Part 3: The Man Who Learned Her Language Wrong on Purpose

Six months into properly dating considerably longer than the ruse that had started it all Elias invited Nadia to his apartment for dinner, nervous in a way she hadn't quite seen from him before.

"You're doing the thing," she observed, watching him fuss unnecessarily with plates already perfectly arranged. "The thing where you get quiet and start rearranging furniture that doesn't need rearranging."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Extremely," Nadia said, amused. "What's going on?"

Elias took a breath, setting down the plate he'd been needlessly repositioning. "I want to show you something. My grandmother's, actually. I've been meaning to for a while, and tonight felt right."

He retrieved a small, worn box from a shelf, opening it carefully to reveal a stack of old letters, yellowed with age, written entirely in Farsi.

"These are hers," he said. "Letters she wrote to my grandfather during the year they were apart, before immigrating here together. I can read most of it, though some of the older dialect and handwriting still gives me trouble."

"You want help translating them properly," Nadia said gently, understanding.

"I do," Elias admitted. "Though I confess, part of me has been putting it off. Reading them feels like the last real conversation I might have with her, in a way. Once I've translated everything, that's it. Nothing left undiscovered."

Nadia reached for his hand. "We don't have to rush it. We could take our time, work through a letter or two each week, if that feels easier."

"I'd like that," Elias said, visible relief in his expression. "I think I've been waiting for someone I trusted enough to share this with properly, rather than doing it alone."

They spent the following months working through the letters slowly, evenings that started as translation exercises turning into something considerably more intimate Elias's grandmother's voice emerging clearly through decades-old ink, her humor, her fierce love for a husband she'd waited a year to properly join, her hopes for a family she'd never fully seen grow up.

"She writes about wanting grandchildren who'd speak both languages fluently," Elias said one evening, voice thick with emotion after translating a particularly tender passage. "I always felt like I disappointed her, growing up mostly speaking English at school, losing fluency over the years."

"I don't think that's disappointment she'd feel, watching you now," Nadia said softly. "I think she'd be rather proud, actually, watching you deliberately relearn what you'd lost, specifically to hold onto her memory properly."

Elias studied her, something deeply grateful and increasingly certain in his expression. "I don't think I could have done any of this without you, Nadia. Not just the translation. All of it feeling less alone in missing her, in wanting to properly honor what she left behind."

to be continued... ☕💛