Next Station

Chapter 19

Sometimes, life collapses —

Without warning, without your consent.

Like a stone suddenly torn from the heart of a mountain,

Rolling uncontrollably down a path that once seemed flat and safe.

Maral, who had always been used to

Walking the line between reason and faith,

Was now — without knowing,

Without preparation —

Caught in the heart of a nameless storm.

Her body, once a tool to save others,

Now needed saving itself.

And sometimes, the true fall begins.

At the very moment, you still believe you're standing strong.

✨✨✨✨✨✨

Sometimes, life collapses —

Without warning, without your consent.

Like today.

The recovery ward was in chaos.

Shouts, hurried footsteps, the unbroken wail of machines —

All tangled together,

Like a thread suddenly ripped from the weave of a once-smooth cloth.

Maral, her face bruised, her temple swollen, her lips split open,

Laid unconscious on the emergency bed.

Her skin had taken on the color of the hospital walls —

pale, lifeless, silent.

The monitors above her recorded her heartbeat.

slow, irregular.

Her blood pressure was dangerously low.

Her level of consciousness teetered on the edge of critical.

Nuran, her lab coat half-buttoned and her hair hastily tied back,

Stood by the bed.

She shouted orders, barked commands, demanded equipment:

— "CT scan, now!"

— "Get the blood pressure up!"

— "Insert a second IV line!"

A nurse, eyes wide with terror, whispered:

— "High risk of intracranial bleeding, Doctor..."

Nuran felt a tremor deep inside her,

But her face remained carved from stone.

Further down the hall, the police had entered the ward.

Mehmet, his hands trembling,

His eyes brimming with tears,

Stood between two officers.

He didn't resist.

It was as if he, too, didn't understand what he had done —

As if the world had crumbled beneath him.

In a corner, Nergis sat,

Her face buried in her hands,

Silent sobs, shaking her shoulders.

The hospital —

A place used to technical crises —

Now crumbled under the weight of an emotional one.

Maral, that smiling, precise girl,

Beloved like a small flame among the nurses and doctors,

Now lay still,

Like a wounded butterfly caught in the wind.

Meanwhile...

In those same frantic moments when doctors rushed to Maral’s side,

One of Kaan’s informants —

A shadow always moving through the hospitals —

Sent out a coded message:

"Force majeure at a hospital. Maral Aydin. Critical condition."

Kaan, hunched over road project papers in his office,

Felt his breath catch as he read it.

Without a word,

Without even grabbing his coat,

He burst out the door.

His footsteps raced down the corridors.

His heart screamed from a place

Where logic and control could not reach.

When he reached the hospital,

Ahead of everyone else,

He shoved the glass door open with his bare hand.

The sharp scent of disinfectant,

The metallic sting of blood,

The raw taste of panic —

They all slammed into him at once.

His eyes —

Usually cold, calculating —

Sought only one thing:

Her.

At the end of the hallway,

Behind a cluster of frantic nurses and doctors,

he saw her —

Maral.

On a white hospital bed,

Her face bruised,

a deadly stillness on her half-open lips.

Kaan’s world stopped.

All the analyses, all the strategies, all the crisis endurance training

Shredded into worthless scraps of paper

Against the sight of Maral’s broken form.

His dry lips moved.

Soundlessly.

Maral...

And then, ignoring the shouts of the medical staff,

He ran toward her.

They rushed Maral down the hallway on a stretcher, heading toward the operating room.

Kaan, his face twisted with anguish, tried to follow,

But the nurses stopped him:

— "Please step back! We need to move quickly!"

His hands hovered helplessly in the air.

His lips silently formed her name:

Maral...

The heavy operating room doors slammed shut.

The red light above them flicked on,

Casting a cold, merciless glow —

The silent decree of surgery is underway.

A few minutes later,

Maral's family arrived at the waiting area.

Her father, his face tight with worry;

Nermin, her expression twisted in anger;

Sinan, his hair disheveled and his eyes exhausted;

And Irfan, who had been called by Nermin —

His gaze sharper, more searching, almost hostile.

They clustered anxiously in the narrow hallway,

Tension thickening the air.

Kaan stood against the wall, distant, muted.

His eyes never left the closed door of the operating room.

