When I found out the despicable background to him, I hated myself. I bowed out. Worst of all, finding out that he knew about the fight over him and that he was playing everyone left me cold. I was aware that I’d never feel the same for anyone else in this world. But then …? I didn’t even know who or what I was… Let alone knowing how I felt about Khosrow…

That day, next to the faculty of law, political sciences, and foreign languages, I was confident that I would never call Khosrow again. I cursed myself and then returned home. I didn’t see him until after the the next two months, or around March. I would think of him from time to time, but more with a sense of resignation and defeat than love. I didn’t say a word about Khosrow to Haniyeh. Perhaps I was afraid of her scorn for my ill-thought behavior and her listing of all possible consequences of my behavior.

For a while, the students got a license for a take-out cafe in front of the faculty next to the empty space near the parking lot. They had put a brown Conex box next to the wall and it was run by three to four people. They had made a 10*6 concrete graveled rectangular space at the the parking exit, and put Russian wood benches for people to rest in the delightful March weather and enjoy a sip of coffee, tea, or any other brew. I could never muster up the confidence. I was afraid that the university security officer would give us a hard time for our chatter and laughter, so I would always watch them in envy and pass by. That day, I peered at the happy boys and girls sitting or standing around in circles like cotton balls on mattresses and talking and then I passed by them.

As I tried to enter the parking lot, someone called:

– Qeysarnejad?

I wasn’t used to anybody calling me anything other than professor or doctor, or at least Ms. Qeysarnejad, especially since the voice was masculine. In disbelief, I turned around:

– Yes?

I saw Khosrow approaching me with two brown paper cups. He was fatter than before, and he had puffy eyes, which he later attributed to drinking. He gave me the coffee cup as if we had known each other for a very long time.

– I saw you coming from a distance looking all sullen and serious, and I ordered this poison to fit your mood…

I didn’t know what to say. “Seek and you shall find… So presumptuous.” I took the cup. He seemed to have read my eyes and seen that I wasn’t terribly excited:

– Oh… Sorry… I assume you don’t drink coffee at night because it might interfere with your sleep…

In an attempt to spite him, I took the lid off and chugged down a few gulps.

– No, actually… It really hits the spot after class…

It didn’t. That night, I stared at the ceiling until morning like an owl, thinking about him. Just as convivial as that day, he said:

– What’s up?

– Not much…

And he headed to his car. He seemed sure that I would follow him like an orphaned donkey and so did I. Although the parking space for professors was free of charge, it seemed that Khosrow’s laziness in parking his car right next to the entrance to the faculty of architecture had left a subconscious mark on me. To avoid taking a few more steps or having to enter the parking lot from the alley behind, I would park in the students’ lot. I passed by my car and said nothing. And he didn’t even ask if I had my own car.

– Until when are you going to hold the classes?

– What do you mean? The department’s calendar says March 19…

He laughed. Oh, how foolishly amusing I was to him.

– The department’s calendar can say whatever it wants… Here, the professors and students set the rules… The students and I’ve decided to bolt from the 10th. And the 11th is a Friday, and that’s it…

– Won’t the department be a trouble?

– No… It’s the same deal every year… It’s nothing new… You won’t find a soul on the campus from Saturday… But you can come if you want…

We strolled to his car. He sat in and waited for me to do the same. After the obligatory cusses and fulmination, I got in.

“I’ll tell him to turn around and drop me off next to the students’ parking lot, and I’ll take my own car… I’ll say he didn’t give me enough time to say I had a car and also shame him for dragging people after himself so nonchalantly.”

He passed by the students’ parking lot and went to Ostad Yusefi… Then, he turned to Emamiyeh and just before Imam Ali square, he asked:

– Are you going home?

I said none of what I had planned. Instead, I said:

– Yes.

– If you’re not busy, we can have dinner together.

– Sure.

“Why did I so sheepishly say ‘Sure’? Wasn’t I supposed to hate him? Didn’t I want to humiliate him? My car! The parking lot closes at eight!”

– I’ve been preparing Kabab Barg for a few days now and it just melts in your mouth… Do you know how to cook?

