"When… did you learn how to dance like that?" Dastan's voice was a bemusing mix of astonishment, fascination and idolizing. Samira couldn't do anything but smile even wider.
"I learned it while you were busy wrestling and fighting and tearing up your clothes." That silenced him, but not in a bad way; he grinned and pushed her a bit which meant her victory at this verbal battle.
It was Tus's twenty-first birthday; it was actually the same party that had started a month ago when he got married to his first wife, Afsaneh. Tus's birthday started the final week of the festivities. Samira had indeed practiced the dance as hard as Dastan practiced fighting: every day for several hours, during the last month. It was something extraordinary; Samira hadn't realized how much she enjoyed being the center of attention. Of course she wasn't alone; there were nine other girls competing for the attention. As she glanced around her and Dastan, there were several eyes fixed upon her body covered with jewelry and thin cloth.
"Well, well, isn't it our little kitchen girl pretending to be an entertainer," said a voice behind Samira. Samira's teeth pressed against each other; she had to try as hard as she could not to hit Garsiv with her hand heavy with rings and bangles.
"Prince," she said coldly as she turned to Dastan's big brother and bowed. Garsiv's smile was contemptuous.
"What were you trying to prove, little Sam? That you could be a suitable candidate for any man's bed now that you are all grown up?" he continued, looking up and down at Samira. Suddenly she felt herself a little too naked. But before she could throw an angry answer at Garsiv, Dastan interrupted.
"I think she was a brilliant dancer," he said firmly, looking straight at his brother. Garsiv just hemmed and decided to ignore her then as she couldn't offer an opportunity for a good fight. He turned to Dastan instead.
"Why are you hiding back here, brother? There are plenty of beauties just lining up for you," he said, grasping Dastan's shoulder into a tight grip. This was obviously trying to be an insult for Samira, but she decided to ignore it.
As Dastan looked embarrassed, she said coolly: "Yes, Dastan, I think you should go and enjoy what the party has to offer."
Garsiv looked somewhat surprised for a moment but soon smiled falsely at Samira. He started to walk, still holding Dastan's shoulder and Dastan couldn't do anything but follow. Samira looked at the backs of the two brothers and was quite disappointed; it seemed that Dastan hadn't even noticed her outfit and make up, which she had considered long and profound.
But that wasn't true; Dastan had noticed indeed what Samira was wearing and how beautiful she was. He hadn't actually paid much of attention to Samira's appearance for a long time. Once or twice there had been moments when he had thought how long and slim her arms and fingers were; or how deeply brown her eyes were; or how flexible and strong her body was. He did tease Samira of the gap between her teeth every once in a while and called her curly, messy hair "an unexamined jungle", but those were the only comments of her appearance he had ever formed into words.
As he now gazed at her every now and then through the drunken crowd, he was even amazed by her gorgeousness: how perfectly did the turquoise of her clothes suit her! How soft her hair looked underneath the veil and dozens of golden chains; how deliciously tanned her skin looked in contrast with the bangles and rings.
"Dastan? Hello…" Dastan woke up from the trance and focused on Garsiv next to him. Garsiv already had three women around him; one rubbing his shoulders, one on his left fiddling his short hair, one on his lap feeding him grapes. Dastan faintly realized how odd he must look beside his popular brother. (One girl had tried to get Dastan's attention as well; his lack of concentration had banished her quite soon though to the arms of someone else.)
"Oh, I see," Garsiv said with a teasing tone. "Why don't you ask her here?" He looked at the corner where Samira was; but as Dastan turned to the same direction she had already vanished.
As Dastan rose from his divan, Garsiv grasped his wrist and said: "You could have anyone here, Dastan, why go after one?"
Dastan didn't say anything but took his brother's hand away and started to inch towards the direction Samira might've left. Garsiv didn't follow, obviously; he was busy eating the grapes the poor girl was trying to feed him.
Only at the door did Dastan see a flash of turquoise disappear behind the corner; he followed and called his friend's name.
"Samira!" She looked mildly surprised but smiled at the sight of her beloved friend.
"Aren't you supposed to be at the party?" she asked as she continued walking to the garden doors. Dastan caught her and walked beside her.
"I've had enough," he said plainly and she understood. The dark night was heavy of the flowers' scent and the chirp of crickets. Dastan stopped at the beginning of a path; it happened to be the very same place where he had brought a sapphire for her years ago.