At that moment,

Irfan leaned toward Nermin, whispering something in her ear.

Nermin’s expression, already strained with fear,

Ignited in an instant —

Her tearful eyes flared into fury.

With fast, heavy steps, she stormed toward Kaan,

Her voice cut through the tense silence:

— "Who do you think you are to my daughter?"

(She shouted even louder:)

— "What right do you have standing here — before us — by her side?"

Kaan stayed still,

Saying nothing,

His face was unreadable.

Maral’s father, seeing the rising storm, stepped forward:

— "Nermin... enough."

But Nermin would not back down.

Sinan, his voice bitter, muttered:

— "You better go, man. Look around. Look at the state we're in..."

For a moment,

Kaan — the man who always stood firm —

Felt more alone than he ever had.

It was as if the entire hospital building had collapsed onto his shoulders.

Without a word,

Without a glance back,

He quietly stepped away,

Heading down the empty, dim corridors of the hospital.

His shoes made no sound on the cold mosaic floor —

As if even noise had abandoned him.

Minutes later,

After Kaan had disappeared from sight,

The hospital’s main door swung open.

Janan, her hair messy, her bag half-open,

Zeynep, silently weeping,

Tarik, his face dark and tense,

And even Nader, with his usual cold composure,

Rushed toward the waiting area with hurried steps.

They all stared anxiously at the red light above the operating room door.

But there was no sign of Kaan.

Elsewhere in the hospital,

In the shadow of dim, flickering lights,

A man stood alone,

Nursing a wound in his heart —

A wound so deep, it didn’t even have a name.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Kaan had drifted away from the crowd.

He walked the hallways in silence,

Without aim,

Simply to escape the stares — the judgment.

At the end of the corridor,

A man in a dark security uniform approached him.

The same man who had been silently keeping track of news about Maral.

Without a word, with a professional, almost invisible gesture,

The man signaled and turned down another hallway.

Kaan followed without question.

They passed through dim corridors,

Past closed doors and oblivious passersby,

Until they reached a heavy metal door.

The guard swiped his ID card.

With a soft click, the door unlocked.

Inside was a small room,

Its walls are lined with glowing monitors.

Screens showing the hospital's hallways, entrances, and key rooms.

The pale blue and green glow from the monitors

Etched Kaan’s face into something colder, harder than ever.

The security man spoke briefly, formally:

— "Mr. Kaan,

We've informed the operating room.

Whatever happens to your patient,

You’ll be notified immediately."

Kaan gave a slight nod.

His gaze remained locked on one of the monitors —

A live feed of the operating room door,

The red light above it is burning,

The restless shadows of people waiting just behind.

He exhaled slowly,

As if even a wrong breath might sever the thin, fragile thread of hope.

In the hush of that surveillance room,

Only the low hum of machines filled the air.

And inside Kaan,

Silent prayers spilled —

Without words,

Without a god,

Without promises —

Only for one thing:

Maral...

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The cold glow of the monitors flickered across Kaan’s face.

His eyes remained locked on the image of the waiting room —

Where Maral's family and friends stood gathered,

Faces tight with worry,

Waiting behind the operating room doors.

In the silence of the control room,

The emergency phone suddenly rang, sharp and loud.

The security guard shot Kaan a quick glance,

Then he picked up the receiver and switched it to a speaker.

A woman's voice crackled through — serious, exhausted:

— "This is the emergency surgical team. Calling per protocol..."

(She took a deep breath, then continued:)

— "We've done everything necessary. The initial trauma has been stabilized.

Now, we have to wait for the patient to regain consciousness."

A short pause.

Then, her voice softened, weighted with sorrow:

— "The head and body sustained significant blows.

The brain bleeding has been controlled through surgery,

But there’s still a risk of cerebral edema and internal complications.

Small fractures in the rib cage and severe bruising across the shoulder and face have been documented.

Further CT scans and neurological evaluations will determine the full extent."

Her voice faded for a moment,

As if she wanted to say more but couldn't summon the strength.

In the monitor-lit room,

Only the sound of Kaan’s heavy breathing filled the air.

On the screen,

He watched Nuran and a neurologist emerge from the OR,

Their faces are grave,

Walking toward Maral's waiting family.

Nuran spoke slowly, carefully, explaining the situation.