– A little bit…

– Do you live with your family?

– Who else am I supposed to live with?

He laughed again.

– Well, nowadays most girls live alone…

– Ri…

“Aren’t you curious… The lowlife just called me an owl!” Although it was already late, I swallowed my “Right.” Perhaps to conceal it, I continued:

– Not at all… If I’m two minutes late, Mama Mahin waits at the end of the alley and prays…

– That’s what makes mothers so special, no?

– Um-hum… And you?

– And I’m special too because when someone’s late I wait at the end of the alley and pray? Or that I live with my family?

I was annoyed. For the first time, I showed him my Dobermann face. It still hadn’t dawned on me that he was the rich git at the university. Perhaps he was drawn to me because I didn’t know he was such a lady killer, or that after I found out, I fell back as much as possible to let him take the initiative.

– Why are you so confident?

– Because there is two of us…

I didn’t get what he meant.

– Pardon me?

– Why do you talk to me like your professor? Why do you yap “you… you…” so much?

– No idea…

He laughed again, but didn’t answer.

– How’s that project “a paper a week, a book a month” going on?

– We’ve read seven papers so far… We have the second book for March 6.

– Where do you hold the session?

– In the library…

– How is the reception?

– One or two read the paper. Some just have it printed and skim through it during the session, understand the topic from what talk about, and participate in the discussion. And some come for buffoonery…

He laughed and turned into Hashemiyeh 10. He went on the bridge to a villa, and pressed the parking door roll-up button.

– And the last group are perhaps the majority …

– Nearly… What is this place?

– My home …

He put his foot down on the pedal and descended the ramp into the parking. I was terrified.

– But we were supposed to have dinner…

“My car! I need to call my mom.”

– Well, we’ll be having dinner here… Like I said, I’ve marinated Kabab Barg… Don’t you like it? There is a good pizza place nearby…

– Oh…

He laughed. This time, so did I, but enraged. I was angry at myself, and said:

– You’re probably thinking I’ve been paying attention…

He turned the engine off and stepped off. There was another car in the parking. Two steps away, the elevator’s light was blinking and the door was open. He waited for me next to the elevator. With a hand gesture, he said, “You first.”

“Why do I become an imbecile when I’m around these people? Why did I follow him? What if a rumor spread at the university? Haniyeh told me to do whatever I wanted, only out of the university, not with students, and not with professors.” He read the anxiety on my expression., and asked:

– Can you make Polo?

– I can make Kateh. Why do you ask?

– Well, I’ll make the Kabab, and you’ll make a saffron Kateh. Do you think you can handle it?

– At this time of night?

“He’s invited a guest to send off into the kitchen. This is so weird that I don’t even know how to act. The mixed signals are really confusing.” He laughed again.

– You’re wondering what kind of hospitality is this, right?

– In a manner of speaking…

– I love to cook… I bet you can’t make Polo as good as I can. Every girl that comes into my house makes Polo first. The first labor…

– The first what?

He giggled again. I didn’t know what he meant. Instead of answering me, his face dripped with chicanery as he said:

– Oh… It’s just the beginning. Then, you’ll be walking on cotton… I always have some basil in my fridge that has to be topped and tailed…

– What language are you speaking?

– Have you been living in Mashhad?

– Yes… But we used to live in Nishapur before that…

He chuckled yet again. I didn’t know what he meant, but it seemed that most girls, if not all, did.

The elevator stopped on the second floor. The door opened, revealing a slender man around the same age as Khosrow, standing by the elevator.

– Hi, Mr. Reza. Go start the barbecue, we’ll be having Kabab for supper tonight!

He opened the door to a large locker next to the elevator filter and said:

– For your purse and coat…

Then, he and Mr. Reza went to the living room. I was standing there. I was preoccupied with whether my clothes were okay and I was sniffing myself to see if I smelled bad from being at the university all day. As I unbuttoned my manteau and tidied my short unkempt hair under my scarf, I called my mother to say I would be late.

– We are having dinner with the professors.

