One Step Away
1558 Words
The moment Élise cleared customs, she pulled out her phone.
The screen flickered to life, signal bars climbing slowly.
Her fingers hovered over his name.
She could feel her pulse in her throat.
“Just say it,” she whispered.
And pressed call.
Emir — Calling…
Once.
Twice.
On the third ring — his voice.
— “Hello?”
That one word hit her like a breath she’d been holding for hours.
Her voice trembled.
— “Emir…”
Silence.
Then his tone changed — disbelief, surprise, something softer beneath.
— “Élise? Is that… really you?”
A smile tugged at her lips, tears already welling.
— “It’s me. Where are you?”
She could hear traffic in the background — car horns, muffled city noise.
— “I’m in a taxi,” he said.
Then, her next words made him freeze.
— “I just landed in Istanbul.”
There was a long pause.
The kind of silence that holds a hundred unspoken emotions.
Then his voice — incredulous, raw.
— “What did you just say?”
— “I’m here, Emir. I came.”
He drew in a shaky breath.
— “You… followed me?”
She laughed softly, pressing her forehead against the glass.
The city outside shimmered like a dream.
— “Maybe. Or maybe I followed my heart.”
He didn’t speak right away.
She could hear him breathing — deep, slow, uncertain.
Then his voice dropped lower.
— “How are you?”
— “Scared,” she admitted. “But happy.”
He smiled despite himself.
— “Is it your first time here?”
— “Yes. And it feels… unreal.”
Emir chuckled quietly.
— “Istanbul tends to do that. Feels like a dream, but once you’re here, it doesn’t let you go.”
She went quiet for a moment, then said softly:
— “Emir…”
— “Yes?”
— “I’m really in Istanbul.”
He blinked.
— “You’re… where?”
— “At the airport. I just arrived.”
He sat up straight in the back seat, startling the driver.
— “You’re joking.”
— “I’m not.”
He turned to the window.
The city was rushing past — minarets, bridges, morning haze.
He gripped the phone tighter.
— “Which terminal?”
— “International Arrivals. Gate B.”
— “Don’t move. Stay right there.”
He leaned forward toward the driver.
— “Turn around. We’re going back to the airport.”
The driver frowned.
— “Sir, we just left there.”
— “Doesn’t matter. Go back.”
The woman sitting beside him — another passenger he’d shared the taxi with — looked up, confused.
— “Is everything okay?”
Emir hesitated.
— “Yes… I just need to pick someone up.”
She nodded slowly.
— “I can get out here, my hotel’s close.”
— “Thank you,” he said quickly.
She stepped out, and the taxi swung around.
He put the phone back to his ear.
— “I’m coming back.”
— “Okay,” Élise said quietly.
Her voice trembled, but there was a smile in it.
— “I’ll be waiting.”
He looked out the window, Istanbul unfolding in front of him —
the first light of morning washing over the domes, the bridge, the skyline.
He hadn’t realized until that moment
just how fast his heart could beat.
“She’s here,” he thought.
“She actually came.”
⸻
At the airport, Élise stood near the glass wall, her suitcase beside her.
Around her, people hurried — greetings, tears, laughter.
She felt oddly calm.
Not lost.
Not foreign.
Just… home.
Her phone buzzed again — a message from Emir.
“Ten minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
She smiled.
Outside, the first light of the Turkish morning spread over the runway.
Somewhere, a muezzin’s voice floated in the distance.
She looked out, whispered:
“I’m here, Emir.
And I’m not leaving.”
The taxi sped along the expressway, cutting through the thin veil of morning mist.
Istanbul unfurled outside — bridges, towers, half-awake neighborhoods —
but Emir’s thoughts were spinning faster than the car wheels.
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight, eyes distant.
“This doesn’t make sense.”
His mind was a storm.
There was no other flight today.
No connecting route that could’ve arrived this soon.
He knew the schedules — he had checked them before leaving.
Elise couldn’t be in Istanbul.
And yet… she was.
