Next to a stream whose clear water was more transparent than the tears of a girl in love at her happiest hour, Shirin sat on a stone, mourning. The dark green cypress stretched her head up to the sky. “Oh, you redeeming stone,” she said with a sob, “you who have freed so many poor girls from lovesickness and misery, hear my story today. No one is listening to us, and the stream is the most faithful witness to my suffering: Once upon a time, on the 13th day of spring, all the people of the country left their homes to spend the day outdoors, as the old custom dictates, gathering fragrant herbs. I searched all alone for the love herb Krakuti. I couldn’t find it anywhere.

Almost exhausted, I heard a magical song from afar, which mingled with the murmur of the stream. Finally I could wet my hot hands with the diamond clear water. When I had washed myself, I saw next to my own reflection the face of a beautiful young man. His eyes looked infinitely sad. Since I was alone, I did not dare to turn around. Oh, if only I had done so now, perhaps I would have seen him before he disappeared behind the cypress.

So I just played with his reflection. The movement of the water changed his expression countless times. His loving eyes looked at me from the water, steadfastly and sadly. If only I had dared to look around, I would have spared myself all the agony. Now it is too late to regret my hesitation.”

Shirin cried and waited for the answer of the stone.