Free If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan

if you have any,” Nasrin says, and I throw her a stern look. We aren’t here to snack! The short man hurries away and yells for his staff while the other guests stare at us, trading not so hushed whispers. Nasrin relaxes in her chair, looking over the menu as though we hadn’t been in great peril just moments ago.
    She sighs. “I shouldn’t really eat too much, since I need to go dress shopping, but I am craving some zereshk polo .” I can’t believe this is what my life has become.
    “Nasrin, as soon as Ali comes, we have to get out of here. I don’t think it’s safe.” I look from side to side, hoping no one from my day-to-day life is here.
    “Oh, relax, Sahar. We don’t even know when Ali will get here. It’s still light outside, and Ali is nocturnal.” She isn’t wrong about that. Ali lives his life mostly in the dark. “Just enjoy. Besides, it will be nice for us to catch up, since you are always either studying or avoiding me.”
    “I’m not avoiding you. I just feel guilty. When I do see you, I mean.” What I really mean and can’t say is that when our mouths are crashing together, I feel like Allah is looking down on a cheating sinner who is in way over her head.
    Nasrin lowers her menu slowly and raises an eyebrow in a way that can’t be interpreted as anything but suggestive. “But I love our study sessions!” she says, and I feel my face grow hot. “You know I rely on you to educate me.” The short man and two waiters come by with plates of dates, baklava, a tray of tea, and orange juice and pomegranate juice. They place the goodies in front of us like we are royalty. Nasrin is used to such treatment and nods at the waiters before she dives right in.
    “Sir, really, I don’t think we can afford all this,” I protest, but he shakes his head.
    “Please, it is the least we can do,” the man says. “We called your cousin, and he should be here shortly. He’s a very special customer. Please enjoy, and don’t hesitate to ask for anything else.”
    Before I can argue he flits away with his servers as though I am Queen Farah. Nasrin shoves a whole piece of baklava into her mouth, ignoring the crumbs that land at the corners of her lips.
    “Mmm. Not bad. I wonder where they get their pistachios from.”
    “Nasrin, we really shouldn’t be here.”
    “Why not? It’s not fancy or anything, but their food is adequate.” She reaches for another pastry. I see the chubby guy with the collared shirt stretch his arms, not so subtly flexing his muscles. The skinny gum smacker takes notice. All of this is so obvious. They just need a photo outside of two men kissing to let citizens know where to pick up a male date. Except that it’s illegal. Just like a girl’s stupid elbows showing.
    “Do you want some orange juice?” Nasrin asks, and I shake my head. “Well, can I have the pomegranate juice? It’s supposed to be good for the skin, and I can’t afford to get any pimples.” She babbles on about the arguments she’s having with her mother over wedding arrangements, oblivious to our surroundings. I think it’s for the best that I not alert her to the unusual atmosphere we find ourselves in. She may have a panic attack.
    “What is the matter with you, Sahar? You’re so jumpy.”
    “Nasrin, I know you have always lived above everyone else, and now you have your perfect life planned out . . . but wake up! We almost got arrested! Who knows what could have happened to us? You can be so stupid sometimes.” I wince as soon as the word comes out of my mouth. I have never called Nasrin stupid. It’s a sensitive topic for her—she knows people see her as a stupid, beautiful girl. She’s actually very clever, but it seems like I’m the only one who knows that.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my temper,” I apologize.
    “Oh, is that what just happened? I’m sorry—I’m just too stupid to read emotions.” She isn’t going to make this easy. Since her engagement, there have