The Things We Never Said

There are some people who enter your life quietly. No dramatic music. No warning. No sign from the universe that says, This person is going to change everything. They simply appear. And somehow, without you realizing it, they become a part of every memory you make afterward. For Ayla, it began on an ordinary Monday morning.At least, that was what she thought. --- The rain had started sometime before dawn. Ayla stood beside her bedroom window, watching tiny droplets race down the glass. The sky was grey, the streets were wet, and the city looked unusually quiet. She checked the time. 7:42 a.m. "Perfect."She was late. Again. She grabbed her bag from the chair, slipped her phone into her pocket and hurried downstairs. "Ayla!" She stopped halfway down the stairs. Her mother's voice came from the kitchen. "You're leaving without breakfast again?" "I'm already late!" "You'll survive five minutes." "I don't think my professor believes in survival." Her mother laughed. "Take an umbrella." "I have one." "You forgot it yesterday." "I didn't forget it. I strategically left it at university." "That's called forgetting." Ayla smiled despite herself. "Allah Hafiz!" "Allah Hafiz. And Ayla—" She turned. "Yes?" "Be careful." Something about the way her mother said it made Ayla pause. Then she smiled. "I will." She didn't know it yet, but those would be the last ordinary words she would hear that morning. --- By the time Ayla reached university, the rain had become heavier. She ran across the courtyard, holding her bag over her head, completely ignoring the fact that it wasn't helping. "AYLAAA!" She turned. Her best friend, Maira, was standing under the entrance, waving at her. "You look horrible!" "Thank you." "I mean your hair." "Still thank you." Maira laughed and pulled her inside. "You missed attendance." "I knew it." "And you missed the announcement." Ayla frowned. "What announcement?" Maira's smile disappeared. "The new student." Ayla rolled her eyes. "That's it?" "You don't understand." "I really don't." "Everyone's talking about him." Ayla stared at her. "Why?" Maira leaned closer. "Because apparently he came from London." Ayla blinked. "So?" "Apparently he's ridiculously rich." "So?" "Apparently he's ridiculously handsome." Ayla sighed. "Please tell me you have something better to do with your life." "I do." "What?" "Watch you pretend you don't care." Ayla laughed. "Come on." They walked toward their classroom. But before Ayla could open the door, someone came rushing around the corner. And collided directly with her. Her books fell to the floor. "Oh my God!" "I'm sorry." The voice was calm. Too calm. Ayla looked up. And for a moment, she forgot what she was about to say. He was standing in front of her, holding one of her books. Tall. Dark hair, slightly wet from the rain. A black watch around his wrist. And eyes that were strangely familiar. Not familiar in the way you recognize someone you've met. Familiar in the way a forgotten dream feels familiar. He looked at the book in his hand. Then at her. "Ayla?" Her heart skipped. She frowned. "How do you know my name?" He didn't answer immediately. His expression changed for the briefest second. Almost like he'd said something he wasn't supposed to. Then he handed her the book. "Sorry." And walked away. Ayla stood there. Maira slowly looked at her. "Okay." "What?" "That was weird." "Very." "You know him?" "No." "He knows you." "I know." Maira watched him disappear down the hallway. "Who is he?" Ayla looked at the book in her hands. There was something written on the first page. Something she had never written. Something that made her blood run cold. "Some things are forgotten for a reason." She stared at the sentence. "Maira..." "Yeah?" "I think I've seen him before." "Where?" Ayla shook her head. "I don't know." And that was the problem. She didn't know. But somewhere deep inside her mind, behind memories she couldn't reach, a voice whispered— You promised you would never forget me. Ayla closed the book. She didn't hear the footsteps returning behind her. She didn't see the same boy standing at the end of the corridor. Watching her. And she definitely didn't hear him whisper to himself: "She really doesn't remember." Then he turned away. Because some stories don't begin when two people meet. Sometimes... they begin when one of them finally forgets...