Next Station

Chapter 20

Days had passed since that bitter night.

The sun had risen and set — indifferent, unmoved.

The hospital had breathed in its slow, heavy rhythm,

Exhaling the weight of yet another day.

Maral,

Her head wrapped in bandages, her body drained and weary,

Lay on a bed that smelled of alcohol and medicine,

Her half-lidded eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

The tubes had been removed from her hands and chest.

The surrounding machines had fallen silent — or quieter.

Still, she remained under watchful care.

Still, now and then, nurses would slip in quiet footsteps,

check her vitals,

And passed softly by her bed.

In the coming days,

Many had come.

Her father,

With his weary, wrinkled eyes.

Her mother,

With cold, trembling hands.

Sinan, carrying a broken gaze.

Erfan,

Her friends —

Zeynep,

Tarik, with a faint smile.

Janan,

They had all come.

They had held her hands,

called her name,

Spoken words she could barely grasp.

But the one,

The one Maral had been waiting for,

never came.

No sign,

no trace,

No shadow of him.

In the stillness of the hospital,

half-conscious and drained,

Maral whispered inwardly:

"How exhausting it is... to be surrounded by so many... when the only one who should be here... isn’t."

And her gaze, silent and heavy, drifted toward the gray window —

Where the pale autumn light,

With its particular chill,

Had become her only faithful companion.

The nurse,

Perihan,

In her white uniform and calm hands,

Was preparing the syringe.

Maral, still weak and trembling inside,

Stared blankly at a spot on the wall.

Her breathing was short and heavy.

Perihan,

Her voice carrying something unspoken beneath it,

Said quietly:

— "Doctor...

The night when your condition worsened...

After the accident and the surgery..."

(She paused, searching for the right words.)

— "Someone... with the hospital's approval...

Asked for permission to enter the ICU.

I was the one who escorted him to your room."

Maral blinked.

She listened in silence, but with sharp attention.

Perihan added with a faint, almost secretive smile:

— "He was cleared as a safe person.

A handsome man...

With green eyes...

He looked devastated over you.

Like his whole world had fallen apart."

Maral’s hands, resting on the white sheet, trembled slightly.

But she said nothing.

Not even a breath caught in her throat.

Perihan, still calm,

prepared the needle,

And carefully administered the medication.

No extra words,

No judgment,

No embellishments in her voice.

Just the simple telling of a truth.

A man...

A gaze...

One hard, lonely night.

Perihan left the room quietly, almost soundlessly.

The door closed with a soft click.

And once again, the room was submerged in the familiar stillness of the hospital.

Maral,

Her body frail and her mind exhausted,

Closed her eyes.

Not to sleep —

But to escape the heavy emptiness.

Yet there, behind her closed eyelids,

In some distant layer of half-consciousness,

Something stirred.

Voices,

words,

a faint warmth,

Dripping like water from a stone.

Not clear,

not complete,

But deep and real.

"Do you remember the first time I saw you, standing in the rain..."

"You became a wound for me... and a healing, all at once..."

"Come back... even if I can only watch you from afar, that's enough..."

"You're the cure to so many of my wounds..."

Maral squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

For a brief moment,

Her breathing faltered.

She didn’t know where she had heard those words before.

She didn’t know if she was dreaming,

Or still awake.

But she knew —

These words,

this voice,

This is simple truth.

Was etched deep within her soul.

A single warm tear slid silently down the corner of her eye.

Not from pain,

Not from fear,

But from something softer, deeper —

From the touch of a love that had not let go,

Even in darkness,

Even at the edge of life.

And in the haze of pain and fading consciousness,

Maral made a soundless vow —

Not with her lips,

But with her entire being:

"I heard you..."

✨✨✨✨✨✨

Hospital Night

The room was dim.

The soft beeping of the monitor filled the space like the tired ticking of an old clock.

The door opened quietly.

Sinan entered, his steps hesitant.

His face was worn, as if he had spent countless nights without sleep.

Maral, sitting half-upright in bed,

Offered him a faint smile when she saw him.

Sinan approached.

He sat down on the chair beside her bed.

Their eyes met for a brief moment —

A gaze heavy with a thousand unspoken words.

After a short pause, Maral asked softly:

— "Sinan...

