Next Station

Chapter 16

The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the hospital corridors.

The cold, lifeless glow of the ceiling lamps cast unstable shadows across the weary faces of the companions.

Maral, still in the doctor's room, was reviewing a midnight patient’s file when suddenly a loud paging announcement echoed:

"Dr. Maral Aydin, please report to the emergency room immediately. Dr. Maral Aydin."

Without a moment’s hesitation,

She set the file aside and rushed toward the ER in quick steps.

When she reached the glass doors of the emergency ward,

The scene she saw was:

A stretcher —

And on it, a seven- or eight-year-old boy,

His clothes muddy, his face bruised.

His mother, a young and pale woman, stood over him with a terrified expression.

Her eyes were red and full of tears.

Her hands twisted and clenched restlessly.

Beside her, a younger girl — maybe four or five years old —

Clung tightly to her mother’s leg.

Her wide, frightened eyes silently scanned the surroundings, full of questions.

An ER nurse approached Maral and whispered under her breath:

"He was playing in the park.

Suddenly, I ran into the street...

A car couldn't brake on time.

Impact on the right side of the body and head.

The level of consciousness has dropped."

Without a moment's doubt,

Maral moved toward the boy.

With her usual steady hands and burning heart,

She began the examination:

➔ Checking the pupils' response;

➔ Monitoring pulse and blood pressure;

➔ Searching for signs of internal bleeding.

At the same time, the mother, her voice broken and pleading, said:

"Please... please save my son..."

Maral cast a quick glance at the woman —

At those eyes that screamed only one thing:

"Save my child."

Maral said calmly and firmly:

"We'll do everything we can. He needs to go for a CT scan immediately. It's a golden time window."

With a smooth motion, the stretcher was moved.

The unconscious boy carried on a wave of hope and fear,

I was rushed toward the imaging rooms.

The mother and her little daughter, like two trembling shadows, ran behind the stretcher.

Outside, it was a rainy, cold autumn;

But inside the hospital, a heart heavier than that autumn waited for a miracle.

Maral stood in the narrow hallway, waiting for the CT scan results.

Nurses moved silently around her.

The little girl, with cold, trembling hands, clung to her mother's skirt.

And the mother seemed to be collapsing, moment by moment, under the crushing weight of waiting.

At that moment, the glass door of the emergency room swung open with a harsh noise.

A man with a flushed face,

His steps hurried and fierce,

stormed in —

A face carrying both rage and terror at once.

With one look at the unconscious boy,

The color drained from his face.

He rushed toward the mother.

His voice was low but furious:

"Where were you?! How could you let him run into the street alone?!"

The mother, tearful and stunned, tried to say something:

"I... I just turned away for a moment..."

But the man raised his voice:

"A moment?! Irresponsible mother — always the same!"

Maral was carefully watching,

But had not yet intervened.

However, when that man's anger breaks past words,

Grabbed the mother's wrist roughly,

The woman struggled in fear.

The little girl burst into tears.

Maral could no longer stand by and watch.

She moved quickly and firmly,

Placing her hand on the man’s arm — calm but unyielding.

Her voice was low, but so firm that even the hospital walls seemed to tremble:

"This is not the place for a fight.

If you don’t let go right now, I’ll have to call security."

The man, eyes bloodshot with rage,

Stared at Maral for several long seconds,

His breathing was harsh and uneven.

Maral, unflinching, held his gaze steadily.

And this time, in an even lower but sharper voice, she said:

"Right now, your son is fighting for his life.

If you waste your energy looking for someone to blame,

You'll lose the moments you could be praying for him."

The man blinked, as if struck.

His grip loosened.

The mother drew a trembling breath,

And the little girl pressed herself even closer to her.

Maral, now with a slightly softer but still firm tone, added:

"I'm here to help.

If you truly want to help your son, you must be calm — not angry."

The man said nothing.

His chin quivered slightly,

As if something between a sob and helplessness was caught in his throat.

A few heavy, suffocating moments passed between them.

Then, without a word,

The man turned and walked heavily out of the emergency room.

The mother collapsed into a chair, her knees giving way.

The little girl pressed her tear-streaked face against her mother's arm.

Maral quietly sat beside them.

She said nothing.

Only placed a gentle hand on the woman’s trembling shoulder.

Sometimes, presence is the only possible cure.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

That night,

The hospital was left behind,

With all its sharp smell of alcohol, compressed anxieties, and trembling hearts gasping for air in the corridors.

Maral sat silently, swallowed by the darkness of her home;

A home that seemed, like her, exhausted and colorless.

Outside, the wind weaved through the wet branches, carrying the scent of freshly dried rain inside.

The window was half-open; the curtains swayed gently;

And time slipped by quietly beside her.

Maral curled up on the couch, still in her hospital clothes.

Her hands rested motionless on her knees.

