Arezoo opened her mouth to protest, but Wonder was already taking the carafe from her hands. "Go on. Your feet must be killing you."
They were. Arezoo had been at it for four hours straight, and her arches ached with every step. The prospect of sitting down for a little bit was too tempting to resist.
"Thank you," she said to Wonder, then turned to Ruvon. "I have fifteen minutes."
His smile could have powered the entire village. "Please, sit."
Arezoo sank into the chair with a grateful sigh and reached for the coffee. The first sip was heavenly. "This is exactly what I needed. Thank you."
Ruvon watched her with an expression that could only be described as adoration, and it made her shift uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn't used to being looked at like that—like she was something precious and fascinating.
She'd been looked at by men before, but those looks had been covetous, and they'd always made her uncomfortable. Even her father's friends had sometimes looked at her like that, and it had disgusted her. They were married, and they had soft bellies and soft chins from overeating.
Ruvon didn't look at her as if she were a piece of meat. He looked at her as if she were special.
"I have something for you," he said, pushing the wrapped package across the table.
Arezoo's hand froze halfway to the muffin. "For me? Why? It's not my birthday."
He shrugged, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. "I saw this in a used bookstore and thought you might like it. It's nothing. Just a book."
"You shouldn't buy me gifts."
What did he expect in return?
"It's nothing. It just looked like something that you would enjoy."
A used book probably didn't cost much, and she loved books, so he was right about that, but she should still refuse it. Accepting gifts from a man she barely knew and who clearly had feelings for her that she couldn't return, wasn't wise.
But in the end, curiosity won, and she pulled the package closer, starting to unwrap it carefully.
"A book of Persian poetry." Arezoo's breath caught.
The leather binding was soft with age, and the pages were edged in gold. She opened it carefully, revealing pages of beautifulcalligraphy with delicate illustrations in the margins. This wasn't some mass-produced volume—it was old, probably valuable, definitely special.
"Ruvon." She ran her fingers over a page. "This is beautiful."
"You like it?" The hope in his voice made her chest tight.
"It's the nicest gift anyone has ever given me." The words were out before she could stop them.
"That's music to my ears." Joy replaced his uncertainty.
She turned the pages slowly, drinking in the beautiful words. Her grandmother had owned a book similar to this, though not nearly as fine. She'd read from it in the evenings, her voice soft and melodious, bringing the words to life.
"Do you like poetry?" she asked, looking up at him.
Ruvon shifted in his seat. "I don't know if I like it or not. I've never really read any. I mean, in the Brotherhood, we didn't exactly have poetry readings. And after we escaped, I focused on learning useful things. Poetry might be beautiful, but it is not useful."
Arezoo felt a pang of sympathy.
She couldn't imagine growing up without the beauty of words, without stories and verses to soften the harsh edges of life.
"Would you like to hear one?" she asked on an impulse.
His eyes widened. "Please."
She flipped through the pages, looking for something appropriate. Not a love poem—definitely not that. Something else, something safer.
