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AREZOO

T he Pearl's opening day dawned bright and clear, and Arezoo arrived with her mother at five in the morning to help with the final preparations.

The transformed house barely resembled the empty shell they'd worked so hard to clean and organize just days before. Now the shelves were stocked, the refrigerators were filled, and the air was perfumed with the scent of freshly made bread that had been baking since three in the morning.

"Arezoo, sweetheart, can you arrange these pastries in the display case?" Parisa called from the kitchen-turned-bakery, her face flushed from the heat of the ovens. "Mind the glazed ones—they're still warm."

"Of course, Aunt Parisa." Arezoo carefully transferred the delicate pastries, each one a small work of art.

The cream-filled profiteroles glistened with caramel, while the walnut cookies bore intricate patterns pressed into their golden surfaces.

Her mother emerged from the room that they'd converted from a bedroom into a cold storage room, carrying a crate of cucumbers. "The vegetables are just beautiful. Look at how green these are. I'm tempted to bite into one just to see how juicy it is."

"Then do it," Arezoo said. "They belong to you."

Soraya shook her head. "Just take the crate."

"Where do you want them?" Arezoo took it from her mother's hands.

"The produce section near the front. People like to see fresh vegetables first thing, especially the green ones. They set the tone."

Soraya's eyes sparkled with an excitement Arezoo hadn't seen since… well, ever. This store represented so much more than just a way to earn a living. It was their declaration of independence, their stake in this new life.

By seven-thirty they were ready to open the doors, and Arezoo took her position behind the register, running through the system one more time.

William had installed a modern point-of-sale setup that seemed almost too sophisticated for their small operation. Still, Arezoo had mastered it quickly thanks to her experience working the café register.

"I'm nervous," Yasmin admitted, adjusting a pyramid of pomegranates. "What if no one comes?"

"They'll come," Rana said with characteristic confidence. "The village residents have been waiting for this."

The bell above the door chimed at precisely eight o'clock. Their first customer was Wonder, Arezoo's boss from the café, carrying a woven basket.

Arezoo wanted to ask who was handling the morning traffic in the café, but Wonder just walked in with a bright smile and her imposing height, making the converted living room feel smaller.

"Congratulations on your opening," she said.

"I've come mainly for the fresh bread, which I could smell from the café, and whatever else catches my eye. "

"Welcome to The Pearl," Soraya said. "Please, look around. The fresh bread is in the back room, still warm from the oven."

As Wonder browsed, more customers arrived—first a trickle, then a steady stream. Arezoo's fingers flew over the register, ringing up purchases while listening to the delighted exclamations over her aunts' baking.

With the variety of items for sale, it was much more complicated than working the register at the café. Thankfully, they had decided to sell fruit and vegetables in packages, so weighing things was not necessary. If she had to do that as well, she would have probably needed help.

"The almond cookies are incredible," one immortal said after tasting a sample from Yasmin's tray. "I'll take three packs."

They had only prepared ten, which in retrospect was too few.

The morning rush exceeded their wildest expectations, and Arezoo barely had time to think between customers, but she thrived on the energy. This was different from the café—this was theirs, their success, their contribution to the community that sheltered them.

Not that she was quitting the café. For now, she would work mornings in the store and afternoons in the café. Hopefully, it was all going to work out.

"We need more flatbread," Parisa called out around ten o'clock. "I'm starting another batch. We're nearly sold out."

"The sourdough too," Yasmin added. "Who knew immortals loved bread so much?"

"Everyone loves fresh bread," a customer in line said. "And the smell alone is enough to lure everyone in the village to your store."

"Good to know," Rana said. "I thought to post daily specials on the clan's bulletin board, but maybe the smell is enough of an advertisement."

"It certainly is," said a Guardian whom Arezoo recognized as one of the regulars from the café.

His basket was full of vegetables, bread, frozen steaks, and a container of Soraya's special herb blend.

"That'll be eighty-seven dollars and thirty cents," she told him.

"That's very reasonable and worth every penny just for the convenience and the wonderful service." He handed over his card. "I'll be back for more tomorrow," he promised.

The compliments warmed Arezoo's heart. The clan members weren't shopping at their store out of pity or to show their support. They truly appreciated what The Pearl had to offer.

As she fell into a rhythm of ringing up purchases and putting them in paper bags, Arezoo let her thoughts drift to the poetry book she'd left hidden under her pillow in her room.

She'd spent a couple of hours with it last night, carefully turning each page, marveling at the craftsmanship as much as the written words.

She'd never owned anything so beautiful, so aesthetic.

Everything in her life had been practical, functional.

Even the few books she'd managed to keep had been cheap paperbacks, easily replaced.

But this was a work of art in every sense of the word, pleasing to the eye, to the touch, and to the soul.

Rana's excited chatter pulled Arezoo out of her musings, and she smiled at her aunt, who was engaging customers in conversation, asking if there was anything they would like that they couldn't find in the store, and writing the items in her notepad.

As the bell chimed again, something in Arezoo's gut tightened even before the door opened and Ruvon walked in. Her customer-friendly smile faltered for just a moment before blooming into something more genuine for him.

He had a nice dark green shirt on instead of his usual blues and grays, and he'd had his hair styled. The changes were subtle but noticeable, at least to her, and she had to admit that he looked good.

"Welcome to The Pearl," she said. "How are you today?"

His face lit up at her warm greeting. "I'm well. Congratulations on the opening. The store looks great."

"Thank you. We're a bit overwhelmed by the response, but in the best way. My aunts' baked goods are nearly sold out already."

"Then I should grab some before they're all gone."

"You should. They are in the other room."

When he returned a moment later with several items stuffed in his basket, she smiled at him once more.

"Thank you again for the poetry book. I spent a couple of hours reading through it last night.

