The Woman Who Was Almost Me

Me and Laleh decided to tell Mom and Dad that it was a car accident. It was easier that way, a story we could control, one that wouldn't bring unnecessary questions. We hoped it would allow us to maintain some sense of normalcy while Dina worked through what had happened. Mom and Dad seemed to accept it, and we left it at that, though I could see the worry in their eyes.

A few days later, Kaveh came back for a short rest. When I saw him, I noticed something was different about him. He seemed quieter than usual, more withdrawn. He had always been the calm and collected type, but now there was a weight to him that hadn't been there before. We didn't talk much at first, but I could tell he was processing his own thoughts—thoughts about me, Dina, and everything else.

But I didn't push. I could tell he needed time, just like I did.

For days, Dina refused to meet with doctors. Every time we brought it up, she would just shake her head and say, "Aamz will not forgive me. I ruined his life."

I couldn't understand why she felt so guilty. One evening, as we were sitting together, I said, "Dina, you got raped. You are a victim, not the one who committed any crime. You need no forgiveness."

She looked at me with tears welling in her eyes, but her voice was still filled with hesitation. "But he warned me," she whispered.

I didn't know how to respond. It was as if she couldn't separate the love she had for Aamz from the guilt she was carrying. Her mind was trapped in that conflict, and no matter how much I tried to reassure her, she still believed that what had happened was something she should have prevented.

In her mind, Aamz's warning was something she had failed to heed.

Among such a harsh situation, the breakup finally happened between me and Kaveh. It was inevitable, but it still hit me like a heavy blow. Our connection had been faltering for some time, and with everything that had happened with Dina, I couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine. Kaveh had his own emotional turmoil, and I was struggling to even process my own feelings. The distance between us had grown, and despite our attempts to make it work, there was a quiet resignation between us.

One evening, Kaveh just said it, quietly, almost as if he had been holding it in for too long: "Maybe it's best if we take some time apart."

I couldn't argue with him. I had been so caught up in Dina's pain, in my own guilt, that I hadn't even realized how far we had drifted. I nodded, the weight of everything finally sinking in. It was over.

One night, in the midst of those dark days, I had just drifted into a restless sleep when I was abruptly jolted awake by my mom's piercing scream. Panic flooded my chest as I rushed out of my room, my heart pounding, and found her standing in front of the bathroom, completely frantic. She was trembling, her face pale with terror, and the air was thick with fear.

I stepped closer and froze. My breath caught in my throat. There, on the cold bathroom floor, lay Dina. Her body was motionless, her clothes soaked with blood, the sharp wound to her vein still fresh. The sight was surreal — a nightmare that I couldn't wake from. My mind couldn't process what I was seeing. My sister, the person who once had a vibrant spark in her eyes, now lifeless and cold on the floor.

She wasn't gone yet. I could see the faint rise and fall of her chest. But the blood that surrounded her, the way her body was limp and unresponsive, made my heart shatter into pieces.

I quickly snapped into action, pulling myself together in the face of horror. "Dina, stay with me!" I screamed, my voice cracking. We rushed her to the hospital, my hands shaking as I held her close, praying for her survival. The hours that followed were filled with dread, the feeling of helplessness almost suffocating me.

Somehow, miraculously, she survived that night. But in a way, her survival only deepened the sense of darkness that had already consumed us. It felt like a painful reminder that we were trapped in a nightmare we couldn't escape, with each new day pulling us further into a deep, endless abyss.

When Dina finally came around, her eyes fluttered open, but she didn't say anything for hours. It was as if she was lost in her own thoughts, her gaze distant, void of expression. The silence felt unbearable, like the weight of everything that had happened hung in the air between us.

And then, finally, she whispered something—barely audible, as if the words took every bit of strength she had left: "Tell him Dina died."

I froze. I couldn't believe what I had heard. "What?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She didn't respond, lapsing back into silence for what seemed like an eternity. The weight of her words hung heavily in the room, a chilling reminder of what she had gone through, and the pain she was still carrying inside.

