disfigured
Naomi Amiri
63
Naomi Amiri was 22 when she escaped the life that had been decided for her. In a village in southern Iran, she had grown up under the shadow of expectations, told from childhood that she would marry a man of her parents’ choosing. When that man turned out to be more than three times her age, Naomi refused. Quietly. Firmly. But her voice meant little in a house ruled by tradition and control.
With the help of a friend, she fled. It took months and more fear than she ever imagined, but she made it to the United States and applied for asylum. For the first time in her life, Naomi could breathe.
She learned English, worked in a café, and even began to study. She met Elias, an architecture student who didn’t speak about her, but with her. His calm presence and gentle questions helped Naomi open up, slowly, cautiously. She began to believe in a new future.
But the past was not done with her.
One day, while walking with Elias, a figure from home found her. Her younger brother, once a child she loved dearly, stood before her, his expression unreadable. The pain came swiftly and violently. She never saw the weapon, only felt the burn, the collapse, the loss.
Naomi awoke in a hospital, her body intact, but her face and spirit forever changed.
Elias was gone. Her world was smaller than ever. She withdrew from university, left her job, avoided mirrors and crowded streets. Every look from a stranger felt like a wound. But still, she remained.
Not as the girl she was, but as the woman she had yet to become.
freedom
