Next Station

Chapter 10

Copyright Notice:

This work belongs to Giti Mahmood. Any copying, redistribution, or use without permission is strictly prohibited.

Disclaimer:

This story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.

It may contain sensitive topics such as violence, anxiety, and mental health.

Please read with discretion.

Istanbul – A Spring Night

Istanbul in spring is like a miracle, soaked in color and sound.

The narrow streets smell of rain-soaked earth, the newly-bloomed trees dance with every soft breeze,

And the glowing windows are filled with laughter, music, and life.

The restless waters of the Bosphorus shimmer under the city lights,

The cafés at the corners spill the scent of fresh coffee and sweet baklava into the air.

Lovers stroll under the shadowed cobblestone alleys,

And children chase their colorful balloons down the winding streets.

But this fabled city is never just a story of light and song.

Behind every rain-slicked alley,

Behind every half-open door,

Behind every window with its curtains drawn,

There are sounds no one wishes to hear:

The faint cry of a broken heart,

The silent fall of unseen tears,

The soft cracking of something precious shattering in the dark.

Istanbul, this magnificent and bittersweet potion,

Turns the pages of countless stories — good, bad, and ugly — every night,

Without ever promising how tomorrow's tales will end.

And tonight, in one of those narrow, silent streets,

One of the darker stories is unfolding —

Quietly, without a sound.

A Wet Alley – Istanbul – That Same Night

The narrow, deserted streets of Istanbul's old neighborhoods lay heavily under the cold, drizzling rain.

The tired, yellow streetlights cast blurred, wavering images onto the damp walls and slick cobblestones.

In the heart of that cold night, a black van pulled up silently along the curb.

Two men, moving with rough, brutal efficiency, dragged something out of the back.

No someone.

A young woman.

Wearing a torn dress, her skin bruised and battered, her hair a tangled mess.

Her body was barely alive; unconscious, trembling — like a wounded bird.

The old and fresh bruises staining her arms and legs,

The cracked lips, the ripped fabric —

They spoke a grim truth louder than any words.

She hadn't just been beaten.

She had been brutally violated.

Without so much as a glance, without a single word, they tossed her into the corner of the alley — like worthless trash.

Then, just as silently as they had come, they disappeared into the night.

The soft clang of the van's metal door echoed down the empty street.

Minutes passed.

The cold wind gently stirred her tangled hair across her bruised, bloodied face.

Had any innocent passerby stumbled upon the scene,

They would have seen only a broken body,

A life seemingly discarded on the cold, wet stones.

But this...

This was not the end of tonight's story.

A Few Hours Later – Around Midnight – A Small Police Station in Istanbul

A young officer working the night shift stood behind his desk, tiredly skimming through the paperwork scattered before him.

Then, the crackling voice of the radio pierced the silence of the station:

— "Emergency case... a girl has been found. Severe physical condition. Dispatch a team immediately."

Without hesitation, the patrol team was sent to the location.

When they found the girl lying in that dark, rain-soaked alley, their breath caught in their chests.

Preliminary identification, even before taking any further action, delivered an even bigger shock:

The girl was the daughter of a retired officer from Turkey's National Intelligence and Security Service.

a man who, years ago, had dismantled a powerful criminal network during a covert operation.

Now, it seemed the time for revenge had come.

The case was highly sensitive — far too critical to be handled through regular procedures.

If the news leaked to the media, or if other families became targets, it would explode into a full-blown national security disaster.

The senior officers acted swiftly:

"No public hospital. No official report.

"The girl must be transferred quietly, safely — to someone trustworthy, someone capable of both treating and protecting her. "

Only one name was whispered among them: Nader.

A man who has worked in the shadows for years —

A seasoned intelligence general, well-versed in the art of security,

And one of the few they could trust on such a dark, perilous night.

Nader's House – Around Midnight

The heavy iron door creaked open quietly.

The patrol officer, carrying the girl with the utmost care, stepped inside.

Nader, who had already received the confidential call, stood ready with a cold, wordless expression.

With a swift gesture, he directed them to a room he had prepared in advance.

The dim yellow light of the lamp illuminated the girl's bruised and lifeless face.

A torn dress, visible signs of abuse, a faint tremor running through her battered body...

Nader muttered under his breath:

" From this moment on, nothing gets recorded.

No reports. No files.

Only help."

The officers quickly withdrew.

Nader got to work — calm, silent, with a focus that spoke of countless battles fought between life and death.

Now, there was only one mission:

To save the girl's life.

To mend the wounds that screamed from her skin and blood.

And elsewhere...

Knowing that the damage ran far deeper than the surface,

Nader picked up his phone.

He dialed a number hidden even from his closest circles.

Seconds later, a serious, clipped voice answered:

— "Kaan."

Without any preamble, Nader said:

— "Come. Immediately.

I need you."

The silence on the other end didn't last long.

Only a brief reply came:

— "On my way."

Nader's House – Moments After the Call

The front door creaked open with a muffled sound.

Kaan stepped inside, his strides fast but controlled. His sharp, searching gaze assessed everything at once: the half-lit house, the faint scent of disinfectant, the silence that seemed wounded itself.

With a quick hand gesture, Nader guided him toward the inner room.

There, on a simple white bed under the soft light, lay the girl.

Her breathing was heavy and uneven, her skin bruised, her torn dress hanging loosely...

Something inside Kaan cracked.

His face hardened. The veins in his neck tightened.

The clenched fists and locked jaw said it all.

Nader, calm and methodical, said:

— "We focus only on treatment.

We're not taking her to the hospital. "

Kaan, without lifting his gaze from the girl, asked curtly:

— "Why?"