That night...

(her gaze wavered)

Did Kaan... come?"

Sinan closed his eyes,

As if her question had reopened an old wound.

He stayed silent for a long moment.

He drew a deep breath,

Pressing his hands against his knees.

Then, surrendering to the vulnerable, waiting eyes across from him,

He said hoarsely:

— "Yeah...

(he lowered his head)

he came.

Before anyone else.

I don’t know how... or when he heard the news...

But when we got here, he was already there."

Maral blinked.

Something inside her trembled — a mix of sorrow and quiet relief.

Sinan gave a bitter smile:

— "Your parents..."

(he hesitated, shame touching his voice)

— "they confronted him.

Told him he had no right to be here.

That he... was nothing to you."

Maral's eyebrows knit together.

Her heart tightened at those words.

Sinan went on:

— "They forced him to leave.

And he did...

(softer)

I never saw him again."

A heavy silence settled between them,

Like a thick curtain of things left unsaid.

Maral stared at the ceiling.

She exhaled slowly.

Inside her, the bitterness of her family’s actions weighed heavily,

But something deeper, something warmer,

Began to grow within her wounded heart.

He had come.

He was there.

Before anyone else.

And even if he had been forced to leave,

The fact that he had come —

Meant something no one else could ever truly understand.

And that thought,

Like a thin blanket on a cold night,

Slowly, gently, it wrapped itself around Maral’s weary soul.

The night passed quietly.

And for the first time after endless days,

Maral,

In the muted darkness of the hospital,

Felt something close to life stir within her again.

"He had come..."

The thought, like a flickering candle,

Remained lit in the weary darkness of her heart.

Maral closed her eyes.

She placed her thin, bruised hand over her chest.

And breathed —

slowly, deeply.

And in the silence of her soul, she whispered:

"You must be my cure..."

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

A few days had passed.

Maral was slowly coming back to life.

The wounds still marked her skin and bones,

But she will — like a sapling pushing up through the snow —

Had grown stronger than ever.

The doctors, cautious but hopeful,

Had granted her a conditional discharge.

Her family, especially her mother, Nermin,

Insisted she return to her childhood home.

But Maral —

Even the thought of going back to that suffocating house,

Where every glance and every word felt like a fresh wound —

It was unbearable.

In the cold courtyard of the hospital,

Under the gray hush of an evening sky,

Maral stood beside her father,

Dressed in a long black coat.

A quiet man with worry permanently etched into his gaze,

He had his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat,

And said with a hidden, nervous tremble:

— "Maral...

My daughter...

Your mother and I,

We’re worried about you...

You just came back from death’s door..."

Maral, her voice calm but firm, replied:

— "Dad..."

(she lowered her gaze to the ground)

— "Please don't ask me to return to a house where, every day, every moment,

They tear at my soul."

(then she lifted her head, locking eyes with him)

— "I really can’t endure Mother's behavior anymore."

Her father held his breath.

There was something fragile in her appearance —

Something on the verge of breaking.

Maral continued, her voice trembling but resolute:

— "My own place...

My apartment...

I need to be alone.

Far from careless actions and the burden of constant judgment."

Her father,

With all his worry and fear weighing on him,

He said nothing.

He just nodded slowly,

Broken, but in agreement.

Maral gave a small, bittersweet smile —

A smile touched by sorrow, but also by freedom.

Hours later,

Maral, with slow and silent steps,

Turned the key in the lock of her apartment.

Her small, quiet home,

Still carrying the scent of solitude,

The scent of freedom,

Opened its arms to her.

Maral,

Bathed in the dim evening light,

breathed deeply.

She had finally returned to a place where she could,

Without the sting of sharp words,

Without the weight of heavy gazes,

Slowly, quietly,

Rebuild herself.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

A few weeks had passed since the incident.

The wounds on Maral's body —

And even deeper ones within her soul —

We were slowly beginning to heal.

During those days,

As she fought her way back to life through physiotherapy and medication,

Another piece of news arrived:

Mehmet’s case

Had officially and legally been reopened.

However, after thorough psychiatric evaluations

And the ruling of the forensic medical commission,

It was officially declared:

Mehmet,

Due to a congenital psychological disorder,

Had lacked the ability to fully control his will and judgment

At the time of the incident.

