"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 spenta 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.
