The Woman Who Was Almost Me

It was some day, more than fifteen years ago, at our home when we were still a family. Dina was twisting a strand of her hair, her eyes fixed on nothing, lost in that place where her imaginary daughter, Mahkia, lived.

"You're not even listening, are you?" I said, frustration creeping into my voice.

"Hmm?" Her response was distant, barely there.

"You're thinking about Mahkia again, aren't you?"

She blinked but stayed quiet, fingers still tangled in her hair.

"She's not real, Dina," I muttered, though the weight of saying it out loud felt pointless.

The silence pressed in until I broke it with a sigh. "Forget it. I was just talking about this boy I met at the Students' Computer Association."

No reaction. "They call him Aamz," I added, hoping for a flicker of interest.

Her head turned sharply. "Aamz?" she repeated. "And what you mean about him? You have no chance with him."

Her words stung more than they should have, but I forced a thin smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said dryly.

She shrugged, a faint smirk pulling at her lips. It was the first time in a while I'd pulled her back from Mahkia's world — even if just for a brief, sharp moment.

Then I went to my mother. The kitchen smelled faintly of brewed tea and warm bread. She was wiping down the counter, moving with that steady rhythm nurses seem to carry even outside hospitals.

"How's your 24th year as a nurse, Mom?" I asked, trying to keep things light. "Haha, when are you going to retire?"

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. "Nurses don't really retire. We just keep going until someone tells us to stop."

I leaned against the table, hesitating. "Dina's getting more silent every day," I said. "She's 22 now, and it's like she has no plan for life."

Mom's hands slowed.

"I don't want to gossip, but I know she's failing a lot of her courses at university. And it's not because she isn't smart—she's brilliant. She could ace everything if she wanted to. But she's just... not successful."

Mom sighed, folding the dish towel in her hands. "I know," she said quietly. "But I have no solution. Day after day, she creates more distance between us." Her voice softened. "Maybe because I'm just her stepmother. But I never loved you as my daughter even a bit more than her as my stepdaughter."

I nodded, knowing that already, but her words still felt heavy.

"You and Dina—and even Darya—were always my focus," she continued. "But I don't know why, as the years passed, Dina and Darya accepted me less as their mother."

There was a silence before I spoke again. "And Dad—he's talking about another migration. Why, Mom?" My voice broke a little. "This city was our longest one, only nine years, and we all like it. But now another city? Why?"

Mom looked at me, but I didn't wait for her answer. "We belong to nowhere, I think. Uh, God..." I trailed off, the ache of rootlessness settling deep in my chest.

Dina joined me in the kitchen after making sure Mom had left us. Her expression was sharp, eyes filled with questions.

"You mean you fell in love with the boy under radical?" she asked, her tone mocking.

I blinked, completely thrown by the strange phrase. "The boy under radical?"

She shrugged. "You know, someone complicated—impossible to solve. But don't forget, you already have a boyfriend. Don't be a cheater."

"I don't have a boyfriend now," I said firmly.

That only seemed to fuel her anger. Her face hardened, and her voice turned rough.

"You dirty girl," she spat. "You tattooed the first letter of your boyfriend's name on your shoulder—and just broke up so easily? Wasn't that supposed to be the signature of your love? Or maybe the signature is somewhere between your legs?"

Her words stung like a slap.

"You better stop being around the new boy," she added coldly.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I stared at her, stunned by the cruelty in her voice, wondering what had brought this bitterness between us.

I stood there, the sting of her words still raw. But as the initial shock faded, confusion settled in. Dina had likely never even seen him. So why this sudden bitterness?

Then a strange thought crept into my mind — maybe it wasn't him she knew but the idea of him. Maybe my words had planted the seed, and in that vivid, imaginative world she always escaped to, she had created her own version of him.

Dina was like that. Always imagining things, always turning fragments into whole worlds. Perhaps she had imagined him while I talked about him, shaping a connection out of nothing but descriptions, and then found herself feeling something real — love, or at least a version of it.

But still... doubt lingered. I wasn't entirely convinced. There was always a chance she had known him before, even if I hadn't realized it.

