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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Tahereh Mafi
Read between
July 23 - July 26, 2025
“What is your name?” “Of all the non sequiturs. Why do you need to know my name?” “So that I may hate you more informally.” “Ah. Well, in that case, you may call me Cyrus.”
From the very moment I saw you I suspected his game—I knew he’d sent you to me, specifically, to torture me—as if I might be so tempted by the sight of you that I would bend in but a moment to your wishes, abandoning in the process an oath I signed with my soul, ensuring I am bound to him forevermore. No. I will not be moved by you—and you have underestimated me if you think I will succumb to your charms.”
“Try to weaponize those eyes against me again and I will have them permanently sewn shut.”
“The sky, too, is soft,” she said. “Yet all who fall into its arms will perish.”
She was too overcome with exhilaration and as a result did not think before she smiled at Cyrus, turning the full force of her joy in his direction, eyes squinting, cheeks dimpling, chest heaving with excitement. Cyrus went inhumanly still, then turned sharply away.
“Forgive me,” said Cyrus quietly, “but do you intend to make it a habit of wearing transparent garments in my presence? Do tell me now, I beg you, so that I might blind myself in anticipation.”
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, his smile vanishing. “Even when you lie to me.”
“Do you not think it strange?” “Strange is too gentle a word—I think it verifiably crackbrained—”
“I hate you,” he whispered. Alizeh blinked, her heart pounding too hard in her chest. “I know.” He leaned in then, his throat working, his gaze fixed entirely on her mouth. “I hate everything about you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your smile.” His words grazed her skin when he said, softly, “I find your presence insufferable.”
“My kingdom,” he said softly. “For your hand.”
“You stunning little hypocrite,” he said angrily,
“Alizeh.” He sounded angry now. “Why did you try to touch me? What is your game?” “I was just”—she sighed—“oh this is ridiculous,” she said in a frustrated burst. “I was only trying to be sympathetic.” He blinked at her, even as tension visibly fled his body. “You were trying to be sympathetic?” he echoed, his incomprehension palpable. “You mean—you were trying to console me?” “Yes.” He pointed at himself. “Me.”
“I have a theory,” he said, cutting her off as he walked backward to the door, “that if I were badly wounded, you would help me. True or false?” “False.” His smile widened. “Liar.”
She couldn’t believe she’d ever felt sorry for him. She wanted to pummel him now. “I’m not stupid,” she said angrily. “I never said you were stupid.” Cyrus was at the door, gripping the handle. “I’m merely pointing out that all signs seem to indicate you might be.”
“What are you— Oh, for heaven’s sake, are you going to cry again? I’ll take you to see the blasted city, Alizeh, I’ll show you the bloody magic, you don’t have to cry about everything—” “I’m not crying,” she said irritably. “I’m thinking. Sometimes I get emotional when I’m thinking—” “When you’re thinking? You mean all the time, then?” He pushed his hands through his hair and swore under his breath. “The devil really is trying to kill me.”
“Heavens, Alizeh.” Cyrus had gone completely slack. “You might be the strangest girl I’ve ever met in all my life.” “Are you insulting me?” “Without question.” She shot him a dirty look, but Cyrus only laughed.
“The field exists simply to exist. There are thousands of different types of flowers here,” he explained. “It’s meant to be a kind of living painting; an experience with beauty meant to invigorate the tired senses.” Alizeh nearly lifted her head, she was so surprised. “That’s why you brought me here?” “Yes,” he said quietly. “You mean, you were trying to console me?” “Bloody hell, Alizeh, knock it off.” “All right, okay,” she said with a sigh. “Good.” “Me?” she said again. “You were trying to console me?” “You know what, you can walk back to the castle—” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I promise I’m
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“Cyrus,” she said patiently, “you can’t just ask a girl to marry you and then decline to answer a single question about yourself.” “Try me.”
He drew the back of her hand gently against his lips, and then, so softly she might’ve imagined it, he kissed her.
“Your name,” he said, and closed his eyes. He nearly fell over, catching himself at the last second. “I didn’t know your name for so long, angel. I love the way it feels in my mouth.”
“Don’t be afraid of me, angel. I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”
“You were in my room,” he said thickly, “because I brought you there.” “Yes.” “And you—” He looked up, distraught. “You took care of me. You washed the blood from my face.”
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, his astonishment palpable. “You cried for me?” “It has been noted,” she whispered, “that I perhaps cry too much.” “You used your own tears,” he said, all but broken, “to wash the blood from my face?”
Cyrus had looked at her many times since she’d met him, and always with varying levels of intensity, but never quite like this. Never like he wanted to fall to his knees before her.
“I would marry you,” he said, stepping closer again, coming dangerously within reach. “I’d marry you tomorrow. And then I’d take you to bed. For weeks.”
“I have only myself to blame. I knew better; I knew you were dangerous. You’ve had the upper hand from the moment I laid eyes on you. I saw you and saw right away that I was in hell, and I hated you for it, because I realized even then that you would be the end of me.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, tortured. “I’ve been dreaming about you for months.”
“I didn’t trust you,” Cyrus said quietly. “How could I trust you? You were a vision conjured by the devil, designed to ruin me. I hated you for being real, for coming to life only to personify torture, to be another trial to endure. In fact I wanted to hate you. I wanted to discover your faults, your flaws. I thought you’d never match up to the figment of my dreams, and I was wrong. You are far more enchanting in real life. Far more exquisite.” His voice shook just a little when he said, softly, “It is excruciating to be in your presence.”
“You act as if I’m intentionally cruel. As if I’m indifferent to you.” “Aren’t you?” “No,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Of course not.” Cyrus stared at her from where he stood, his chest heaving with barely leashed intensity. He devastated her with that look, even as he seemed planted in the ground, immovable. “Then be with me,” he said softly. “Let me worship you.”
“You have no idea what I could give you,” he said, his own eyes blazing. “You have no idea what I want. I have been in agony for eight months, Alizeh. Do you know how hard it’s been to pretend I don’t know you? To pretend I don’t want you? To act as if I haven’t known every inch of your body in my dreams? To learn that your heart has been entangled elsewhere? I look at you and I can’t breathe. In my mind, you are already mine.”
