The Scentless Flower

The Scentless Flower

by Faramarz Parsa

Sometimes love does not end — it only changes its scent.

Years may pass, faces may fade, and voices may grow distant,

yet one whisper from the past can awaken everything you thought was buried.

This is a story about such a whisper — about Qalandar, who once loved a woman named Manizheh,

and the morning her voice returned to him after five long years of silence.

It was close to dawn when Qalandar was awakened by the ringing of the phone. Half-asleep, he glanced at the clock and muttered to himself, “Which godless soul calls someone this early—on a Friday morning?”

With irritation, he reached for the phone and said, “Hello?”

The moment he heard the voice on the other end, it was as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. He froze, wide-eyed, the hair on his arms standing straight. Still holding the phone, he sat up on the bed facing the mirror.

Again, the voice said, “Hello… Qalandar… can you hear me? Hello…”

He was stunned, confused. That was Manizheh’s voice — the girl he hadn’t heard from in five long years. His eyes fell upon the mirror again. A deep sigh escaped his chest as he whispered,

“Qalandar is no longer the man he used to be. His hair has turned gray, and the joy in his face lies buried under layers of sorrow. He isn’t old, but crushed beneath the weight of waiting — beaten by the whip of tomorrows that never came.”

Tears slid down his cheeks before he realized it.

Again, Manizheh’s voice came through, anxious, “Qalandar… hello… can you hear me? Hello…”

He wiped his tears with his palm and answered softly, his voice trembling — though he didn’t know if it was from excitement, fear, or disbelief — “Hello… yes, I hear you.”

Manizheh screamed with joy, so loud that Qalandar thought something terrible had happened. Worried, he asked, “Hello! Manizheh, are you all right? What happened?”

She burst out laughing. “Oh my God! You’re still the same — my Qalandar, always worried about me! You haven’t changed at all!”

Tears welled up again. He looked into the mirror and murmured,

“I’m not the same man. I was crushed under the heavy load of your love. I ground my youth beneath the wheels of time — under seconds, minutes, hours — waiting for you.”

He reached for his pack of cigarettes, lit one, and drew a deep puff.

Manizheh’s voice brought him back. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice. I still can’t believe it!”

Qalandar stayed silent, lost in his thoughts. “After all these years, why now? Has she remembered me? Could I still love her the way I once did?”

His mind wandered back to their burning love — those endless nights, the words I love you, the inability to bear even a moment apart.

“What happened?” he thought. “It’s been five years — five years of silence. My youth withered like the flowers I once picked for her — flowers she never came to take.”

Then Manizheh said, “I can’t believe it… you know, I never thought your number would still be the same. By the way, what time is it there?”

He took another long drag from his cigarette. “Almost five in the morning.”

She laughed. “Oh no! Did I wake you? Forgive me! But that’s fine — it’s Friday, right? You’re not working today!” Then she giggled again.

He thought, “Still the same cheerful Manizheh… full of laughter.”

Still laughing, she asked, “You’re not angry I woke you, are you? I’ve missed you so much.”

At those words — I missed you — he raised his head, inhaled deeply, and felt his eyes fill with tears.

She continued, “What about you? Didn’t you miss me?”

He looked once more into the mirror. “What’s left of me? Years of longing, of waiting… If only you were here, you’d see the longing in my eyes.” Then he said softly, “Yes… I missed you.”

Manizheh laughed again. “Tell me, Qalandar — you haven’t married yet, have you?”

He hesitated. “Does she even know who I am anymore?” he thought. Then, after another deep drag, he asked, “What about you? Did you get married?”

Manizheh laughed loudly. He repeated, “You didn’t answer me. Did you?”

She said, teasingly, “I asked you first. You answer me, and then I’ll answer you.”

He lit another cigarette and said, “No… not yet. Now tell me — you?”

She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “You still smoke, don’t you?”

He glanced at the cigarette in his hand. “Yes… but not much.” Then again: “You still haven’t answered. Did you marry?”

Manizheh took a deep breath. “Two years ago, I married a French man. But it didn’t last long.”

The pain struck him like a hammer to the spine. His whole body went cold and drenched in sweat. He felt dizzy, but forced himself to stay calm.

“Why didn’t it last? How long were you together?” he asked quietly.

Her voice softened. “Only four months… he died in an accident.”

Qalandar stopped listening. His thoughts drifted away — to the nights he had spent waiting, to the scent of her perfume, the way he used to call her my sweet-scented flower.

But now, suddenly, it all turned hollow. The image of Manizheh faded; her fragrance was gone. The flower had lost its scent. He felt disgusted with himself, with life, with everything. Years wasted in the emptiness of waiting — turning in circles while time trampled over his youth.

He lit another cigarette. And as he slowly placed the receiver back on its cradle, he heard her voice one last time:

“But Qalandar… I still love you.”