I tried to forget everything — the sting of her abusive words, the accusations that lingered in my mind. I reminded myself that she was my sister, my older sister, and I wanted to stay kind despite it all.

But Dina came back, her voice sharp once more. "Stay distant from this boy," she insisted. "You may harm him without even knowing yourself."

"Why?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Because he has too many complex things in his mind," she said firmly. "If you get close, you'll bother him."

Her words only fueled my doubts. The guess became stronger in my mind — she had never actually met him. He wasn't like that at all; he was casual, relaxed, straightforward. Nothing about him matched the picture she painted.

I told myself with growing certainty: She definitely did not know him before. This was all in her head, a story she'd crafted from my words. And somehow, she'd convinced herself it was real.

The next day, Dina came to me again—but this time, with her lovely kindness. When she was calm, she was so lovable, almost like a different person. She hugged me tightly, her warmth unexpected, and said softly, "I treated you the wrong way. I'm sorry."

I was shocked. Just yesterday, she had torn into me with cruel words, and now she was apologizing?

Still unsettled, I hesitated before asking, "You… you really knew him before I even mentioned him?"

"Yes," she said.

But I never believed it.

"Then why were you so shocked?" I pressed. "Why did you try so hard to push me away from him? You just know him, right? That's all?"

Dina's expression changed slightly, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "What would your reaction be if it was more than just knowing him?" she asked.

My stomach twisted. "Whaaa—what? More than knowing? That's impossible. I was the first one to talk about him."

She shook her head. "I've known him for a longer while. I've even had some communication with him. We exchanged scientific materials… chatted online…"

Her words made my chest tighten. "Even if you're not lying," I snapped, "that gives you no right to behave so rudely to me."

Dina didn't argue.

"Fine," I challenged. "Tell me some facts about him if you're telling the truth."

She mentioned something. And it was right.

But I still didn't believe her. I thought maybe it was just coincidence, or a lucky guess. After all, me and Dina had always liked the same type of boys—intelligent, articulate, the ones who spoke in elegant, thoughtful words. She could have easily filled in the blanks.

Yet, doubt was creeping in, no matter how hard I tried to push it away.

I said, "Okay, whaa—what? More than knowing? Tell me, what's in your mind about him?"

Dina softened even more, her voice gentle, almost affectionate. She called me her dear little sister.

"You are not his type, my dear Dorsa," she said. "You may not be able to handle him."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated. "It's hard to explain," she admitted. "There's something about him… something even I don't fully understand. Maybe something he himself doesn't understand. Something he might be suffering from."

Surprisingly, that was the moment I felt a bit of him—like I could suddenly sense a part of what she was trying to say. But still, it could have been just a guess. People like him often carried unsolved clues in their minds, things hidden even from themselves.

Then she said, "We are sisters. We love each other. Nothing can stop me from taking care of you—not anyone, not anything. Just stop attending his class for now."

I was surprised. This wasn't how she usually spoke to me. Not with this much warmth, not with this much concern. It caught me off guard.

But deep in my heart, I felt something else—something good. A kind of warmth I hadn't expected. It felt so good to have a sister like this, someone who cared, even if her reasons were unclear.

So I accepted.

Soon, the bad mood of Dad wiped away the warmth I had felt from Dina. He came home in his coldest state, barely acknowledging us. He went straight to calling people, one after another, his voice low and tense, talking only about work.

So, like always, we decided to retreat to our rooms instead of pretending we were still a family.

Just as I was about to leave, Dina spoke. "Dorsa, come to my room to talk."

I paused. That was the first time in years—after so many silent distances—that she had invited me into her space.

Curious, almost eager, I followed her inside.

And then, something strange happened. She started speaking in a way she never had before—so intimately, so openly. She began telling memories, small ones, old ones, moments I had forgotten or never noticed she had kept.

It was as if, after all these years, she had finally decided to let me in.

Days passed, and Dina's kindness didn't fade. It wasn't temporary—it stayed, steady and real. We had truly grown close, closer than we had been in years.

I found myself thinking less and less about the boy under radical. My promise to stay away from his class didn't feel like a loss anymore. Instead, I had gained something far more precious—a sister who was kind, warm, and present in my life like never before.