That night, a decision had to be made. Darya and Mom were discussing who would stay with Dina at the hospital, who would keep her company while the rest of us tried to make sense of this shattered reality. But before anything could be finalized, Dina spoke again, her voice faint and shaky: "Dorsa."

"Dorsa?" Mom questioned, confused.

Dina simply nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want Dorsa to be here tonight."

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of sadness and overwhelming emotion. I wasn't sure if I was more heartbroken for what Dina had gone through, or if I felt an unexpected sense of warmth knowing that I was the one she wanted by her side in that moment. I wasn't just her sister—I was her best friend, the one she trusted most when the world seemed to be falling apart around her.

In that fragile moment, I knew this bond between us had become something unbreakable.

When everyone left the room, I stayed by Dina's side, gently caressing her face, trying to offer comfort despite the weight of the situation. It was in those quiet moments that she spoke again, her voice fragile and filled with pain: "Tell him Dina died."

I was taken aback. "Why?" I asked softly, unable to understand why she would say such a thing.

Her eyes, dull with sorrow, looked up at me as she spoke in a tone so calm, yet so broken: "I will never be his appropriate one. Even if I live, it's better to be dead for him."

Her words cut deep, slicing through whatever semblance of peace was left in the room. I didn't want to believe her. I tried to ignore it, thinking it was just the weight of everything she had been through talking.

But she kept saying it. Over and over, each time with the same conviction, as though her heart had already given up.

"Tell him Dina died."

The words echoed in my mind, and I couldn't help but feel a heaviness settle within me. Dina wasn't just struggling with the trauma of everything that had happened; she was fighting a battle with herself, and I could see it in her eyes—the part of her that felt she would never be enough for anyone, least of all the one person she loved.

One time, I hesitated before asking, "How do you expect him to believe this?"

Dina, staring blankly at the ceiling, repeated something she had always said about Aamz: "He never fact-checks."

Then, after a long pause, she turned her gaze toward me and said with quiet determination, "Use the Pretenders' group skills. Write it in the news groups. I just... I just want to die for him first."

Her words sent a chill through me. She wasn't just asking me to tell a lie—she was asking me to erase herself from his world entirely. And despite everything in me screaming that it was wrong, I could see it in her eyes. She truly believed this was the only way.

I am not proud of how foolish I was. But I did it.

It was something so disgusting to me that I wish I could erase every detail from my memory.

Yes, I told Aamz that Dina had died.

To this day, I don't fully understand why I gave in to her request. Maybe I was too broken to argue. Maybe I just wanted to give her whatever small comfort she thought this would bring. Or maybe, deep down, I believed that after everything, she had the right to decide how she would exist in his world—or not exist at all.

I could almost hear the sound of his bones cracking under the weight of grief when we told him that Dina had died. It was a pain too deep for words, and I felt it in my own chest as I watched him shatter.

But when we returned home, another nightmare awaited us.

The moment we stepped inside, our father stormed in, his face twisted in fury. Without a word, he grabbed Dina and fastened her leg to the bed with two handcuffs.

"You will not be free anymore," he said, his voice cold and final. "Traveling to the city I forbade, withdrawing from university, and now attempting suicide—enough. From now on, you are restricted."

Dina said nothing. She didn't cry, didn't fight. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, as if she had already accepted that she was no longer in control of her own life.

A few hours later, Mom arrived and saw Dina lying there, her ankle bruised from the cold metal of the handcuffs. Her face twisted with shock and anger as she turned to my father.

"Are you out of your mind?" she shouted. "She's our daughter, not a prisoner!"

Without waiting for his response, she grabbed the key from the drawer and knelt beside Dina, unlocking the cuffs with trembling hands. As soon as they fell away, she gently rubbed Dina's ankle, her anger shifting into something softer—something closer to sorrow.

My father said nothing. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching in silence. Maybe he thought he was protecting her in his own twisted way. Maybe he had no idea what else to do.

Dina didn't move. She didn't react. She just lay there, as if freedom or captivity made no difference to her anymore.

