The Lost Love

By Mohammad Saeed Habashi

Everyone falls in love, but love does not end life. The Lost Love (this book) is tale about the love that you cannot leave until the end of the book and you will live with it for years. Each story has its own special charm that is tied with love.

Powerful . . . each sentence miraculously contains an idea or insight that lesser writers would have milked for several pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503581951

Mohammad Saeed Habashi

Following the success of “Naked in the Swamp”, written by Mohammad Saeed Habashi and published by Xlibris, The Lost Love, now his fourth book translated into English, is for sale to readers around the world. The stories in this book are interesting because the themes and emotions are familiar to all individuals. Mohammad Saeed Habashi, who was born in Shiraz, is an Iranian journalist and fiction writer and continues the same way in United States (Los Angeles) after the revolution in Iran. Habashi is fully proficient in journalism in all sections of newspapers and magazines to radio and television. His passion for writing started during adolescence. He still has not finished school when he entered the world of journalism. In Iran, he published his first book, Kiss on the Sands Beach, which is a collection of short stories and two plays on all three of his fame, adding that these were reprinted in Tehran. With this reputation, Habashi went into screenwriting work and was a professional screenwriter. After the revolution, Habashi, like many journalists, artists, and writers of intelligentsia migrant, moved to Thailand, Denmark, America, and settled in Los Angeles, and the journalistic activities, the writing of stories, and the making of videos continued. Conflict of Cultures or Love Story is Habashi’s working product in the United States. His third book, which is also distributed in Persian language, titled Naked in the Swamp, contains twenty-one short stories. His latest book, which is also distributed in Persian language, is The Lost Love, which contains ten stories that published by Xlibris. Now he is living with his wife and three children in Los Angeles.

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Copyright © 2015 by Mohammad Saeed Habashi.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/07/2015

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

The Lost Love

The Escape

The Beachside Bench

The Golden Dreams

The Tunnel of Memories

The Infidelity

The Old Man

The Cancer

That Hellish Night

The Last Station

The Lost Love

T HAT MORNING, IT was snowing heavily like the other days in Sjælland, an island in Denmark. The windows were freezing, and icicles were hanging from gutters and drip edges of every house, which all promised a formidable winter.

The municipal authorities had requested people not to leave their houses if unnecessary. Such request, however, did not apply to pupils, students, and private- and public-sector employees. For that reason, Helsingør, a seaport north of Sjælland, had woken up to begin another snowy and chilly day.

The light at building number 17 was on. It was located in a beautiful neighborhood called Sjølundsparken in Hellebæk, north of Helsingør. Lowis was a young girl spending her sophomore year at the university. She was slipping in her warm clothes before heading to the university. Before leaving the house, she advised her mother, Diane, who was busy clearing the table with a flu-stricken look, not to go outside.

Glad to see how Lowis, her only child, cared about her, Diane smiled satisfyingly and said, Don’t worry, dear. Your dad has already a few days’ shopping, and we’re not going to need anything. You should promise me to take care of yourself and don’t catch a cold.

I promise.

As Lowis left the house, a cold gush of wind blew inside as the door opened and closed, which Diane soon felt. She headed for the window to see what was going on outside the house.

With her palm, she cleaned off the foggy window to see her daughter walking cautiously down the narrow, slippery road by the lake leading to the train station. It was in the middle of a dense forest, and Lowis had to get there on time so she could catch the urban train.

As Lowis vanished among the trees in the distance, Diane glanced at the sea stretching across the other side of Sweden, where the beachside street was visible during Helsingborgon’s sunny days. That particular snowy day, however, the sea was barely visible. Overlooking a lake, their house in Sjølundsparken was standing where a cobblestone road linked the house and the lake, around which there was a seventy-two-unit apartment building whose residents spent the summer sailboating across the lake. In the winters when the lake was frozen up to two meters, an ice resurfacer smoothed the rink to prepare it for ice-skating or patinage.

Having taken a look at the snow-covered lake from the window, Diane made her way to the kitchen where she could prepare the favorite food of her husband, who would return home from a business trip that night. Since her husband had sufficient income, she didn’t need to work and spent her time inside the house reading books and painting. Most of the time, Diane discussed the biography of writers and their literary works with her daughter who was fond of literature and studied the same major at the university. In fact, she was glad to have built such a relationship with her daughter.