Nader's voice remained steady, serious:

— "The risk of exposure is too high.

If her name leaks, her whole family will be in danger.

And this isn't just any family...

Her father was a retired intelligence officer.

The network behind this attack is just waiting for an opening to strike.

This girl... she's now a key we can't afford to lose."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Nader took a deep breath and added quietly:

— "We need a trustworthy doctor here.

Someone who won't ask questions or leave a trace."

Kaan's fierce gaze remained locked on the girl.

After a pause, Nader asked, measured and deliberately:

— " One question, Kan...

Maral.

Can we trust her?"

Kaan lifted his head slightly.

His green eyes, unwavering, met Nader's gaze directly.

He said nothing.

Only looked — a look carrying the weight of years of trust, silence, and understanding.

Nader, a man who had seen it all, read the answer in that look.

He nodded, silently convinced.

But Kan... at that very moment, without meaning to, remembered:

A young Iraqi migrant woman, illegally in the country, who Maral had desperately tried to operate on despite every regulation.

He remembered the old homeless man in the park, whose infected, filthy feet Maral had cleaned and treated without flinching, without judgment.

And now...

This broken girl was lying there, she needed those same hands —

Hands that knew how to mend the shattered pieces of a human soul.

Kaan, deep inside, said:

"Maral... you know how to heal the broken."

And now, it was time.

Nader's House

The atmosphere inside the house was heavy.

The unconscious girl lay sprawled across the couch, her breath slow and ragged.

Nader watched Kaan with concern.

— " Kan... we have to bring a doctor here.

We can't take her to a hospital.

For the family's reputation, for the risk of the network identifying her, and to keep ourselves out of this. "

Kaan fell silent for a moment.

His mind sliced through possibilities like a sharp blade.

Only one name stood clear in his mind.

Maral.

She was the only one he could trust — brave enough not to ask questions, to make no noise, and to fight only for healing.

Nader, noticing Kaan's hesitation, asked quietly:

" Are you sure?

Can we trust her?"

Kaan locked his gaze directly with Nader's.

A look that spoke volumes without needing words:

"Yes. I'm sure."

In his heart, images flickered —

The homeless old man in the park, whose filthy, infected feet Maral had treated without a second thought.

The illegal Iraqi migrant woman, stricken with cancer, whom Maral had tried to get operated on against all odds...

Without a second's pause, Kaan pulled out his phone.

He dialed a number he knew by heart.

The line rang a few times.

Maral's slightly sleepy voice answered:

— "Hello?"

Kaan stayed silent for a few seconds.

He didn't want his voice to betray the c***k he felt deep inside.

Finally, in a deep, steady voice, he said:

— "Maral...

I need you. Tonight. Right now."

Maral paused for only a moment.

Without a single question, her voice firm, she replied:

— "Where?"

Kaan quickly gave her the address, adding:

" Come quietly.

No one can know.

It's... a sensitive situation."

Maral took a quick breath and said:

— "I'm on my way."

The call ended.

Kaan slipped the phone back into his pocket.

He exchanged a brief glance with Nader — silent, knowing.

They both understood without saying a word:

Tonight was going to be important.

And in just a few more minutes, Maral would arrive.

And maybe, just maybe, the darkness would lift a little.

Nader's House

Maral stepped through the door;

Her hair was loosely tucked under her shawl, and a simple medical bag hung from her shoulder.

Her eyes immediately found Kaan standing where the faint ceiling light half-illuminated his face.

Their eyes locked.

Neither said a word.

Yet, within that silence, a thousand unspoken things passed between them.

Maral remembered:

That bitter night at her family's home —

When Sinan, her brother, gambled on the house...

And it was Kaan who came.

Without questions, without promises.

He came with just a phone call, with just his presence, and set everything right.

He made no boasts, left no debts.

He simply stood there, a silent force.

Her heart trembled.

But Nader's voice quickly shattered the memory:

— "Come. We don't have much time."

Maral moved quickly toward the girl.

In the half-lit room, a young girl lay sprawled on the bed.

Bruised skin, torn clothes, uneven breaths.

The raw, brutal reality stood naked before her eyes — far harsher than anything she had imagined.

Maral clenched her fists involuntarily.

She ground her teeth together.

The smell of blood and violation hung heavy in the air.

A few minutes later, she stormed out of the room with hurried steps and a face burning with rage.

Her gaze, sharp and fiery, swept over Kaan and Nader:

" This girl needs a hospital.

The police need to be informed.

This... this is a crime! "

Nader's voice came cold, firm, unflinching:

" We know exactly what it is.

But we won't.

We can't."

Maral stared at them, stunned.

Her eyes blazed with fury.

At that moment, Kaan stepped forward.

Quiet, yet absolute.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her slightly aside, away from Nader.

With a voice low and meant only for her, he said:

— "Maral...

If you can help, stay.

If you can't... walk away. "

Maral froze on the spot.

Kaan's green eyes, deep and endless, locked onto hers.

There was no pleading, no threat —

Only the raw, bitter truth was laid bare on the bed inside that room.

For the first time, Maral felt doubt creep into her heart.

A flood of unwanted thoughts...

Was Kaan...

It was the man who had always been her safe shadow,

Living in a world far darker than she had ever imagined?

A single moment — stretched and aching —

Maral hovered between trust and suspicion.

Her heart screamed to believe in Kaan.

But her mind...

Her mind whispered:

"You know nothing about him... almost nothing."

She exhaled slowly.

Lowered her gaze for a moment.

And silently told herself:

"This time...

I'll trust my heart."

Without saying another word, she turned heavily back toward the room;

To tend to a girl who, in that brutal moment, had only a few quiet, trembling hands left in the world to fight for her.