Nothing.

Day one: magical bookstores

Once out, we walked in the street of Teheran to a beautiful bookstore. I think the wall was light blue or white, I'm not sure, but it was a pastel clear color that gave an old aesthetic atmosphere to the place: I loved it. 

I breathed deeply, followed by the first steps into that magical place. Is it a dream? Why does it look so close to my imagination?

I couldn't believe it; a profound silent excitement surrounded me. I walked slowly as if not to rush the place. I was thirsty then; I wanted to appreciate each drop of time passing there. Mirza briefly described what we would probably find here; honestly, he sounded like some background far-sound conversation, so much I was absorbed.

After walking inside the library, I realized in a graduate process in my mind that this place was magical, and I was sharing it with the person closest to me.

While exploring the room with my eyes, my gaze stopped momentarily on Mirza: he was looking for the books. I continued to look into the place and decided to come closer. 

By caressing the shelf, I wanted to feel the energy; I tried to focus... but an emotion disturbed me; I could not give my full attention. 

Calmly annoyed by this, I turned my head again; he was just next to me, and this image had something intimate in its way. 

I spontaneously backed off and went far between the shelves, almost hidden from his vision of fields, and started to immerse myself; I thought:

"Shcool books, learning French interesting."  I went to the next shelf and asked, "Is it Djalal-el dine? Persian is like Arab: it's "Alli a-kb_ar  D-i no deh-kh-kh-khod  -علی‌اکبر دهخدا-, "I thought proud of myself. For the rest of the cover, I never cursed my poor reading skills in Farsi more than now... 

On the next shelf, I decipher another book, "Fer-dou-si." 

Suddenly, the face of Mirza appeared from my right shoulder

"Ferdousi is a good choice," he said, staring at the book I was pointing at with my finger.

I was surprised; when did he come that close?

He wasn't behind me, but he was tall enough to appear over my shoulder even though he was standing next to me. I was so focused that I didn't feel his coming. He just popped up. Mirza is the kind of person who can enter your bubble like a Cameleon without bothering or disrespecting your space. He is there, but you don't feel any change inside your space.

I had let nothing appear from my inner reaction. 

He asked me:

"Were you looking for Ferdousi?"

"No, I'm looking for Hafiz." 

"Oh, Hafiz! OK, I'll get you, Hafiz."

"In Arabic for mom" 

"Sure,"  he said

"But I want Ferdousi, too," I added

He laughed. "Whatever you want. Let these; it's only Persian; let's see if we find Arabic."

He asked the seller directly who went to check. In front of the seller's desk, I turned left and saw a beautiful little pinkritten in English Ferdou, si. I, too, read it, and there was one page in English when I opened it. On the next page in Farsi, I turned the pages and saw in between some incredible historical Persian illustrations; those little drawings were so unique...

"You want it?" he asked me wondering

"Oh no, that's OK." I put it back in its place

"Take it"