One day, after handing me a lipstick as a gift, she brought up something completely unexpected.

"My mother died when I was born," she said softly. "I really love our mom—your real mom, my stepmom. But… thinking about the fact that I was the cause of her death… it makes me feel something unbearable."

Then, without warning, tears welled in her eyes and began falling, one after another.

I had never seen Dina cry like that before.

I hugged her tightly, feeling the weight of her sorrow. I didn't know how to take that pain away, but I knew I had to change the mood.

So I pulled back slightly and smirked. "Let me confess something… Once, I stole Dad's really good-smelling perfume and gifted it to my ex-boyfriend."

Dina blinked, then let out a small, surprised laugh.

She grinned. "Well, let me confess something too—I always steal Dad's beer and alcohol. Late at night, I drink alone. I don't think you've started alcohol yet, have you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Wrong, I tried alcohol right after turning 18."

She looked at me, a bit surprised, then laughed again. The tension in the room softened, and for a moment, everything felt lighter.

Dina grinned. "So, we can spend this night together—with the drinks I have under my bed. Haha. Go bring your blanket and your cup. Haha."

I laughed, shaking my head at her, but I didn't hesitate. I went to my room, grabbed my blanket, and returned.

We sat together, the drinks warming our heads, and kept talking—about everything and nothing. For the first time in years, there were no walls between us. Just two sisters, sharing a night that felt like it belonged only to us.

I took a sip and laughed. "Whaaa—what's the root of the name the boy under radical, really? Oh… I think I should stop drinking. Sorry!"

Dina smirked and reached for something in her drawer. "Dear Dorsa, let me show you a piece of paper—about the guys I think about."

I leaned in as she unfolded a slightly crumpled page. It had eight or nine names, each with small notes beside them. Most were crossed out. Only three remained.

"Let me see," I said, squinting. "The Factor Man, the Mountain Boy, and the Boy Under Radical."

I laughed, pointing at the first name. "Let me guess—the Factor Man is that guy who helps Dad with financial stuff? The one who comes to our house once a month?"

Dina nodded. "Yes, but he's too serious. Too much like Dad—always buried in work."

I smirked. "And the Mountain Boy?"

"You know Uncle Ahmad's son?" she said, leaning back. "He goes to the mountains every weekend. Has some spiritual routines that make him interesting. But…" She hesitated. "I feel a little uncomfortable about him."

Then she tapped the last name—the one that mattered most. "But the Boy Under Radical… he's the only one I've talked to for hours on Gtalk. And he never gets boring."

I grinned. "Yeah, I know him. Always making jokes, always slipping knowledge into the conversation without you even noticing."

Dina nodded, her expression softening. For a moment, we just sat there, the drinks warming us, the names on the paper lingering in the air between us.

I smirked and said, "Let's cross out one more tonight."

Dina glanced at me, then at the paper, and shook her head. "No… I want to cross out two."

Without hesitation, she took the pen and drew lines through Factor Man and Mountain Boy.

Now, only one name remained. The Boy Under Radical.

A strange feeling washed over me—something unknown, something unsettled. But I told myself to let it go. Because Dina had childhood troubles. Because we had just found this new closeness. Because, for the first time in years, she was opening up to me.

So I just smiled and said, "So… what's the plan?"

She sighed. "I don't know. But… do you think he can bring me out of the darkness?"

I frowned. "What darkness?"

She looked at me, eyes distant yet heavy. "Oh, Dorsa… our life, our home—it's a cold, bitter thing. I need something warm. Something sweet. Don't I?"

She wasn't wrong.

For me, it was just a bit of a condition—something I had learned to live with, something I could still push through.

But for her… it was different.

I looked at her, trying to understand. "What about Darya? You think her life got sweet after marriage?"

Dina's expression faltered for a moment. She seemed to weigh my words carefully, then shook her head slowly.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "But maybe she found a kind of peace I can't. Maybe she found warmth somewhere… with him."

Her voice trailed off, and I could feel the weight of what she wasn't saying. The longing, the questions, the quiet hope she had for something—anything—that might pull her out of the cold.

