Open Curtain: My Neighbor Füruğ
A short story inspired by the Persian poet & film director Forugh Farrokhzad, exploring introspection, the nature of happiness, perception's limits, and genuine human connections.
I didn’t know how long I had been sitting in this chair. Cross-legged on a pair of cushions, I was cautious enough to draw the curtains of my window, which overlooked the apartments across the street. However, I couldn't draw them as much as I wanted because the window was long, and the curtain was short. The small frame, which offered a clear view of the outside world, wasn't as courageous as the neighboring apartment's window across from me, which could observe the street from various angles. Nevertheless, I could say its authenticity was still equal. This was how I spent my whole day, looking at this window whose curtains I had never seen closed until now. Besides, I thought I knew the necessity of being a good neighbor. I never fully opened my curtains so as not to embarrass her, the beautiful dark-skinned woman across from me. A woman alone... Füruğ... While watching her from my window without her knowledge, I always thought that she had a graceful and noble spirit. Although I had always wanted to know more, to know her more and more, I could never fully open my curtains until recently.
One day, I saw her at the corner store that I always passed by on my way home. I couldn't move for a while. I felt completely exposed. At that moment, wherever I was and whatever I was thinking, everything about who I was, everything inside my brain, all deserted me. That was the first time I saw her on the same street. I sensed that she was about to finish her shopping. Without thinking, I ran to her, in a hurry... I tried to act like a customer. While she was picking up her last bags of fruits and vegetables, I looked at the grocer that was in the small section with windows surrounding him. Taking advantage of the fact that the grocer was there, I picked up an apple from the counter in front of me and turned to Füruğ. Before a single word came out of my mouth, a rebellion began in my mind that I couldn't suppress. —This will make you look helpless. —I can't find anything better. —What will you do with the apple? —I will just ask a question; I won't lose anything... —Put down the apple and leave immediately!
"This apple…" I said, “The price…” I think I was trying to ask how much a kilogram of apples costed. "I don't know," she said. That was the first one-word sentence Füruğ said to me. —She just said, 'I don't know.' —If she doesn't know, it means she feels. —That is what's helpless about it... —You don't even know her. —You too... —I will get to know her!
"It's expensive," I said. For a moment, I listened to my inner voice and put the apple in my hand back. But I couldn't walk away from her. I remember standing there for what felt like a very long time. "You have too many bags... Can I help you with something?" I asked, like a child who had just started to speak. She looked into my eyes and just smiled, dropping half of her bags on the ground. That was Füruğ's first smile at me. —She just smiled... —Hush! I'm doing just fine.
I picked up the bags she left on the ground. We started walking. We returned to the street where our buildings were. There was a steep hill from the beginning to the end of the street. Not a single word came out of her mouth until we climbed the hill. In me, there was only the chaos that I felt in my head. When we reached in front of the buildings, I said, "I live here, too," and pointed to the building on my left side. She smiled without saying anything and took the bags from my hand. She turned around and started walking towards the building. I didn't know why or how, but suddenly I shouted from behind, "Why don't you speak?" Surprised by what I said, I bowed my head. I felt that she stopped and turned around. "I'm shy," she said, "I have trouble finding things to talk about. Anyway..." That was Füruğ's first confession about herself.
All night, I watched Füruğ through the gap in the partially opened curtain, sitting cross-legged on the chair. The feeling I had for her was a kind of self-fulfillment. Sometimes it completed my emotions with a strong love, and sometimes with an irrepressible rebellion. Love was always like a fruit ripening right beside me. My effort to define it ended with discovering myself. I had to understand her more, know everything about her. I had to bestow upon myself the passion she possessed. What could be better for oneself? The voice in my head... As I got to know Füruğ, I realized that it was a form of censorship.
Later on, I found ways to meet with Füruğ. I learned her name around that time, too. We met up whenever we had the chance. In a cafe, in a park, on a bench by the seaside, and sometimes in this living room where I couldn't completely close the curtains. We even met at her place a few times. Most of the time, I thought she understood me even when I didn't speak. Because I understood her, and understanding her was the best way to express myself. As our relationship progressed, I felt new doors opening to freedom inside me. The voices in my head diminished. It was a hope that sometimes turned fierce and sometimes turned melancholic.
She had interesting thoughts on life. Once, I remember she completed my feelings about the concept of happiness, which also troubled me greatly. She said that happiness is not a universally sought desire that everyone tackles, but it is synonymous with being content with an action during life. Yes... The unhappiness of those who attack this life with all their might.
She also mentioned a black house once. A house where lepers lived. "There are no places where lepers are isolated anymore," I said. But after realized how wrong I was. Thinking back to what she told me, people like me and like her were the lepers of today. We have curtains in our homes that serve to isolate ourselves, some like mine are partially open, and some can be completely closed. Some keep their diseased minds and thoughts under isolation.
One night when I was invited to her house, I realized what was happening and what had ended. We were chatting over wine. Eventually, she left my side. I started wandering around the room. There were some papers on the table in the corner. I realized one of them was a letter written to someone. I started reading it. I still can't forget the sentences in the letter:
"... I wished to die and be reborn. I wished to see that people are not so cruel, that they have forgotten their wickedness, and that no one builds walls around their houses... Surrendering to walls and borders is against nature..."
I envied the person who these lines were uttered to.
That night, when I got home, sitting cross-legged on my chair with a pair of cushions, I felt an intense shame. But it wasn't because I read a letter that didn't belong to me. It was because of my curtains that I was always afraid to open. That night, I took down all the curtains in my house and couldn't enter that room for a long time.
Now I'm sitting here again. Cross-legged on this chair, on a pair of cushions, looking at the empty apartment across from me. And most of the time, I think of Füruğ.