After working for a short while in the kitchen, Diane got bored of the silence haunting the house. She walked to the TV and switched it on. The anchor was reporting the weather forecast, admitting in a surprised tone that the blizzard they were experiencing was unprecedented in Denmark over the last thirty-five years.

Diane returned to the kitchen and resumed her work when it was time for a program on TV called Literature and Books, where the host announced that the most recently published book of Paul Borgnine, titled The Lost Love, was out on sale today.

Upon hearing the good news, Diane rushed to the TV and listened to what the host was talking about intently. He said The Lost Love had been reprinted twice in five days since its debut, and it was going to be available at large circulation in Europe.

Upon hearing such news, Diane was thrilled and sat down on the sofa. No longer was she paying attention to what the host was speaking about nor did she notice the TV screen. Instead, she was looking at the bookcase with a silence that revealed she was immersed in an ocean of thoughts.

After a few moments, she stood up and got closer to the bookcase, looking at the row of books under various titles written by Paul Borgnine.

After a short pause, she turned back and walked to the window. It was obvious there were thoughts reverberating in her head. She looked outside and saw the snow was still falling. Her coughs moistened the window, which she eventually wiped off.

In a split second, a thought came storming to her mind, and she quickly made her decision. Running to the kitchen stove, she set the burner flame and left everything on the cooktop. Then she walked to the wardrobe, put on some warm clothes, and dashed out of the house.

She made it to her car in the parking lot and started it. A few seconds after the engine warmed up, she slowly drove down the Sjølundsparken slope, turned in Hellebæk, a seaside road, and then moved toward Helsingør. On the right side of the road, there was a dense forest covered in snow, while the other side showed the sea waves frozen before they could embrace the shore. Beyond the sea, there was Sweden, invisible due to the massive blizzard. The Baltic waters, which linked Sweden and Denmark by a twenty-minute cruise, were frozen.

Regardless of the severe snowstorm, the terrible flu, and her daughter’s advice, she was driving down an icy, slippery road to get to the Helsingør bookstore as soon as possible, where she could buy The Lost Love.

Even though her eyes were fixated at the road ahead, her thoughts were hovering somewhere else—what had Paul Borgnine written in The Lost Love that brought him so many fans? Prior to publication of the book, she had read some interviews with Paul about his new novel, which sounded enlightening to her.

Having both eyes set on the road, she kept getting closer to Helsingør. She passed by the brand-new house Sylvester Stallone, the American actor, had purchased for his new girlfriend Gitte, the Swedish star. Their house was located near the shore with its windows overlooking the sea so Gitte could have her homeland in sight whenever the two lovers stayed in the house.

Driving by the house, Diane glanced at it and said, Love…

Half an hour later, Diane was in downtown Helsingør. She pulled into the parking lot pretty much near the bookstore. As she got out of the car, the cold wind slapped her in the face right away. She felt as if her face got frozen. Within a few seconds, she felt her eyebrows freezing. Similarly, some men walking around had frosty mustaches from the foggy breaths coming off their noses.

As soon as Diane got to the bookstore, she felt like a mountain climber who had conquered Everest. Without hesitation, she headed for the shelf full of The Lost Love books and grabbed one, holding it tight onto her chest. Her expression looked like that of a lover who was hugging her sweetheart after years of being away from each other. A few seconds later, she held the book in front of her chest and looked at its cover and back cover, where the writer’s picture and brief biography had been published.

Like a little girl who had just found her favorite doll, Diane was really excited and kept rummaging the book. She looked at the cover and back cover a couple of times and flipped through the book without reading anything. Then she stood in the line of buyers, most of whom were women with The Lost Love in their trolleys.

Diane was now impatient to get back home and start reading the book. The snowfall was incessant, as Diane’s car wipers could hardly prepare the windshield for her view of the road.

Having put the book on her lap, she glanced at it once in a while and then bit her lips while staring at the road, pushing the pedal to the metal, and bursting toward home.

Once she arrived at home, Diane never checked on the kitchen. She just collapsed on the sofa by the panel heater, which was fighting the cold with its flames.

Completely engrossed in the book, Diane read certain parts for the second and third time. Once in a while teardrops dripped slowly from the corner of her eye down to her cheek, which had turned red from the heater.

It was half past four in the afternoon when Lowis opened the front door, yelling out something about the new book of her favorite writer being out in the market.

Having hung her extra pieces of clothes in the wardrobe, Lowis then walked up the stairway into the hall.

I promise to buy it for you tomorrow. Didn’t have time for it today.