But her mind was still trapped by that little boy and his mother’s pale, stricken face.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated on the table.

Call from: Kaan.

In the heavy silence, Maral glanced at the glowing screen.

Her heart, involuntarily, skipped and beat a little faster.

She hesitated for a few seconds.

Then, as if holding her breath, she answered...

Kaan’s deep, calm voice filled her ear:

"Tomorrow's a holiday...

I want to take you somewhere, far from this exhausting city."

Maral, her voice unconsciously softening, asked:

"Where?"

Kaan paused for a moment, then said:

"The road.

Somewhere we can actually breathe..."

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The next morning,

The air in Istanbul was cool and smelled of damp earth.

Kaan pulled up in his black SUV in front of Maral’s house.

He parked quietly by the curb and waited.

Maral stepped out,

Her hair loose and her light beige coat flowing around her.

Her eyes were a little tired, but her gaze was determined.

Kaan leaned slightly out of the window and gave a faint smile:

"Ready for a little escape from the world?"

Maral smiled back and got in.

Kaan noticed the small evil-eye bracelet on Maral’s wrist.

The same one he had tied around her wrist

with his own hands that night at Zeynep’s house.

And now, days later…

Seeing it still there

stirred a quiet warmth deep inside him.

Somewhere within,

he felt as if a part of him lingered with her —

a small but living memory woven into her days.

It was as if that little blue charm

was an invisible thread stretched between them —

delicate, fragile, yet unbreakable.

Kaan’s gaze lingered for a moment on Maral’s wrist.

He felt a soft tremor in his chest;

a silent gratitude,

and a quiet, deep happiness rising from within.

He held himself back.

He had to restrain the urge

to go to her,

to wrap her in an embrace,

to confess everything he was feeling.

Because Maral, as always,

stood apart —

behind the walls she had built around herself.

But Kaan knew:

Some walls cannot be broken by words alone;

they must be crossed with patience,

with silent waiting,

and with steady, genuine steps.

And so,

that small, shining charm on Maral’s wrist

whispered to Kaan:

"I’m here.

Unseen, but always with you."

And in that moment,

in the depths of Kaan’s heart,

a tiny seed of hope

bloomed quietly and tenderly.

After a brief pause,

The car started moving gently, passing through the sleepy, rain-damp streets of the city.

Everything that autumn morning seemed to have taken on a softer hue.

The car rolled quietly through the wet, half-asleep streets.

The morning air carried the scent of damp soil.

The car’s radio was on, with a slight crackling sound in the background.

A few moments of silence —

Then the deep, sorrowful voice of Ferdi Tayfur filled the space, soothing and calm:

"Ben bir tek kadın sevdim, o da sensin..."

(I loved only one woman, and that was you...)

Maral, almost involuntarily, turned toward the window.

Her eyes fixed on the misty streets outside,

But her mind, carried by those few words,

Wandered elsewhere.

Kaan drove — silent, unassuming —

As if letting the music speak the words he couldn’t say himself.

A quiet, meaningful silence settled between them;

A silence heavy with a thousand unspoken things.

Gradually, the car left the gray buildings behind.

The road opened up.

Autumn trees lined both sides, stretching toward the sky,

And a chilly breeze slipped in through the half-open window.

Maral closed her eyes,

Briefly and softly,

Letting the sound of the music and the scent of wet leaves calm her heart for a moment.

Maral lowered the window slightly;

A cool breeze and the sharp scent of wet leaves slipped into the car.

The air of the forest was a blend of damp earth, half-burnt wood, and crushed leaves —

A smell that evoked something distant, something lost.

Both of them traveled in silence,

Immersed in the wordless magic of autumn —

Needing no words, needing no destination.

The car moved at a slow, steady pace,

Along a road that seemed, itself, to be life:

With all its twists, its falls, and its quiet splendor.

Some roads are not just paths to a destination;

They are life itself —

With all their ups and downs,

And their silent breaths.

This road,

The road from Polonezköy to Beykoz —

It was not merely a way through the trees.

Something in the texture of its wet soil,

In the morning, mist tangled among the branches,

In the silent colors of a thousand fallen leaves,

Gently and quietly pulled a person away from themselves.

Here,

The wind played with your thoughts;

The leaves whispered old stories no one had ever fully heard;

And the road,

Like a quiet serpent, coiling you within itself,

Without you ever knowing where it might let you go.

Polonezköy — this slender thread of dreams —

Had, for centuries, been a place where a person,

Before reaching anywhere,

Simply got lost;

In thought, in memory, in silent longing.

And now,

this road

Was fulfilling its unwritten role for Kaan and Maral —

Quietly, unassumingly,

Yet with a force only the universe could have sown into the earth, the wind, and the leaves.