A while later, Mom came back into the room. She sat beside Dina on the bed, wrapping her arms around her in a firm but gentle hug.

"In the morning, we're going to see a gynecologist," she said softly.

Before either of us could respond, she placed a finger on her lips. "Shhh... I don't want you to explain anything right now. I don't need details. I just want to make sure you're healthy. That's all. So don't worry about anything else."

Dina didn't say a word. She just rested her head against Mom's shoulder, staring at the wall with tired, empty eyes.

Laleh was chastising me for giving in to Dina's request—telling Aamz she had died.

"Do you even realize what you've done?" she said, pacing angrily. "You broke him, Dorsa. You should have found another way!"

I had no defense. I knew she was right, but I had been too lost in the chaos to think clearly.

Before I could respond, the door opened. Dina and Mom had returned from the doctor's appointment.

Dina looked exhausted. Mom had a neutral expression, but I could sense the weight behind it—something unspoken, something heavy.

Laleh and I exchanged glances, knowing we wouldn't continue this conversation now. Everything else had to wait.

Laleh whispered to me, "Arrange a meeting with him right now. We need to tell him the truth."

Then, without waiting for my response, she turned to Dina.

I did as she asked, messaging Aamz to meet as soon as possible. Then I joined them.

Laleh was trying to reason with Dina, her voice urgent. "He will definitely support you if he knows the truth."

Dina shook her head, her eyes dark and hollow. "No. He told me before—if anything like this ever happened to me, he wouldn't be supportive."

Laleh exhaled sharply, frustration evident. "Fine. Then let's start small. Let's just tell him you're alive. He's destroying himself, Dina. We can figure out what else to say later."

Dina hesitated, gripping the edge of her sleeve, but she didn't refuse outright. It was the first crack in her resistance.

Laleh said firmly, "We will do it today."

Then she turned to me. "Dorsa?"

I took a deep breath and nodded. "In two hours, at the park."

Dina sat silently, staring at the floor. She didn't protest, but she didn't agree either. It was enough for now.

Laleh and I exchanged a glance. We both knew this wasn't going to be easy.

The park was cold, and the ground was damp from the evening mist. Almost no one was there except for a lone figure dressed in black, sitting on a bench with his eyes closed. Aamz.

He looked as if he had aged years in just a few days.

We stood at a distance and sent Dina forward alone. She walked toward him hesitantly. When she reached him, he slowly stood up. For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

A sharp crack echoed through the empty park.

Aamz had slapped her. Hard.

Dina staggered, first falling to her knees, then collapsing completely onto the wet ground. She didn't cry. She didn't even react. She just lay there, staring up at him with a strange, quiet anger.

Laleh and I ran toward her.

Laleh knelt beside her, panic in her voice. "Breathe, Dina! Breathe!"

But Dina wasn't breathing. Her chest was still.

"She can't breathe," Laleh gasped, her hands shaking as she grabbed Dina's shoulders.

For a terrifying moment, I thought we had lost her. Then, with a sudden, painful gasp, Dina sucked in air. A sob tore from her throat, and then the tears came, flowing uncontrollably.

Aamz took a step back, his hands clenched into fists. His face was unreadable.

And Dina, still lying on the ground, whispered hoarsely, "I told you… I wanted to die."

I wrapped my arm around Dina, helping her to her feet. She was trembling, her legs weak beneath her. I could feel her weight pressing against me as we turned away from Aamz.

Laleh didn't follow immediately. Instead, she walked slowly toward him, her expression dark with fury. She stopped just a step away and, without a word, spat on the ground in front of his feet.

Aamz didn't react. He simply stood there, his fists still clenched, his gaze locked on the ground. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away into the night.

None of us looked back.

We walked in silence, Dina leaning heavily on me, her breaths still uneven. Laleh stayed close, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. The cold air wrapped around us, but none of us spoke.

When we reached home, Dina went straight to her room without a word. I heard the door click shut behind her. Laleh and I exchanged a glance, but there was nothing left to say.

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Everything had shattered—Dina, Aamz, whatever fragile hope had remained.

And there was no going back.