There were a couple of steps left before Lowis reached the hall and her mother appeared in front of her. With a gratified smile on her lips and her arms spread out wide for hugging her daughter, she was holding the book in her hand.

No need for it, dear. I went out there and got it myself.

In a surprised tone, Lowis asked, Oh, you promised not to go outside the house in this weather, didn’t you?

Yeah, but I couldn’t wait for it.

You’ve got the flu, right?

I totally forgot it, believe me.

Diane then hugged her daughter. You must see what Paul’s done in this book!

I got the news.

You should tell me what is being told about the book. Then Diane kissed her daughter. Your face is still cold. Stay by the heater, and get yourself warm as I check on the kitchen.

So dinner’s ready?

Haven’t touched anything here—was just reading the book!

What about Dad? When will he come?

He’ll probably be a bit late because of the bad weather, so I’ll have enough time to prepare everything.

I need to take a warm shower.

Not a bad idea.

Diane walked into the kitchen while Lowis grabbed her towel and took a warm shower, relaxing herself for a while.

* * *

It was 9:00 p.m. when Lowis and her parents sat together at the dinner table. Having returned home from a successful short business trip, Ole thanked his wife, Diane, who had set the table beautifully and prepared his favorite food—steak with Russian mustard and tomato.

Before they started eating, Ole gave his wife an expensive wristwatch he had bought in Paris. Exhilarated, Diane accepted the gift and thanked her husband with a long kiss. Lowis also received a gift from her father and really cheered up. It was a small modern camcorder that could be useful for what Lowis did at the university. The dinner was served in an amicable atmosphere decorated with candles, flowers and wine. Two hours later, the house sank into silence.

Since he attended various meetings, experienced flight delay, and drove in the snowy weather all the way from Copenhagen to Helsingør, he was so exhausted that he soon succumbed to sleep.

Lowis had also fallen asleep in her bedroom. Diane’s eyes, however, were still wide open in the lampshade’s dim light, staring up at the skylight on the ceiling where snowflakes fell and melted from the temperature inside the bedroom. The clock showed three in the morning when Diane got bored and walked to the hall quietly. The panel heater was still flaming. She sat on the nearby sofa and turned on the reading lamp beside the sofa, resuming her study through The Lost Love.

She was completely engrossed in the book when she saw Lowis standing over her.

Mom, why are you up?

I don’t know, can’t sleep. Why did you get up?

Got thirsty.

The next morning, there was no snowfall. The clouds had been torn to shreds, and the sun was slowly melting the rest of the snow. The water drops dripping from the icicles were as pure as the tears Diane shed when she read The Lost Love.

On that sunny morning after breakfast, Ole and Lowis went out for their own business, once again leaving Diane alone in the house. However, she never found herself lonely with The Lost Love, through which she stepped into a world nobody was aware of. It was only Lowis, her curious daughter, who had somehow made it to the bottom of her mother’s mysterious world. She had bought The Lost Love, and whenever she got the chance—whether in campus, in the classroom, or in her bedroom alone at night—she read the book, pondering over the night she had forsaken her husband and whimpered beside the panel heater.

Lowis was overcome by curiosity the most when she caught her mother once again at midnight as she was reading the book. This time though, she gave her mother a chance to wipe her tears off.

Mom, how many times have you been reading this book? Why are you crying? I have read it and got impressed, but I never shed a tear like you! What’s in this book that’s making you so distressed?

Totally confused by her daughter’s reasonable question, Diane was trying to find a convincing answer, but nothing came to her mind. Instead, there were pearly globes of tears rolling down her cheeks.

Lowis got even more shocked.

Don’t you want to tell your daughter the truth? I’m a woman after all.

Upon hearing this, Diane opened her arms wide to hug her daughter. Wishing so, Lowis dived into her mother’s bosom. They were pressed tightly, chest to chest, when Diane burst out crying.

Lowis! My dear! I know this writer. We were supposed to get married, but an unexpected incident changed everything.

By unraveling her secret, Diane felt liberated, with her heart no longer overloaded. Lowis seemed pretty satisfied to learn her mother’s secret. However, there were dozens more questions popping up in her mind, not setting her free. She would not leave it alone and she asked her mother to tell the whole story that night.

The tiny flames were dancing up in the panel heater as the mother and daughter sat impatiently on two sofas. The mother told the story and the daughter listened.

In his bedroom, Ole was sleeping deeply, which was indicative of an exhausting workday.

Once Diane began to speak,