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

by Adib Khorram

Dad and I both took medication for depression. Aside from Star Trek—and not speaking Farsi—depression was pretty much the only thing we had in common.

love was an opportunity, not a burden.

Taarof is a Farsi word that is difficult to translate. It is the Primary Social Cue for Iranians, encompassing hospitality and respect and politeness all in one.

Dr. Howell said that anxiety and depression often went hand in hand. Comorbidity, he called it. It was an ominous-sounding word. It made me anxious.

You can know things without them being said out loud. I knew Sohrab and I were going to be friends for life. Sometimes you can just tell that kind of thing.

The silence between us hung heavy with all the things we couldn’t say. All the things we knew without them being said out loud.

“No one wants me here.” “Everyone wants you here. We have a saying in Farsi. It translates ‘your place was empty.’ We say it when we miss somebody.” I sniffed. “Your place was empty before. But this is your family. You belong here.”

Mamou and Babou had been married for fifty-one years. I thought about all the fights they must have had, and all the times they had forgiven each other. I thought about the little secrets they knew about each other that no one else knew.

“Suicide isn’t the only way you can lose someone to depression.”

“I know.” He rubbed my back up and down. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

“I was hurting. And you were there. And I knew how to make you hurt as bad as me.”