Fri­day opens with a reflec­tive Cyrus Shams engaged in an inti­mate con­ver­sa­tion with Orkideh at the Brook­lyn Muse­um. Orkideh, a ter­mi­nal­ly ill artist, shares her expe­ri­ence while exhibit­ing her art­work, as she faces the inevitabil­i­ty of death. Cyrus, who is deeply unset­tled by thoughts of his own mor­tal­i­ty, admits to a dark and dis­tress­ing thought, hint­ing that he might “kill him­self soon.” How­ev­er, he is imme­di­ate­ly trou­bled by the phrase, as it sounds both mechan­i­cal and emp­ty. He express­es a deep long­ing for his death to have sig­nif­i­cance, not just an end to his exis­tence, but a pur­pose­ful con­clu­sion. His desire to die for a mean­ing­ful cause echoes the sto­ries he has stud­ied, like those of Qu Yuan and Joan of Arc, fig­ures who died for noble pur­pos­es that aligned with their ideals.

Orkideh lis­tens qui­et­ly, and the exchange becomes a stark con­trast between her accep­tance of her mor­tal­i­ty and Cyrus’s uncer­tain­ty. As she probes deep­er into his life, the con­ver­sa­tion shifts, reveal­ing not only her per­son­al strug­gles but also Cyrus’s com­plex iden­ti­ty as an Iran­ian-Amer­i­can. He reflects on how his upbring­ing shaped his view of the world. His father, in his attempts to assim­i­late into Amer­i­can cul­ture, dis­cour­aged the use of Far­si and immersed him in the ideals of West­ern soci­ety. This caused a sense of alien­ation, as Cyrus con­stant­ly strug­gled to rec­on­cile his cul­tur­al roots with the iden­ti­ty forced upon him. The con­ver­sa­tion high­lights a per­sis­tent ten­sion with­in Cyrus’s soul—how to stay true to his her­itage while also adapt­ing to a soci­ety that does not ful­ly embrace his back­ground.

As the con­ver­sa­tion evolves, they delve deep­er into the themes of mar­tyr­dom, sac­ri­fice, and the search for pur­pose in life. Cyrus reveals a yearn­ing to die hero­ical­ly, much like the heroes he has stud­ied, par­tic­u­lar­ly those from his cul­tur­al past. How­ev­er, he is also afraid of reduc­ing his life’s sto­ry to a mere rep­e­ti­tion of the mar­tyr­dom trope. He is keen to do some­thing mean­ing­ful, to leave behind some­thing that will hon­or the sac­ri­fices made by oth­ers, yet is ter­ri­fied that his own nar­ra­tive might be triv­i­al­ized. Orkideh, on the oth­er hand, has already come to terms with her own fate, approach­ing her end with a sense of peace and con­tem­pla­tion that Cyrus admires, yet feels he can­not attain. They con­tin­ue their dis­cus­sion, explor­ing how the notion of a “good death” is often roman­ti­cized, but what that tru­ly means remains elu­sive and per­son­al to each indi­vid­ual.

Their con­nec­tion grows through­out the con­ver­sa­tion, mov­ing from reflec­tions on death to philo­soph­i­cal mus­ings on the mean­ing of life itself. Orkideh’s can­did­ness about her own strug­gles, her accep­tance of death, and her under­stand­ing of life’s fleet­ing nature offer Cyrus the oppor­tu­ni­ty to exam­ine his own fears and uncer­tain­ties. He is inspired by her abil­i­ty to face the inevitable with grace and finds him­self con­tem­plat­ing his own sense of pur­pose. Their con­ver­sa­tion turns toward the pro­found impact art and lega­cy can have on one’s life, espe­cial­ly when faced with the end. By the time their dia­logue draws to a close, Cyrus is left with a heavy heart, pon­der­ing how to find mean­ing in both his life and death. His plans to write about Orkideh’s expe­ri­ence reflect his desire to immor­tal­ize their exchange, cap­tur­ing a moment that has shift­ed his per­spec­tive on exis­tence. Step­ping out into the cold Feb­ru­ary air, Cyrus is over­whelmed by the com­plex­i­ty of their talk, deeply affect­ed by the raw vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty they shared. The weight of this encounter stays with him as he grap­ples with his own iden­ti­ty and the mean­ing of his jour­ney for­ward. In the end, the chap­ter ends on an intro­spec­tive note, with Cyrus wrestling with the ques­tions of mor­tal­i­ty, lega­cy, and the ongo­ing search for per­son­al pur­pose.