My mother, happy with her daughter’s success, said she would stay awake until I returned. I had a usual short t-shirt on. I would always wear a black t-shirt or tank top under my manteau to avoid prying eyes in case a button came loose. My ridiculous university pants were baggy and ugly. Nevertheless, the combination with the short baggy t-shirt that would let out half of my shoulders was tolerable when I rolled up the legs. I reached for the perfume inside my purse, and squirted some on my neck and shoulders. “Don’t overdo it.”

I stood in the middle of the living room, confounded, and Mr. Reza sent me to the huge roofed terrace. It was about as big as our living and reception room combined. Khosrow was standing near a cabinet, slicing lemons in a comfortable t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans. The terrace was facing the yard. I stood at the edge and tried to watch the bizarre light illuminating the yard. I loved the yard. It was some time that we no longer had a yard. Reza noticed me, and turned on the lights for me. Khosrow said:

– The t-shirt and pants make you look like a millennial girl… Would you like a drink?

– Anything…

– I’m having beer… You’re the sissy namby-pamby girl… What would you like?

– The same…

– Nice! such a rebellious girl …

Like a robot, Mr. Reza put two glasses next to Khosrow’s cutting board. They had already frozen some water at the bottom of the glass. Khosrow tilted the beer can to the glass as if they were kissing. The beer foam and the amber liquid rose up, like one of those experiments in chemistry class where we burned magnesium or something. The glass started to sweat. The amber liquid was now hidden behind a wall of matte glass.

– You know, you’re a strange girl…

– Me? What are you then?

– I’m Khosrow the Great…

– Extremely confident…

He laughed, put the glass before me, then raised his own. His eyes sparkled with gratification. The sparkle of age-old belonging. The sparkle of tenderness. Perhaps, it wasn’t like this at first. Perhaps I thought it into existence. We clinked our glasses and said:

– Cheers…

Alright, so will you be making Kateh or Chelow?

– Seriously?

– I told you, we’re having a ceremony…

– What ceremony?

He laughed again.

– Back in the Qajar era, whenever suitors came, the girl wearing a praying chador would go into the room and bring water to her future mother-in-law, that “unwanted water is a desire.” Then, she would embrace them to let them smell her neck and body lest they think she smelled bad. Then, the girl would sit before them, open her chador, and spread her hair lest they assumed she was bald. Then, she would walk on cotton to make them sure that her feet weren’t coarse and jagged. After that, she would walk naked in a room with the groom’s family lest they think her body had any birthmarks or imperfections. Finally, it was up to the groom to like her…

I blurted out:

– The groom could kiss my ass!

It was pointless to clasp my mouth shut. Khosrow guffawed.

– I know girls. The first moment when you came into the council room with your twinking eyes and said, “Hi, hi, hi, hi everyone!”, I knew you were a naughty one…

– But I really hated you.

He looked shellshocked. There was a knot of beer in his throat, and he asked surprised:

– Why? Everyone loves me…

– Ugh!… That’s it! That’s it! That’s what I hate so much about you. Everyone loves you, eh? Who the hell are you?

He squinted, genuinely taken aback. It was slowly dawning on him that I had come to him without any bait and trap. It was those eyes, those Sophia Loren lips on a man’s face, that moonlight-tinted pale skin, and that look brimming with charm and attraction that, like a magnet, had pulled me toward him, not his reputation in Mashhad or the legendary wealth he had inherited from his father. There was a moment of silence. Mr. Reza put a lidded rectangular container in Khosrow’s reach, then put several skewers on the chopping tray next to the lemons. Finally, he returned with a small basket filled with peppers, tomatoes, and white button mushrooms.

– So, it looks like we won’t be having Polo tonight?

– I can make Kateh with the rice cooker.

– Then, kindly put two cups of rice in. Seasoned with saffron and butter. Also put in a little red pepper.

I felt sorry for him, thinking I had burst his bubble. “What if the poor guy didn’t mean it when he said, “Seek and you shall find…” What if he was just playing cool, not being haughty?” Although Khosrow wasn’t really cocky and arrogant, his occasional boasting would, at some point, make my heart yearn for it, like it did for the other girls.

To be continued

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