The Girl from the Garden by Parnaz Foroutan

dust rose behind him. His body rose and fell, the sun beat down on him, his muscles taut. His ears heard nothing but the sound of her voice singing, his eyes saw nothing but the indifference in her eyes, and no matter how hard he rode that horse, his thoughts stayed trapped in that moment in the courtyard, where he imagined how he should have walked toward the fountain, pushed her down into the water, grabbed her bared shoulder, pulled her hair, forced her to turn those black animal eyes away from him with something more than just indifference. He buried his heels into the side of the horse and thought of the soft of her flesh bruised, the white of her skin revealing the evidence of his hurt pride, the spreading deep purple of his shame across her cheeks, and when in the cool of the evening he was spent in his rage, he trotted home slowly and dreamed of the apologies of his lips against the lobe of her ear as they sat, hidden deep in the recesses of that garden.
    He did not see her again until the week of the wedding celebrations. That Monday, all the members of his family, his distant cousins, his childhood friends, arrived with musicians who plucked the strings of the kamancheh and tar, wailed of love through the ney , beat deep rhythms with dafs raised over their heads. He sang and danced with the guests. He drank glasses of wine and spoke to his cousins and uncles about the future.
    Standing to accept the blessings of an old aunt, Asher saw Kokab across the courtyard, leaning against the trunk of a poplar tree, distant from the crowd, gazing at the last brilliant streak of red against the dusk blue skies. Suddenly, the blood in Asher’s veins turned to fire and crept into his hands, up toward his face, and he feared that the old woman clutching his hand and talking about his future joy and the merits of his young bride might feel the change in his body and know his shame. He wrestled his hand from hers, smiled and thanked her profusely for her kindness, then stole away. He stood hidden amidst the crowd, among a hundred faces that talked and laughed.
    The entirety of a courtyard stretched between himself and Kokab, but Asher felt as though he were close enough to feel her breath faintly on his skin. He turned away, for fear of being caught in such shameful circumstances, at his own engagement party, staring at a woman belonging to another man. His cousin Eliyahoo lurked somewhere in that garden lit by lanterns, his disembodied head floating through Asher’s mind, a large, round face with fleshy lips, an insolent nose red with wine, teeth already yellowed by tobacco. Asher remembered seeing him undressed at the hammam. How a man with arms like a woman thinks himself worthy of holding such a wife, Asher wondered.
    Asher looked up again and in that moment, Kokabturned in his direction. She met his eyes and held him there, terrified and exhilarated, in her gaze. A circle of dancing women came between them and she continued to look at him. Asher looked at her, too, and the whole world spun madly about them, the garden, the voices, the music, the dusk-darkened treetops overhead, the first few stars appearing in the night skies. From above the heads of the dancing women, Asher watched Kokab’s stillness, this woman who stood alone in contemplation first of the setting sun, and now him, this woman who remained untouched by the joy and frenzy of all the other guests.
    Then, Kokab was gone. She disappeared into the crowd and he looked for her until darkness descended completely and the lanterns betrayed too many shadows. He could no longer discern one face from another. He mumbled formalities in response to blessings, then found himself carried by the crowd toward the door leading into the tight streets, pushed along by words of encouragement and hands slapping his back. He walked behind his mother, who held a tray of jewels, gifts for the bride, over her head as the procession poured through the door of their home, loud with