Beeman

Iran, Mazandaran, Chamestan

Year 1486 of the Solar Hijri Calendar

The misty sky over Chamestan that day was neither bright nor dark. It was something between dream and wakefulness—just as silent, just as hazy. The sun peeked cautiously through the wet branches of the poplars, as if embarrassed by its own presence. The trees stood tall and still, and from time to time, the sound of a drop falling from the broad leaf of an ancient alder could be heard.

Narges, wrapped in a peach-colored shawl draped over her shoulders, moved gently through the grass and bushes. Her belly was swollen, heavy and warm, and every step had to be taken with care. In her hand, she held a small wicker basket now filled with wild mint leaves, two sprigs of sage, some blue borage flowers, and a few large-rimmed gray mushrooms.

— "Hamid, look over here! I found wild thyme!"

Her voice, in the damp silence of the forest, was like a painting of a distant bird’s song in the heart of stillness.

Hamid was standing a little farther back. He had dropped his backpack on a moss-covered rock and was checking something on his phone. The small metal rings on his bag jingled with every movement.

— "Narges, let’s go already... you promised we’d stay for just an hour."

— "It hasn’t even been an hour! Let me just pull these thyme stems—perfect for tea."

She smiled, but beneath that smile was a quiet fatigue. The sixth month of pregnancy was beginning to weigh on her. Still, Narges—daughter of mountain and forest—couldn’t tear herself away from the scent of herbs and the fragrance of the woods.

She gently ran her hand over the soft leaves. Her eyes searched for something unknown, something unseen. At times, she listened, as if hearing voices—maybe the whisper of grasses to each other, maybe the voice of the earth itself. Then, everything suddenly stopped.

The wind halted. The branches no longer rustled. No birds sang. No drops fell. No leaves drifted down. The air seemed to freeze. Narges held her breath. Her heart raced for no reason. She felt something close by. And suddenly, from between the branches, a bee appeared.

Not an ordinary bee. Not the kind that buzzes past and leaves. This one was larger—about the size of a human index finger. A soft glow radiated from its body, making it seem luminous, as if it didn’t belong to this world. It had transparent wings veined with gold, and its eyes... they were green. Not just any green—jade green, shining, alive, like mirrors of the forest.

Narges froze. She felt her legs no longer obeyed her. She stepped back, hit the edge of a stone, lost her balance, and sat down. Her palm pressed into the damp soil.

— “Hamid…?”

Her voice was faint and distant. Even she couldn’t hear it. The bee moved closer. It didn’t flap its wings—just hovered like a spirit in the air. A green light from its eyes shone onto Narges’ face. She locked eyes with it. Time seemed to stop. Only they remained: a pregnant woman, and a mysterious bee from the heart of nature. The bee landed on her bare arm. Without a moment’s hesitation, it stung her.

Narges didn’t breathe. She didn’t scream, didn’t flinch. It felt as if something inside her had opened—not pain, not burning, but a gentle warmth, like the touch of light. Something passed through her skin and into her blood. Immediately, a sound echoed inside her head. Not a human voice. Not words. More like music—an ancient song, thousands of years old.

Her baby kicked sharply in her womb. Not like the usual fetal movements—this one felt conscious, awake, aware. The bee floated upward, silent, and disappeared among the misty branches. In that very moment, a bird sang. Then came the rustle of leaves. The wind blew softly, and nature came alive again.

Hamid ran toward her in panic.

— "Narges! What happened? Did it sting you?"

Narges turned to him slowly, eyes wet. A strange, faint smile on her lips.

— "It was a bee… but different."

— "What? Where is it? Where did it go?"

— "It’s gone."

Hamid looked at her arm. No visible sting mark. Just a warm spot on her skin.

— "We have to go to the hospital. It could’ve been poisonous!"

— "No... don’t worry... I can feel it… this was something else, Hamid."

He said nothing. Just stared at her. For a moment, it was as if he didn’t know the woman before him. There was something in Narges’ eyes that hadn’t been there before. A kind of deep calm, like someone who has seen a great secret.

From that day on, Narges’ pregnancy was no longer ordinary. Doctors found nothing unusual—but she knew. Every night, she dreamed of hives, of hundreds of green eyes watching her from the dark. A voice in her mind whispered:

“Protect him. He will come. Not for you. For everyone.”

Hamid was more worried than ever. He asked:

— “You’re not yourself anymore, Narges. Don’t you feel it?”

And Narges would calmly reply:

— “I am myself… I’m just waking up.”

Something was growing inside her—something more than flesh and blood. Something between human and nature. Between future and past.

A boy, carrying the secret of the bees, was on his way.