In Arash's world, everything came in pairs but was never allowed to mix. There were two entrances to every building: one for men, marked with bold, no-nonsense letters, and another for women, adorned with a flower motif that no one questioned. There were two sections in restaurants, separated by a curtain so thick it could muffle a scream, and even two lines at the bakery, as though bread had a gender preference.
But it was school where the divide felt the strongest. Arash’s all-boys school was a loud, chaotic world of roughhousing, competitive shouting, and an unspoken rule that everything, from pencils to playground arguments, must involve some form of combat. Across the street was the girls' school, a fortress of pastel walls and floral murals that seemed to hum with a serene, mysterious energy. For years, Arash and his classmates had speculated wildly about what went on behind its gates.
“Do you think they sit around and braid each other’s hair all day?” Kian, Arash’s best friend, had asked once during recess.
“No way,” Arash had replied with an air of authority. “I bet they do math, but, like, girly math. With flowers instead of numbers.”
This theory had been met with nods of approval from their group. None of them had sisters to correct them, and the only women they interacted with were their mothers, who seemed to exist in a separate dimension where chores were completed with a speed and efficiency that felt almost magical.
At home, Arash’s curiosity about girls was met with stern disapproval. Once, during a family gathering, he had made the mistake of asking his father why boys and girls couldn’t play together. The room had gone silent. His uncle, a man who had once proudly declared that he had never spoken to a woman outside his family, chuckled and said, “Because it’s not proper. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
But Arash wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He tried asking his mother later, hoping for a more logical explanation. She had simply smiled and said, “Boys and girls are like oil and water, my dear. They don’t mix.”
That night, lying in bed, Arash had stared at the ceiling and wondered: If boys and girls didn’t mix, what happened when they did? Did they explode? Or melt? Or—his most terrifying theory—turn into one of those weird, overly polite grown-ups who talked about the weather all the time?
The closest he had ever come to finding out was at weddings, where the separation was less strict but still very much enforced. The men’s section was a chaotic symphony of loud laughter, clinking tea glasses, and endless debates about politics and football. The women’s section, glimpsed only briefly when his little cousin had dragged him to find his mother, was a stark contrast: a dazzling sea of colorful dresses, soft laughter, and a scent so floral it made his head spin.
Arash couldn’t decide if he was fascinated or terrified. Girls seemed like an entirely different species, and the more he thought about them, the more questions he had. Did they like the same cartoons he did? Did they eat as much rice as he did, or were their portions dainty, like in the TV dramas his grandmother watched? And most importantly, what did they think about boys? Were they just as curious?
One day, while helping his mother hang laundry, Arash decided to test a theory. “Maman,” he began casually, “do you think girls talk about us as much as we talk about them?”
His mother paused, holding a wet shirt in midair. “Us?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“You know, boys,” he clarified, his face turning red.
She smiled, a knowing smile that made him feel like she had just seen through every secret he’d ever tried to keep. “Maybe,” she said. “But if they do, they’re probably laughing at you.”
Arash didn’t know whether to feel offended or intrigued. He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to decide which was worse: being ignored by girls or being the subject of their laughter.
Despite the rules, the questions, and the ever-present curtain, Arash couldn’t shake his curiosity about the "other side." He often wondered what would happen if he could peek behind the curtain—not just in restaurants or weddings, but in life itself. Would he find answers to his questions? Or just more mysteries?
As he grew older, his curiosity only deepened, fueled by every awkward interaction and every unanswered question. Little did Arash know, his quest to understand the "other side" would lead to adventures, missteps, and revelations that would turn his world—and his assumptions—upside down.
For now, though, he was just a boy standing on one side of a curtain, wondering what lay on the other. And in his heart, he knew one thing for sure: someday, somehow, he would find out.