"Listen, I…" he started, but couldn't say anything more. This is quite hard, he thought, I doubt that Tus got his wife by stuttering at her… Meanwhile, Samira looked awfully curious.
"Look…" Samira's eyebrows raised; he couldn't make her wait much longer.
"I think… you looked good tonight. I mean you look. I mean great. And you were fantastic dancer. And, I…"
Samira stepped a bit closer, smiling a little. He was already a bit scared, knowing her, she might give a sarcastic answer or tease him endlessly. But no.
"Thank you." That was all she said before she hugged him; a rare, but honest move from her.
"You know what?" Dastan said to her vanilla-scented hair. He had no intention to say it, but it came to him suddenly and it felt completely right. Samira hemmed a little in order to show her attention.
"I'd still get you that sapphire whenever you'd ask me to."
It is a commonly known fact that brothers compete. No matter how different they might be, how opposite their values are or how their tastes differ, they always seem to have same goals. And if the other one gets it, the other lets it go; one can even realize not to ever have wanted it really in the first place – it was a goal just because the other one wanted it too.
After Tus's birthday party, Garsiv started to show a sudden, strange attraction towards Samira. Or maybe it should be named "obsession". He seemed to appear wherever Samira was, from secret passageways to corridors right in front of her, bumped into her "by accident" and even followed her around with gleaming eyes and hungry smile on his lips.
This sudden change of mind made Samira nervous. She and Garsiv had always disliked each other – there was no particular reason why or at least Samira wasn't aware of such reason. She just thought Garsiv was arrogant and bossy, not at all like his older brother who seemed to be patient and "an old soul" or like Dastan who might be impulsive at his actions but was very thoughtful at heart. And for all these years Garsiv had shown no signs of affection towards her but had strengthened Samira's bad thoughts by his visible contempt and belittling.
Weeks passed, and Samira was getting more and more anxious trying to do her usual chores while running away from Garsiv's approaches. Then, one windy day that was a sign of an upcoming sand storm, Samira failed in her escape. She was bringing clean towels to one of the guest bedrooms when she felt hands pressing her arms against her sides. Hot breath and the beard scratching her neck revealed it to be Garsiv.
"Stop it," she demanded, hoping that the firm tone would cover her fear.
"I can't stop if I haven't started yet," Garsiv whispered hoarsely and started to pull Samira back, to her horror towards the bed. As he threw her on her back on the bed, she forgot her fear and started to gather anger.
"I'll scream, Garsiv," she said with fiery eyes.
"Good, I happen to like it," he just said and locked her between his body and the bed. But Samira fought back; she slapped him, punched him, kicked and wriggled. Finally, one scratch hit him in the eye and he cringed back so that Samira could push him further and escape. She was at door and in the hallway before Garsiv could react.
He didn't come after her, but yelled across the hallway: "You can't run from me forever, Samira! One day I will get you."
Samira turned from a corner, ran along another hallway, then through a secret door, along another corridor, turned again and ran into someone.
"Samira? What are you… are you crying?"
It took a second for Samira to realize she had run right into the arms of Dastan. And now, as he said it, she realized that her face was indeed wet with tears. She couldn't say anything; she was so relieved that it was him that she threw herself against his chest and cried more silent tears. Dastan was clearly puzzled but didn't say a thing; he just held her still and let her relax a bit.
"What is it?" he asked then as Samira's tears seemed to have ended. He led hear into a silent arbor that was seldom used; he sat on the bench and pulled Samira next to him. As she explained what Garsiv had done, Dastan's face got tenser with every sentence. By the end of her story, Dastan looked so angry that Samira was afraid that he might be angry at her.
"He shouldn't have done that," Dastan said finally, voice quivering with emotion.
"I'm fine, really," Samira said, quite truthfully; she felt so much better now that she was safe with Dastan who seemed to be on her side. It wasn't an axiom; he could've said something like "Don't you mind, he's just like that" or "He does that to all maids, and most of the time they are quite pleased".
"I will speak to him," Dastan said and got up. "Can you get home safely from here?"
"Yes, but…" Samira didn't have time to say anything more; Dastan had already left the arbor leaving behind him some spinning dust and a confused girl. Samira headed home slowly; she wasn't sure had she made things worse by telling Dastan.