Tonight is the longest and most special night of our year. It is called Yalda Night. Outside it is cold and the sky is full of stars, but I am not afraid at all and my heart is warm, because my kind grandmother is sitting beside me.
In the middle of the room we have a warm, soft korsi, with a little heater lit underneath and a big flowered quilt spread over it. I slide my small feet under the quilt. Oh, how warm it is. How soft.
Grandma brings a big red pomegranate, like a little red ball, its seeds shining like rubies. I put a handful in my mouth. Mmm, how sweet and juicy.
Now Grandma brings the bowl of nuts, the delicious nuts of Yalda Night: walnuts and hazelnuts, raisins and pistachios. I eat them one by one and count them on my fingers. Grandma cracks a hard hazelnut for me.
There is a big watermelon beside the korsi too, left over from the hot summer; Grandma kept it for tonight. She gives me a cool red slice. "Yalda Night is long," she says, "but together, how sweet it is."
The korsi is covered with good things: pomegranate, nuts, watermelon and sweets. We have lit a few small candles, and the candlelight dances on Grandma's face. Everything is warm and lovely and cosy.
"Why is this night so long?" I ask. Grandma smiles and strokes my hair. "Tonight the sun comes later than ever. But from tomorrow the days slowly get longer. That means spring is quietly coming closer."
Grandma picks up her old book of Hafez. I close my eyes and make a beautiful wish, and she reads me a sweet poem. The pomegranate and the nuts are still on the korsi.
And now the best part of the night: the story. Grandma knows so many old stories, of kings and fairies and a talking bird. I listen and laugh from the bottom of my heart. Grandma's stories never run out.
There is hot tea beside us, its steam rising into the air. I take another handful of nuts, and Grandma puts a pomegranate seed in my hand. Yalda Night is long, but together, how sweet it is.
My little eyes are getting sleepy, but I don't want to sleep at all. I want to stay awake until morning. I lay my head on Grandma's soft shoulder, and she softly tells me lullabies and stories.
I count the last pomegranate seeds. One, two, three. Every seed is a wish, and I wish that Grandma will always be beside me. Here by the korsi, my heart is warm, warm. Yalda Night is long, but together, how sweet it is.
Slowly the sky outside the window grows light. Morning has come; the long night is over at last. The sun climbs up from behind the mountains. Grandma kisses my forehead and laughs. "Our Yalda Night passed happily," she says.