It's the most beautiful thing I've ever owned.

The binding, the gold leaf, the calligraphy—every page is a work of art. "

Ruvon seemed to grow in height with each compliment.

He straightened, his shoulders squaring, and his entire posture shifted from uncertainty to satisfaction and even pride.

His smile transformed his whole face, softening the sharp angles and bringing warmth to his eyes, which usually seemed shadowed.

The transformation was remarkable.

"I'm so glad," he said, and his voice was different too—richer, more confident.

"When I saw it, I could picture you reading it, running your fingers over the pages.

The store owner said it was from the early nineteenth century, from Isfahan.

The paper was handmade, and a master illustrator did the decorations. "

It must have cost him a small fortune, but it wasn't polite to ask how much he'd spent on the gift.

"I can tell," Arezoo said. "Each margin is unique.

I found myself studying the artwork as much as reading the poetry.

" She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip.

"The truth is that I never would have thought about something like that, let alone wanted it.

Somehow, you knew what would please me better than I knew myself. "

Color rose in his cheeks, which was both adorable and surprising.

She was well aware that Ruvon's youthful looks were misleading and that he was old enough to be her great-grandfather. He shouldn't be this shy around a girl like her.

"I've always liked books, even though I don't get to read much. But what caught my attention was how beautiful this little volume was. I thought that something so unique and pretty should belong to you because you are unique and pretty."

Arezoo felt a flutter of something—not fear, not exactly discomfort, but an awareness of being seen.

The color on his face deepened, and he raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm so bad at this."

"No, you're not." She paused, searching for the right word. "It was an incredibly thoughtful gift, and I appreciate it greatly. Really."

When he smiled and stood taller again, she suddenly understood something profound. She had power here—the power to build him up or tear him down with a word, a look, a smile.

Was this why some men feared women so deeply?

This power to affect them with such small gestures?

She thought of the systems designed to strip women of their agency, voice, and presence in public life.

If a smile could transform a man's entire bearing, if disappointment could crush his spirit, then those who built cages for women did so out of weakness rather than strength.

It was a disturbing thought, but also an enlightening one. She'd grown up seeing male power as absolute, overwhelming. She'd always hated that, rebelled quietly against it, and couldn't understand it. Now she suddenly did. Women had power that men feared.

The disturbing thoughts must have shown on her face because Ruvon's shoulders began to slump again, uncertainty creeping back into his posture.

He was so attuned to her moods that it was almost frightening.

They weren't even a couple, and she'd done nothing to encourage his affections beyond basic politeness, yet her emotional state affected him profoundly.

She quickly offered another smile. "The book is perfect. I feel transported every time I open it, like I'm entering a magical world where everything is beautiful and nothing harsh can intrude."

The transformation happened again—spine straightening, chin lifting, that warm light returning to his eyes. Such a small thing, her approval, yet it changed everything about how he carried himself.

"Your gift means so much to me, but I can't keep chatting with you. There is a line of waiting customers behind you."

"Of course." He stepped aside. "I'll just browse for a bit."

As Arezoo rang up the next customer's purchases and the next, she watched Ruvon selecting more items and putting them in his basket. A loaf of sourdough, some of Yasmin's sugar cookies, a container of her mother's spice blend, and fresh vegetables that he examined with amusing seriousness.

"These tomatoes are perfect," the woman at the register was saying. "But these were the last ones. When will you get more?"

"We'll restock daily," Arezoo said, but she wasn't sure of that.

"Wonderful. I'll be back tomorrow, then."

Fenella emerged from the cold storage room. "You are completely out of grapes!" she announced with a mixture of triumph and dismay. "I can't believe how fast they went."

"At this rate, we'll be sold out of everything by noon," Soraya called back, but her tone was joyful rather than worried.

"That's a good problem to have," Parisa said. "Better than sitting on inventory."

When Ruvon approached the register with his selections, Arezoo was ready with professional friendliness that held just a touch more warmth than she offered other customers.

"Did you find everything you needed?" she asked, beginning to scan his items.

"Yes, and several things I didn't know I needed," he replied with a small smile. "Your aunts' baking is dangerous. I may have to increase my training to compensate."

She laughed. "You have nothing to worry about. I hear that immortal metabolism is amazing, and that it's really difficult to gain weight."

"It is," he admitted, then seemed to gather his courage. "Arezoo, I was wondering—that is, if you have time—would you perhaps read another poem for me some time? When you're not busy, of course."

She glanced around. The initial rush had calmed somewhat, and Rana had returned to help with customer questions, freeing Soraya to restock the shelves.

"I'm working the afternoon shift in the café. If you stop by near closing time, we can read some poetry over coffee."

His entire face brightened. "Really? That would be wonderful. Thank you."

She finished ringing up his purchases, their fingers momentarily brushing as she handed him the bag. Neither of them pulled away immediately, though the contact was brief and could have been dismissed as accidental.

"Fifty-three fifty," she said.

He handed her his card and carefully gathered his purchases. "I'll be at the café."

"See you later," she promised.

After he left, Arezoo found herself touching the spot where their fingers had met, wondering at her own boldness. When had his presence shifted from threatening to... whatever this was?

Another wave of customers arrived, and she lost herself once more in the rhythm of ringing up orders, taking payments, and putting groceries in bags.

Still, throughout it all, she kept thinking about power and fear, about the delicate dance between men and women, and about the way a smile could transform someone's entire being.

The poetry book waited under her pillow in her room, patient as only ancient things could be. And somewhere in the village, a male walked taller because she'd acknowledged his gift with genuine pleasure.

Perhaps this was what healing looked like—not a dramatic revelation, but small moments of connection that slowly rebuilt trust in the possibility of kindness.