Pezhman’s Secret

Pezhman’s Secret

by Faramarz Parsa

Foreword

Some secrets never fade.

They hide beneath years of silence—between words unspoken, smiles that tremble, and eyes that turn away.

Love, even when wounded, never truly leaves; it lingers like a quiet melody that no one dares to hum.

This story is not about judgment, but about truth—the kind that breaks and heals at the same time.

Every family carries a secret, and sometimes, it’s not the secret itself that hurts us most, but the way we hide it.

Story

Tears filled Azita’s eyes as she said in a trembling voice,

“I must become a doctor. I have to find a cure for this disease.”

Her mother, Mehrangiz, wrapped her arms around her.

“You will, my dear,” she whispered gently. “But don’t let it consume you.”

Azita’s parents had divorced ten years ago. Until two days ago—on her sixteenth birthday—she never knew why.

She lifted her head from her mother’s chest, still crying.

“When did you find out, Mom?”

Mehrangiz looked away.

“Eight years after our marriage,” she said softly.

“You and your sister were so close to your father… and I—” her voice faltered, “I loved Pezhman deeply. I still do.”

She took a deep breath.

“For a whole year, we visited doctors and therapists. Some said it couldn’t be cured, others tried hypnosis. Nothing helped. In the end, we decided to separate.”

Azita’s eyes glistened with sadness.

“Wasn’t it hard for you?”

Her mother brushed her hair.

“It was,” she said quietly, “but we had to keep going. Come on now—let’s go downstairs. Nazanin will be home from her dance class. She’ll be tired and hungry.”

Nazanin, eighteen, had always been passionate about music and dance. She played the saxophone beautifully; when she was angry, she let her music scream for her.

The three sat at the dinner table in silence. None of them felt like eating.

Mehrangiz broke the stillness.

“Girls, do you know what day it is tomorrow?”

Azita sighed.

“I don’t care about Halloween this year.”

Then she turned to her sister.

“You’ve known the truth for two years, Nazanin. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Nazanin’s gaze softened.

“It wasn’t the right time,” she said quietly.

Their mother smiled faintly.

“Eat your dinner, my loves.”

Silence returned.

Nazanin rested her chin on her hand, her thoughts drifting back to that night two years earlier—her sixteenth birthday.

After the guests had left, her father, Pezhman, had asked Mehrangiz to take Azita upstairs. He wanted to talk to Nazanin alone.

He had said,

“My sweet girl, now that you’re sixteen, it’s time I speak to you like an adult. Your mother and I—”

Excited, Nazanin interrupted him.

“Daddy! Are you coming back? You know Mom still loves you!”

But Pezhman’s next words shattered her world.

“No, sweetheart. Your mother and I still love each other… but our separation was because of me.”

He hesitated, then whispered,

“I’m gay.”

Nazanin remembered the silence that followed.

She didn’t cry or scream—she simply threw her arms around him.

And in that embrace, a silence heavier than words settled between them—

a silence that still echoed in her heart.