening to her absentmindedly singing, and I felt a deep ache in my chest. We hadn’t been the same since my trip to Minnesota, with a deep chasm created by my rebellion. Time had introduced a truce between us, but I could still feel her distance when she spoke to me. I missed her.

  I made my way into the kitchen, lightly tapping on the door frame to avoid startling her. She turned and looked at me.

  “Hi, Maman,” I said.

  “Hi,” she responded. “Did you just get here?”

  “Yup. Anyone else home?”

  She was staring at me, more intently than felt comfortable.

  “No, your brother went over to a friend’s and Dad went out to get some stuff from Home Depot.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, disappointed.

  “They should both be home soon, though.”

  “Okay,” I repeated, lingering in the doorway.

  Mom was impeccable at reading me. I was trying to avoid eye contact in hopes that she wouldn’t see all the emotions behind them. I also didn’t want to be alone. The room, though, was filled with the weight of our broken relationship and tears burned the backs of my eyes because of it. I stood staring at the floor, afraid to take the first step, but desperate not to leave. Then, I heard her pull out a chair at the table.

  “Sit,” she demanded.

  There was no disobeying her. I walked over and sat down. I had wanted to talk to my dad—he was easier, far less intimidating and judgmental. I silently sent a prayer that he would show up soon.

  I looked up apprehensively as Mom eyed me from across the table. She said nothing, just stood up and walked over to the cabinet, taking out two glass teacups. She went over to the kettle brewing on the stove and filled them. She grabbed a box of chocolates sitting on top of the microwave and came to sit down across from me. She handed me one of the cups and took one for herself, then opened the lid of the chocolates and placed them in the middle.

  “Chayee makes everything better,” she said. Her voice had softened, pulling at my heartstrings. “What’s going on, azizam? You look very worried.”

  She hadn’t called me that since Minnesota, and the tears began to involuntarily roll down my cheeks. I had the urge to place my head on her chest while she hugged me and played with my hair, like when I was younger.

  “This looks serious,” she said with a familiar tenderness I hadn’t seen from her in weeks. We’d been so cluttered with our struggle that I’d forgotten the connection I used to feel between us. I could feel it now, and I hurt with how much I’d missed it.

  “Okay, tell me what’s going on,” she urged. She saw me hesitate and reached out across the table and squeezed my hand. “You can tell me. I love you. That’s all that matters.”

  Before I knew it, the events of the past twenty-four hours came toppling out of me. I told her everything, leaving out only the part about Ben and I making love. She listened and held my hand as I tried to put my confusion into words, trying her best to remain unbiased as I spoke about Ben. In the end, she didn’t seem as shocked about Maziar as I’d expected.

  “First, stop crying,” she said, handing me a tissue. “I know you feel bad about the way everything has happened and I know you feel guilty about hurting Ben’s feelings. But this is life. Things get complicated and confusing. Feelings aren’t always clear. You fall in love and then out of love. And it just goes around and around until you finally settle down. Ben isn’t stupid. He knew you hadn’t fully gotten over Maziar, but he pursued you anyway. Is it sad that he now has his heart broken? Of course. But what’s happened has happened, and you can’t just sit around crying about it. That doesn’t help anyone.”

  Mom’s abruptness would usually have me on edge and I would’ve found it insulting, but not this time. She was telling me the truth, being straightforward with it. There was no sign of contempt for Ben or Maziar, or any judgments of me.

  I realized she was essentially telling me to stop whining and man up, which in truth was exactly what I needed to do. I started to laugh and she quickly joined me. I saw Mom relax, and I realized she, too, was feeling the apprehension of our relationship.

  “Has Maziar called or texted you since this morning?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. I had thrown my phone into my bag after putting it on silent, because I hadn’t wanted to hear it ring anymore.

  “Well, go get it,” she said, waving me out the door. I suddenly had a vision of two girlfriends discussing a boy over cups of tea.

  There were two more messages from Maziar and still none from Ben.

  9:45 Sara, I know you’re getting these texts. My phone shows that you’ve read them, which means you’re just avoiding me. I understand that, but I still need to talk to you, and I’m not giving up that easily.

  * * *

  11:00 Please call me back.

  “What do I do?” I asked her.

  She took another minute to think. This newfound calm in her was very different from h
er normal, quick responses. I found this new, improved version a little unnerving.

  “Well, what do you want to do? Do you think talking to Maziar will help, or just make things worse? He seems to be a bit determined. I have the feeling it’s only a matter of time before he shows up here.” She smiled: the idea of Maziar sitting outside the house, waiting, was somehow comical.

  “I honestly don’t know if it would make it better or worse,” I said.

  “In that case, take some time to think about it. A few days won’t make a big difference. If he really does want to talk to you this badly, he’ll be there a few days from now too. And if not, then his feelings aren’t true and you’re better off not bothering with him again anyway.”

  I smiled at her.

  “What?” she said.

  “When did you become such a relationship expert?” I teased.

  I sat with Mom in the kitchen for the next few hours as she bustled this way and that, cooking dinner. I helped her chop and stir, and when it was time to sit down with my family, I helped her set the table and serve the food. Dad and Nima had come home shortly after our conversation had ended.

  Where months ago I would have run off with one of them, today, I stayed rooted in my seat. The two of us talked about anything and everyone we could think of, smiling and giggling like old girlfriends. At some point, Dad stood in the doorway watching us. I could see that the peace between Mom and me was a huge relief for him. He didn’t interrupt, just winked and walked away, not wanting to affect the magic that was taking place in the kitchen.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It rained for the next few days, and I welcomed its gloominess. It mimicked the current mood I was in. Its wetness also provided the perfect cover to cancel all plans that Leyla had made for me.

  Maziar had been true to his word, persistently text-messaging me every day. At first, he pleaded, begging me to meet him. After a few days, though, he changed his tactics, sending me random messages about his day. He would tell me where he’d gone, what he’d seen that made him think of me. He would recall various moments we’d spent in this coffee shop or that restaurant. Soon the dread of his messages dwindled as he pulled me back into our memories. His strategy was clever.