He leaned his head against the cool glass, watching the blur of lights pass by.
The city was alive — horns, seagulls, echoes of the morning call to prayer —
but inside the car, everything felt silent.
“She had nothing two days ago,” he thought bitterly.
“Not even cab fare. And now she’s crossed the world?”
A part of him wanted to laugh, another wanted to believe.
The two fought like fire and water inside his chest.
“Maybe she’s playing with me,” he muttered under his breath.
The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
— “Everything alright, brother?”
Emir looked up, startled from his thoughts.
He forced a thin smile.
— “Yeah. Just… confused.”
The driver chuckled.
— “Love does that.”
Emir didn’t answer. He turned back to the window,
watching the skyline blur into streaks of gold and grey.
The Bosphorus shimmered beneath them as they crossed the bridge.
The first light of the sun hit the water — bright, soft, alive.
But his mind was somewhere else.
He could still hear her voice echoing through the line:
“I just landed in Istanbul.”
It didn’t sound like a lie.
It sounded… real.
Too real.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why would she come?”
He’d told her goodbye, thanked her, ended it cleanly.
There was no reason for her to follow.
And yet, the thought of her waiting at the terminal — alone, fragile, determined —
made something ache deep inside him.
He scrolled back through his phone — her last message still open.
Gate B. Don’t go.
He read it again.
And again.
Each time, the words seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of their own.
The driver’s voice broke the silence.
— “Five minutes, brother.”
Emir blinked.
He hadn’t realized they were almost there.
He sat up straighter, fingers tightening around the phone.
His reflection in the window looked tired — uncertain, but alive.
“Maybe she’s real,” he thought.
“Maybe she really came.”
The taxi turned onto the airport road.
The signs flashed by: Arrivals → Departures → Parking.
He could feel his pulse racing with every turn.
When the massive glass façade of the terminal appeared,
he exhaled sharply — like surfacing from underwater.
— “We’re here,” the driver said, pulling up to the curb.
Emir reached for his wallet.
His voice was a little shaky.
— “Keep the engine running. I might need you again.”
The driver raised an eyebrow.
— “No problem. I’ll wait. Your luggage is still in the trunk.”
Emir froze for half a second — he had completely forgotten.
His suitcase, his bags, everything was still in the taxi.
He nodded quickly.
— “Good. Don’t move until I’m back.”
— “Got it, boss,” said the driver with a grin.
Emir opened the door.
The sound of the morning hit him like a wave —
people talking in a dozen languages, rolling suitcases, loudspeaker announcements.
The smell of coffee, metal, and jet fuel mixed in the air.
He paused at the curb.
For a heartbeat, he hesitated —
his mind replaying every doubt, every fear, every unanswered question.
Then, something shifted in his chest — not logic, not reason — just instinct.
He started running.
Past the security line, past the crowds.
His shoes echoed on the tiles — thud, thud, thud —
in rhythm with his racing pulse.
The sliding glass doors loomed ahead, reflecting the sunlight like liquid fire.
He didn’t slow down.
The automatic sensors caught his movement — whoosh —
and the doors parted open before him.
For a brief second, the world seemed to pause.
A gust of warm air brushed against his face.
Inside, the terminal glowed with morning light.
Somewhere beyond that light — somewhere in the crowd — she was waiting.
He could almost hear her voice.
“Emir…”
He swallowed hard, every muscle tense.
And then he stepped through.
Behind him, the taxi driver leaned against his car,
watching the man disappear into the terminal.
He lit a cigarette and muttered to himself in Turkish:
— “Aşk işte… bekle dedin, beklerim.”
He flicked the ash aside, opened the car door,
and waited — the trunk still full of Emir’s suitcases.
Inside, Emir was already gone —
running toward the one person he swore he’d never see again,
his heart pounding louder than the city itself.
And as the automatic doors closed behind him,
the sound of the outside world faded —
leaving only the echo of footsteps,
and the breath of two destinies
about to collide once more.
- Writer
