BELEIVE ME
Mafi was born on November 9, 1988, in a small town in Connecticut. She is the youngest child of her family and has four older brothers.[1] Mafi’s parents are immigrants from Iran.[2] At age 12 she moved with her family to Northern California and at age 14 they moved to Orange County.[3]Mafi graduated from University High School in Irvine, California. She later graduated from the Soka University of America in Aliso Viejo, California.[2] She has varying levels of competency in eight different languages.
INTRIDUCTION
The wall is unusually white.More white than is usual. Most people think white walls are true white,but the truth is, they only seem white and are not actually white. Most Shades of white are mixed in with a bit of yellow, which helps soften the harsh edges of a pure white, making it more of an ecru, or ivory. Various Shades of cream. Egg white, even.
True white is practically intolerable as color, so white it’s nearly blue.This wall, in particular, is not so white as to be offensive, but a sharp enough shade of white to pique my curiosity, which is nothing short of miracle, really, because I’ve been staring at it for the greater part of an hour.Thirty-seven minutes, to be exact.
I lean against the unusually white wall, studying her as she frowns atme, her lips still parted around the shape of a word she seems to haveforgotten.“Please continue,” I say, gesturing with a nod. “Whatever you were doing before.”She holds on to her frown for a moment longer than is honest, her eyes narrowing in a show of frustration that is pure fraud.
She compounds this face by clutching an article of clothing to her chest, feigning modesty.I do not mind, not one single bit.I drink her in, her soft curves, her smooth skin. Her hair is beautiful atany length, but it’s been longer lately. Long and rich, silky against her skin,and—when I’m lucky— against mine.Slowly, she drops the shirt.I stand up straighter.“I’m supposed to wear this under the dress,” she says, her fake anger already forgotten. She fidgets with the boning of a cream-colored corset,her fingers lingering along the garter belt, the lace-trimmed stockings. Shecan’t meet my eyes. She’s gone shy, and this time, it’s real.