The White Balloon

"What flavor are you getting?" "Chocolate!" "Nice. You’ve got good taste." A faint, forced smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, fighting against the unbearable, churning nausea in my stomach. It was the face I had to put on. "One chocolate cone, please." I pulled my debit card from the back pocket of my jeans and handed it over to the ice cream vendor with a mock sense of pride. For once, I didn't have to mentally do the math, worrying about how much I’d owe or how short on cash I’d be. My account was loaded—filled with the kind of money I used to only see in my dreams. I glanced down at the little girl beside me. She had introduced herself as Zahra. Right now, she was practically vibrating with impatience, waiting for time to pass so she could get her ice cream. Waiting for time to pass so she could go home. Waiting for time to pass so she could grow up. *If only I could freeze time for her right here.* "Sir?" The vendor's voice snapped me back to reality. He had said something I completely missed. "Your PIN, please?" Right. I had completely forgotten to give him the code. Restlessly, I leaned my hand against the counter and rattled off the numbers. He handed me the chocolate ice cream, and I passed it along to Zahra. "Eat up before it melts." Zahra took it, her excitement instantly doubling. "Yay!!! Thank you, Uncle Shayan!" I couldn't remember ever being that thrilled over ice cream as a kid. Then again, I never really understood children. "Let’s move somewhere a bit quieter. It’s too crowded here; you might accidentally get ice cream on someone’s clothes." That simple excuse was more than enough for the five-year-old skipping along beside me. She grabbed my hand, and we walked away from the crowd. Her hand felt freezing cold. I couldn't tell if it was from the ice cream or if she had somehow sensed what was coming... No. Better not to go there. I couldn't help myself; every two seconds, I’d steal a glance at Zahra’s pure, innocent face, and each time, the urge to throw up grew stronger. How could I destroy something so fragile with my own hands? *No. It’s not my fault. I’m not actually doing anything to them. I just deliver the kids to the Boss. Besides, I desperately need the money. I have to pay for Mom's treatment in that godforsaken hospital. She matters more than some stranger's kids. And it's not like they're killing them anyway.* *Right?* I stopped in my tracks. Pulling out my phone, I checked my messages. Bahram would be here in a few minutes. Maybe less. Time was running out, and my options were slim. I could just grab the girl and run. Hell, I could call the cops! But the organization would probably hunt me down and kill me before the police even arrived. My best bet was to drag Zahra back into the crowd and call the police from there. Yes. That was the perfect plan. That’s exactly what I needed to do. *Move, Shayan. Move, you coward! Why are you frozen?* My phone buzzed in my pocket. Bahram's text. He was here. Suddenly, I felt bile rising in my throat. The air around me felt suffocatingly thick, yet empty all at once. My mom was dying in a hospital bed, and here I was, thinking about sabotaging the only gig keeping her alive. If I ran, I was basically signing her death warrant. I took a step back. It was as if my feet had a mind of their own, finally reacting to my chaotic thoughts. They seemed to disagree with my conscience. I had to leave, and I had to take Zahra with me. I had to— I looked down, and my heart stopped. The little girl was already unconscious, slumping into the arms of a burly man. He held a cloth soaked in chloroform. In an instant, all my elaborate plans crumbled into dust. And honestly? I was relieved he did it before my own thoughts tore me apart. A thick, bitter wave of vomit filled my mouth. I slapped a hand over my lips and gagged. Bahram pulled a paper bag from his pocket and shoved it toward me. "I should've known. Do you really have to throw up every single time?" His tone was critical, but I knew that was just how he talked. I stood there and watched as Bahram bundled the girl into the trunk, steering her toward a hollow, gray destiny. I let that vibrant, joyful little girl be destroyed, doing absolutely nothing but staring like a statue. After tossing the bag into a trash can, I climbed into the passenger seat. Bahram hit the gas. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to desperately distract myself. My heart was still hammering against my ribs, though it was slowly pacing down. I wanted a moment of peace, but Bahram wasn't going to give it to me. "So, how did it go?" "Awful." "Hmm." "Any word on Atefeh?" Bahram’s tone grew heavier. "Nothing, man. Absolutely nothing." "Wait, so you still haven't confessed to her?" I leaned forward to hear him better, as if shifting my weight actually made a difference. "No..." He trailed off, pausing before I could press him further. "I just can't do it. Every time I try, I freeze up. My tongue gets tied. I can't just tell her I love her. Her husband passed away so recently. Heck, I was at the funeral! And she has a little girl. You know how slim the chances are that she’d actually accept my feelings?" I went quiet. I never knew what to say in situations like this; comforting people was never my strong suit. Finally, I took a deep breath. "Look, if you love her that much, why don't you just tell her? Be direct." The words died in my throat as I realized how hypocritical and stupid the question sounded coming from me. Bahram let out a hopeless sigh. "I’ve been pouring my heart out, and you haven't heard a word I said, have you?" I shook my head vigorously. "No! I mean... look, my mom always used to say that if you love someone, or if you're upset with them, or have an issue, it's always better to just be upfront. Because no matter what happens next, at least you get the weight off your chest." "So you're saying I should just go for it?" His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Even if she ends up hating me?" "Hating you? You know Atefeh better than anyone—she doesn't have a hateful bone in her body. And you're not exactly the type people hate, either." That last part was a blatant lie. Bahram knew as well as I did that to an outsider, he looked cold, detached, and utterly unapproachable. It was incredibly easy to dislike him at first glance. But Atefeh and Bahram had known each other for years. I highly doubted she’d judge him on surface impressions. Bahram took a slow, deep breath. "Yeah... you're right. Atefeh is too good to hate anyone. She's an angel." The atmosphere was getting a bit too sentimental, which was actually a blessing. It kept my mind off the cargo in the trunk. "To be honest, I've been looking for an excuse to just go and tell her how I feel." Bahram glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "You're easy to talk to. I've never told anyone about this before." "Seriously?" "Yeah," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. Wow. Bahram was actually smiling. It was the first time I had ever seen him do it. And it was because of me. Because of *me*. I found myself smiling back. I usually hated my own smile—it always felt like someone had slapped a long banana where my lips should be—but I couldn't stop it this time. A rare warmth bloomed inside me. I liked being complimented. I mean, who doesn't? But more than that, I felt a strange sense of pride that Bahram trusted me. We finally arrived at headquarters. Bahram carried the girl inside, and I followed a few steps behind. The heavy, sickening knot was still tight in my stomach, but I tried my best to anchor myself to the good feelings of the moment. We entered the building. It was past midnight, and exhaustion was setting in for everyone. Poor Simin and Atefeh still had a long night ahead of them. They had to extract the essence of childhood from these kids. After tonight, those poor children would never be children again. Their pure, innocent souls would be harvested and sold to depressed, wealthy adults at an exorbitant price, acting as the ultimate antidepressant. But the kids themselves would be left hollow, permanently stripped of their joy and passion for life. Thank God I wasn't like them. Even though I couldn't remember a single thing from my own childhood, whatever it was, it had to be better than the living hell they—no, *we*—were subjecting these kids to. My hands felt filthy. Especially the one that had held Zahra’s hand. Was it the left or the right? I couldn't remember. I followed Bahram toward the White Room. He walked ahead of me, cradling the unconscious Zahra in his arms, and knocked on the door. Simin’s soft, feminine voice drifted from inside. "Come in." We pushed the door open, and the sharp, clinical smell of pharmaceuticals hit us instantly. "Brought you another one." Simin sighed. "You say that like I’m the mastermind behind this whole operation." "Well, you're the one doing the heavy lifting!" I snapped. I didn't know where it came from, but a sudden flash of anger sparked inside me. "I just follow Sadeghloo’s orders, kiddo." "But you're the one pumping these damn drugs into them." Simin paused, her eyes narrowing. "Wait a minute. Are you having second thoughts about this?" *Oh, great. I overstepped.* If they realized how eaten up by guilt I actually was, there was no telling what they'd do to me. "Uh... I mean... no... of course not... It's just... the whole process feels a little weird, that's all." I realized Simin was staring at me. Her unblinking gaze was locked onto mine with an unsettling intensity, as if she were trying to piece together a memory or dig up some hidden truth behind my eyes. Finally, she smiled, a dimple forming on her cheek. She adjusted her green scarf over her dyed hair and said, "Weird? That’s an interesting choice of words..." She was about to say more when Zahra’s eyelids flickered on the chair. Without another word, and without saying goodbye, I turned on my heel and walked out.