Darius the Great Is Not Okay (Darius the Great, #1)

by Adib Khorram

Mom always said she named me after Darius the Great, but I think she and Dad were setting themselves up for disappointment, naming me after a historical figure like that. I was many things—D-Hole, D-Wad, D’s Nuts—but I was definitely not great.

Dad and I both took medication for depression.

😭

“Watch where you’re aiming,” Trent said. “Terrorist.”

rude bgt anjink

We had already made the joke ourselves.

It was glowing red and ominous between my eyebrows like the Eye of Sauron, lidless and wreathed in flame. It was so massive, it emitted its own gravitational field.

“That’s all it’s for? What are you depressed about?”

RUDEE RUDEE RUDEEEE

“Probably your diet,” Customs Officer II said. He looked me up and down. “Too many sweets.”

anying diem ga lo

For Fariba Bahrami, love was an opportunity, not a burden.

In theory, taarof means putting others before yourself. In practice, it means when someone comes to your house, you have to offer them food; but since your guest is supposed to taarof, they have to refuse; and then you, the host, must taarof back, insisting that it’s really no trouble at all, and that they absolutely must eat; and so on, until one party gets too bewildered and finally gives in.

Rostam was a legendary Persian fighter who accidentally killed his own son, Sohrab, in battle. It was deeply tragic. It was also deeply ingrained in the DNA of every Persian man and boy, which is probably why all Persian boys work so hard to please their fathers.

Sometimes you’re just wrong about people.

“Darius.” He sighed and uncrossed his long legs to stand up. “You’ve always been good enough for me. I loved you from the first moment I saw your little hands on the ultrasound. And felt your little feet kicking in your mom’s belly. I loved you the first time I got to hold you and look into your beautiful brown eyes and know you felt safe in my arms.”

🥺