Anahita

On a quiet beach beneath the orange glow of sunset, Anahita meets Piki — a stranger who seems to know her soul.

What begins as a simple conversation turns into a mysterious connection that feels older than time itself.

By morning, only the sound of the sea remains — and a message that changes everything.

A story about love, memory, and the invisible thread that binds two souls beyond the limits of life.

Anahita

By Faramarz Parsa

A little farther from the sea, I was lying on the hot sand. Not too far from me, a girl sat watching me closely. I tried to appear indifferent, but I could feel her gaze.

After a while, I grew bored and was about to leave when suddenly I heard her voice.

— “Hi, my name is Piki.”

I looked at her — a beautiful girl with short chestnut hair, around twenty.

— “Hi, I’m Anahita.”

She smiled.

— “Wow, what a lovely name! Are you Iranian?”

I looked at her with surprise. How did she know? I was born in Long Beach.

— “Yes, my parents are Iranian. But how did you guess?”

She softly repeated my name:

— “Ana… hi… ta… what a delicious name.”

I laughed.

— “Can a name be delicious?”

— “Yes, when you pronounce it right, it has flavor. Yours is one of those rare, sweet ones.”

I asked,

— “So how did you know I was Iranian?”

— “Your eyes… your eyebrows. Only Persian girls have that kind of look. It doesn’t matter where they’re born.”

We fell silent for a few moments. Our eyes met and held. Something warm stirred inside me, and I couldn’t tell where it came from. Suddenly I said,

— “Would you like to have lunch together?”

Her face lit up.

— “Why not! Just let me grab my stuff.”

All the way there, she was full of energy and charm. She was four years younger than me. I stayed quiet, just watching her. The more I looked, the deeper she sank into me.

— “Where do you live?”

— “Newport. You?”

— “Phoenix.”

The moment I heard the name of her city, a chill ran through me.

— “Are you here for school?”

She showed me her hotel card and laughed.

— “No, I just came for the weekend. I’m heading back Sunday.”

The word back tightened my chest. She noticed.

— “Anahita, are you okay?”

— “Yeah, just a bit tired.”

I took a sip of water to hide the tremor in my voice.

— “Why don’t you live here? You love the sea.”

— “If you live too close to it, you lose its magic. But when you’re far away, the longing to see it again burns stronger.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her, not even for a second.

— “Want me to drive you to your hotel after lunch?”

— “No, thanks. My car’s parked in Laguna Beach; I need to pick it up. But can I have your number?”

— “Of course. And… if you want, we can have dinner tonight. Then maybe go to The Gallup, have a few tequilas — if you’re into that.”

Her laughter… it passed through me like a soft light. My heart trembled before I knew why.

— “Sure, let’s go get my car first.”

When I got home, my mind was filled with her. Hours passed, each one slower than the last.

She asked,

— “Do you have a boyfriend?”

— “I did.”

— “And you?”

She only smiled — silent, deep.

When I met her in front of the hotel, she was wearing a simple outfit: a knee-length black skirt and a pale pink blouse. We went to a restaurant on a hill, the city below our feet. We talked about everything — studies, weekends, things we loved to do.

On the way back I asked,

— “Do you work long hours?”

— “It’s up to me.”

— “You mean you work for yourself?”

She turned her face toward me; her eyes pierced right through my soul. She didn’t answer. Only silence sat between us.

I drove her to the hotel.

— “Lunch tomorrow?” I asked.

She interrupted me gently,

— “No, breakfast — with me. And please, don’t say no.”

I smiled. I wanted to hold her right there.

— “Alright.”

— “Then see you tomorrow.”

We lingered in each other’s gaze for a while. Then she blew me a kiss.

— “The most beautiful hours of my life were spent with you.”

She went inside. I stayed, watching her disappear.

That night I couldn’t stop thinking of her. I didn’t know what this feeling was — not love, but something older… like kinship, as if she carried my blood.

She had come close — so close — and I drifted into sleep.

When I woke, it was 1:30. I reached for my phone. A message had arrived:

“Dear Anahita, until we meet again 😘”

My hand froze. I dialed her number.

“This number is not available.”

I sat on the floor.

The sea was still there,

but something within me

had left with her —

forever.