I didn't know how to respond.

The night passed quietly, and soon both of us fell asleep, the warmth from our conversation still lingering in the air.

The next morning, Dina woke me up with an unexpected invitation. "Come on, join me and Laleh. She's my very funny and close friend. It'll be fun."

It was the first time we were getting together, the three of us.

When we arrived at Laleh's home, she greeted us with her usual energy, grinning. "So, have you decided between the three boys on the list? Haha. Which one?"

I blinked, surprised by her forwardness. "How do you know, Laleh?"

She shrugged, unfazed. "Dina sent me a message, and we're here to talk about this decision."

A little stunned, I glanced at Dina. She smiled at me, as if the whole thing was suddenly lighter, like a joke we were all in on.

Laleh leaned in with a mischievous grin, her eyes sparkling. "So, what do you think, Dorsa? He and Dina—good couple?"

I blinked, caught off guard by her question. Dina's cheeks flushed, and I could sense she was a bit uncomfortable, though she tried to hide it with a laugh.

I looked between the two of them, unsure how to respond. I could feel the weight of the moment, the implications of Laleh's question lingering in the air.

"Well, I—" I started, but my words trailed off, not knowing exactly how to approach the topic.

I took a breath, then said, "Great couple."

Dina raised an eyebrow, and Laleh burst out laughing, clearly enjoying the playful tension. It was a simple answer, but it carried weight—perhaps more than any of us realized.

Dina seemed to relax a little, though she kept her gaze on me, as if trying to gauge my reaction. Laleh, meanwhile, seemed pleased with my answer and immediately dove into another question.

"Alright, then! So, tell me more about the boy under radical," she teased, leaning in. "What's he like?"

We talked for a while, but the conversation seemed to lose its spark. Laleh's teasing questions faded into light chatter, and the air between us grew a little heavier. There was nothing more to say, at least not in that moment.

The dynamic had shifted, and what had started as playful banter now felt oddly still. Dina seemed quieter, lost in her own thoughts, and I could sense that something deeper was lingering under the surface.

I glanced at Dina, then at Laleh, both of them looking at me in a way that made me feel like there was something unspoken between us—something we were all trying to avoid.

Months passed, and life seemed to find a rhythm. Dina and I grew even closer, our bond more intimate. Sometimes, we'd meet with Laleh, and occasionally, the topic of the boy under radical would come up, but those moments were few and far between, as if we were all holding our breath, waiting for something.

Dina's academic record started to improve, though not to the point where she was fully satisfied with herself. She decided to dedicate daily time in the library, determined to catch up and prove something to herself.

But one day, she came back from the library looking completely upset. Her face was flushed, and her usual calm demeanor was nowhere to be found.

I watched her for a moment before finally asking, "What's wrong, Dina?"

She sat down, running a hand through her hair, her frustration clear. "I'm confused," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "I showed him some signals, but there's no response. I don't know if he wants me or not. He's not as close as I want, but he's not as distant as I could give up either."

I could feel the tension in her words, the uncertainty she was grappling with. It was like she was stuck in this limbo, unsure of where to go next.

I paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Maybe he's just not sure either," I offered gently. "Sometimes people are caught in their own worlds, not seeing the signals we think we're sending."

Dina let out a sigh, clearly not comforted by my response, but I could tell she appreciated the attempt to make sense of the situation. "I don't know anymore," she muttered, her voice softer now, almost as if she was talking to herself.

A couple of hours later, Dina suddenly ran into my room, her excitement practically bubbling over. "Come! Come here, Dorsa!"

I was taken aback by her energy. She looked like she had just uncovered something big.

"He wrote a letter… in the scientific papers he gave to me!" she blurted out, her eyes wide.

I froze. "But… but I never saw the papers."

Her enthusiasm faltered for a second, then she shook her head, almost as if she couldn't contain her thoughts. "I don't know what to make of it, Dorsa. It was just… there, in the middle of everything. It's like he was trying to say something without saying it directly."

I could feel her words lingering in the air, heavy with a thousand unspoken questions. "What do you think it means?" I asked, almost holding my breath.

Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her. "He definitely asked me for a relationship," she said. "But there's a problem—he gave me the papers three weeks ago, and I just saw the letter. He's disappeared for a few days now. I think he considered my late response as a 'No.' What do I do now?"

I could see the panic in her eyes, a mix of regret and confusion. She had always been the one to second-guess herself, but now it felt like there was something real at stake.

I paused, trying to think of something comforting, something that could help her make sense of it. "Maybe he hasn't made up his mind either," I said, trying to offer a bit of reassurance. "Three weeks is a long time, but maybe he's waiting for you to reach out, to show him that you care."

Dina shook her head, looking lost. "I don't even know if he still wants to talk. What if it's too late?"

I could sense her fear, and for a moment, I didn't know how to answer.

The next day, she was in an even worse mood. She kept repeating to herself, almost like a chant, "Why didn't I notice his letter? Why? He's not online, he's not available… I can't even talk to him."

Days passed, and she wasn't getting any better. It was more than just sadness—it was weighing on her, draining her. She barely ate, barely slept. She looked pale, distant, as if something inside her was fading.

I did my best to keep her calm, to be there for her. One evening, as she lay curled up in bed, I hugged her tightly. "Don't worry," I whispered. "He won't give up so soon."

She didn't respond right away, just kept staring at the ceiling. Then, after a pause, she mumbled, "It's been six days… and I still haven't gotten my period."

I blinked, trying to lighten the mood. "Wait… aren't you pregnant?" I teased.

She let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Yes, I am," she said, her voice hollow. "He made me pregnant… with his absence."

And then, suddenly, she started crying.

Not the quiet kind of tears, but the kind that come from somewhere deep, from a place even she might not have realized was hurting this much. Her body shook as she covered her face with her hands, trying to hold it all in, but failing.

I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her, not knowing what to say. There were no words that could fix this, no quick answers that could bring him back or undo the silence between them.

So, I just held her. And for a long time, we stayed like that.

Everything felt unbelievable. The whole situation—Dina's pain, her tears, the way she seemed to be unraveling over him.

Somehow, I had forgotten the silent competition between us, the unspoken tension, even the harsh words she once threw at me. None of it mattered now. All I wanted was to do my best for Dina, to be there for her, to pull her back from whatever storm she was caught in.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, an exotic mood for me. Not jealousy, not rivalry—just pure, aching concern for my sister.

I kept thinking of a solution. It didn't have to be complicated—just something to make them communicate, to break this silence between them. But he was unreachable.

I called a few of his classmates, hoping for some clue, but they all said the same thing—he hadn't been attending classes.

I dug deeper and found out something even more concerning. He had missed his midterm exams.

That was the moment I knew something was really wrong.

Determined, I finally got hold of his phone number. But calling him myself? That felt impossible. What would I even say? How would I explain all of this? So instead, I asked my friend to call him, to keep it simple—just ask him to be in the library at a certain time.

Then, I went to Laleh. I asked her to take Dina to the library at the same time. If they saw each other, maybe something would finally happen.

But what if they didn't speak? What if the silence remained?

I couldn't take that risk. So, before Dina left, I looked her in the eyes and said, "Please, if you see him again, don't hesitate. Just go and do it."

Dina came back home with unmeasurable excitement. Her face was glowing, her eyes wide with joy, and for the first time in weeks, she looked alive.

The moment she stepped through the door, she practically ran to me, grabbing my hands. "It worked!" she gasped, breathless. "We talked—really talked!"

Relief flooded through me. My plan had worked.

That night, our home felt lighter, warmer. Dina was happy—truly happy—and that made it the happiest day for both of us.

That night, Dina couldn't stop talking. She replayed every word, every glance, every small moment from their conversation at the library. I just listened, watching her, feeling something I hadn't felt in a long time—peace.

For weeks, I had seen her sink deeper into something dark, something heavy. And now, she was lighter. The weight had lifted, and so had the distance between us.

As I lay in bed later that night, I thought about everything—the boy under radical, our silent rivalry that had quietly faded, the bond we had rebuilt. Maybe this wasn't just about him. Maybe this was about us.

Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for sure: Dina was happy. And that was enough.