His criminal responsibility was deemed limited.

Maral,

As she read the commission's report,

Let her eyes linger on the words for a long moment.

Her heart tightened.

The image of that night returned —

Narges' trembling hands,

Mehmet's terrified eyes,

And the broken screams that still echoed in her ears.

Maral picked up the pen.

She paused for a few seconds.

Then, with steady hands and a calm, unwavering script,

She wrote on the consent form:

"I have no complaint."

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The news that Maral had forgiven Mehmet —

That she had chosen not to press charges against him or his family —

Spread through the hospital like a gentle breeze.

Doctors, nurses, friends,

Even patients who only knew Maral from afar,

Held a deep, quiet admiration for her.

Not because she had suffered,

But because she had chosen to heal her wound with compassion,

Not with bitterness.

Mehmet’s mother,

Mrs. Emine — who had miraculously recovered —

And her daughter, Narges,

Wished to visit Maral,

To thank her from the depths of their hearts for her grace.

But when Maral heard the request,

She gave a faint smile,

Her gaze drifted toward the window.

Her heart wasn’t ready yet to face that memory.

The unseen wounds beneath her skin

Still ached with every breath.

Quietly but firmly, she said:

— "Tell them..."

(she paused)

— "I’m not ready to see them yet.

Please... forgive me."

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Far away,

In a place Maral had no idea existed,

A man with green eyes,

Who had been silently following every piece of news about her,

Buried his hands deep in the pockets of his coat,

And with a bittersweet, shining smile,

Whispered under his breath:

"I never expected anything less from you...

My eternal love."

And for a fleeting moment,

The sky above the city

Felt just a little lighter

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Night had fallen,

Spreading a canopy of heavy clouds over the city.

Maral stood by the window.

In her small apartment.

The air was cold.

But something — a scent, a feeling — had shifted in the wind.

She leaned closer, breathing softly against the cold glass.

And at that very moment,

The first snowflakes

Began to fall,

slow and silent,

Out of the darkness.

Maral blinked,

As if time itself had paused.

She ran up the stairs,

Breathless,

Until she reached the rooftop.

Snow was falling now — gently, patiently.

The streetlights below,

Blurred by mist and falling snow,

Looked like fading stars.

Maral, her eyes wide,

Looked down toward the street.

And there —

Across the road, by the curb —

The headlights of a familiar car glowed.

Its model, its color, its stillness —

All of it was familiar.

So familiar.

Maral didn’t hesitate.

Her heart made the choice before her mind even caught up.

Without even grabbing a coat,

She raced down the stairs.

Her slippers slipped against the cold cement steps,

but she kept running —

her heart pounding,

Screaming one name with every beat.

On the empty street,

A man stepped out of the car.

Dressed in black, tall and steady,

His green eyes gleamed — even from a distance.

Maral froze.

For a moment —

Just a heartbeat —

She couldn’t believe it. She held her breath.

But the man,

With those heavy, familiar steps,

Started walking toward her.

There was no more doubt.

It was him.

Kaan.

Without thinking,

Without hesitating,

Without fear,

Maral ran to him.

And with a soundless crash,

She threw herself into his arms.

Kaan

Pulled her tightly against his chest,

As if trying to reclaim a piece of his own soul.

His arms wrapped around her waist,

And the warmth of his body

Pierced through the winter chill,

sinking deep into Maral’s bones.

Without speaking,

Without even giving themselves time to think,

Kaan cupped Maral’s face in his hands,

And under the falling snow,

He covered her bruised, healing cheeks.

With desperate, endless kisses.

Maral

Rested her head against Kaan’s chest.

The familiar scent of him,

Woven into the cold air,

felt like a miracle reborn.

The snow fell heavier, whiter.

The street was silent,

The city was hushed.

Only the sound of their breathing,

And the soft whisper of the snow,

Filled the world around them.

At that moment,

On that winter's night,

There were only two of them.

And nothing else existed.

Perhaps they didn’t know it, perhaps they couldn’t believe it yet — but Maral and Kaan, without even realizing it, were becoming a story that people would still speak of, even years later, with wonder and warmth.

In a world where loves are so easily forgotten, these two — unknowingly — were crafting a tale meant to endure for centuries.