It was as if the road,

With invisible hands,

Was reaching out to them,

Offering a few brief hours of freedom from the weight of the world;

From everything left unsaid, everything deeply felt but hidden away.

And with every turn in that road,

Something inside them loosened,

Something grew softer, something grew closer.

At one of the gentle bends of the road,

A little farther ahead, in the shadow of ancient oak trees,

An elderly woman, wearing a white headscarf and a dusty-colored coat,

Sat beside a simple wooden table.

On the table, several wooden baskets overflowed with large, glossy apples;

Beside them were jars of homemade jam, dried fruits, and a few small jars of honey.

Maral leaned slightly toward the window and said softly:

"Look..."

Kaan slowed the car,

His eyes caught sight of the old woman,

And with a lopsided smile he said:

"Come on... let's buy some organic fruit from her."

Without any hurry,

He pulled the car to a stop by the side of the road.

They both got out.

The air had grown cooler.

The scent of wet leaves and half-burnt wood drifted in the breeze.

Together with Kaan, Maral walked toward the old woman.

The woman, her voice roughened by years of work and life, greeted them kindly:

"Welcome, children.

The apples are from my own orchard... the harvest was good this year."

Maral smiled gently,

Picked up a few apples;

Her hand lingered for a moment inside the basket,

As if caught between the scent of the fresh fruit and the feeling of the moment.

Kaan cast a brief glance at Maral;

a quiet look,

Unassuming,

But filled with something words could never quite capture.

Maral lifted one apple,

Examined the yellow hue of its skin, and smiled:

"Maybe this one tastes like autumn."

Maral was absorbed in choosing the apples.

Her delicate hands carefully touched the red and golden fruits between her fingers.

The faint autumn sunlight highlighted the soft lines of her face, making them appear even clearer and brighter.

A little farther away,

Kaan stood,

His gaze was heavier than usual, drifting over Maral’s calm figure.

The old woman, busy tying up bags of purchases,

Lifted her head for a brief moment.

She saw.

She saw how Kaan’s gaze moved over Maral —

Not with shallow desire,

But with a silent, bitter depth.

Maral, still arranging the fruit,

Suddenly she felt the weight of a gaze settle upon her.

She looked up.

Her eyes locked with the old woman’s —

A deep, silent, frightening gaze,

As if seeing the future.

The old woman slowly approached.

She placed her wrinkled, warm hands over Maral’s.

A brief touch, but one that seemed to last a lifetime.

With a voice that carried the scent of earth, wind, and memory, she whispered:

"These hands... perform miracles.

They give life.

But... be careful, my girl."

Maral stood motionless, only listening.

A tight, invisible knot formed in her chest.

The old woman gazed deeper into her,

And after a heavy pause, her voice, tinged with a bitter sadness, whispered:

"Beware of the love blooming in your heart.

Not all that feels warm will lead you to light.

Sometimes, what feels like shelter is nothing but a quiet storm."

Maral blinked.

Something wordless and fragile inside her cracked.

The old woman, her voice softer now,

Like someone patiently digging a truth from the earth, added:

"Hearts that shine too brightly

Are the first to catch fire.

The path your soul leans toward...

It may not lead to building,

But to breaking."

Maral, her heart pounding wildly with nowhere to run,

Could only stare — silent, defenseless.

Kaan, a few steps away, watched —

Silent, unmoving,

His face drawn tight under the weight of things left unsaid.

The old woman lifted her eyes for a brief second,

Casting a glance past Maral —

A gaze that did not need words to be understood.

Then, gently, silently,

She released Maral’s hands,

As if the rest was now between Maral and fate itself.

A heavy, reverent silence settled between them.

The air seemed thick with the scent of a prophecy,

A season not yet come but already breathing among the trees.

Maral stood frozen,

Her hands suspended in the chill air,

As if a piece of her had been quietly taken away.

Kaan hesitated, standing between Maral and the old woman,

The struggle within him plain but silent.

Finally, without a word,

He pulled a large bill from his wallet

And placed it gently on the old, weathered table —

Far more than the worth of simple apples.

Without speaking,

He reached for Maral’s hand —

Firm, steady, but not forceful,

Like someone clinging to something slipping away.

Maral, heavy with unspoken emotions, allowed herself to be led.

As they walked under the arching trees,

Maral glanced back one last time.

The old woman stood there still,

Her hands folded before her,

Her gaze stretching out into some unseen future,

As if watching them even from miles away.

Some warnings are like autumn leaves —

They fall quietly, briefly,

But their echo lingers across the seasons yet to come.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The car once again merged into the heart of the road.

A cold wind raced through the bare branches,

And silence, like a thin mist, filled the space between them.

Maral leaned her head against the window.

Kaan kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead —

But his mind was a thousand miles away.

Their silence

Was neither born of anger,

Nor of indifference;

It was a silence so heavy.

That even the wind dared not break it.