Sina and Maral’s father were crying;

Her mother stood frozen, shell-shocked;

And Nermin — her hands trembling — covered her mouth in horror.

But Kaan,

Watching from afar,

Did not move.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t even blink.

Inside him,

Something silent and destructive —

Began to rise.

Someone had dared to lay hands on Maral.

Someone had hurt her —

Badly enough to leave her on the edge of life.

And for Kaan,

This was unacceptable.

His dry lips quivered slightly.

A single sentence — silent, poisonous — crossed his mind:

"Who dared lay a hand on my Maral?"

His eyes hardened, colder and more merciless than ever.

There was no more room for doubt.

Maral —

The fragile girl who had quietly become the heart of his life —

Lay broken and battered on a hospital bed.

And Kaan,

With all his unseen scars,

Swore to himself:

He would never let anyone hurt her again.

Even if it meant waging war.

Against the entire world.

✨✨✨✨✨✨

At Your Bedside, in the Silent Night

The hospital, in the darkness of midnight,

Wore a different face.

Shadows slid along the corridors,

Emergency lights flickering like weary lanterns in scattered corners.

At the far end of a deserted hallway,

The security officer waited.

With a brief nod, he led Kaan toward a metal door.

The door opened with a heavy creak.

Behind it, a small room, cold and sharp with the scent of alcohol.

The night nurse,

Who seemed to have been waiting for this moment for a long time,

Handed Kaan a set of sterile clothing —

Without a word.

Her eyes spoke:

"Your time is short. Be careful."

Kaan put on the white gown and mask,

Pulled the gloves over his hands,

And took a deep breath —

Not for air,

But for courage.

The door to the recovery room opened softly.

The faint light above the bed was the only source of illumination.

And there she was —

Maral.

Lying on a white hospital bed,

Surrounded by machines and tubes,

Her face bruised,

Her eyes closed,

Her cracked lips pale,

Like a fragile statue carved from pain and beauty.

Kaan took slow steps forward.

With every step closer to bed,

His heart grew heavier.

He sat down beside her.

For a long moment, he simply looked at her.

His lips trembled.

An old, bitter lump swelled in his throat.

Silently, he pulled off the glove from his left hand.

Carefully, he took Maral’s small, cold hand into his own.

He bent forward,

Rested his forehead against her hand.

And then, without thinking,

He began to speak —

Pouring out everything he had buried inside for years:

— "Do you remember...

The first time I saw you?

In that damn rain, after the accident...

On that wet road..."

(He choked for a moment but continued:)

— "You have no idea what you did to me at that moment.

No... you can’t possibly understand.

You became a wound in my soul...

Both the wound and the balm."

(He squeezed her hand a little tighter.)

— "You can’t leave me, Maral...

You have to come back.

And even if you do come back...

And I can only watch from afar,

That's enough.

Just stay alive.

Just let me know you exist somewhere in this world."

A tear, silent and hot, slipped down from his eye,

Soaked into his white mask,

And dropped into Maral’s hand.

His voice softened, like a lullaby:

— "I wish...

I wish I could have had more of you..."

(A thick wave of emotion strangled his words.)

He paused for a moment,

Not wanting this to end,

Wishing he could stay there,

forever,

Just like this.

But time was short.

He didn’t realize

That behind those closed eyelids,

A fragile awareness was beginning to stir —

That every word he spoke

Fell like a warm drop

Onto Maral’s battered soul.

Maral couldn’t move,

Couldn’t speak,

But Kaan’s voice,

Somehow,

Sank into the deepest layers of her being.

And somewhere deep inside her darkness,

An invisible light

Began, slowly, ever so slowly,

to grow.

The nurse silently opened the door.

Time was up.

Kaan gently released Maral's hand.

His final glance at her carried something breaking inside him—

And something else quietly being born.

With heavy steps,

He removed the sterile gown and stepped outside.

The door closed behind him.

And Maral, wrapped in a silence heavier than death,

Remained behind it.

The security officer, waiting for him,

Gave Kaan a knowing, compassionate look.

— "Dr. Maral... she's a excellent soul.

She doesn't deserve this."

Then, as if trying to lift some of the burden from Kaan’s chest,

He offered a brief, sorrowful smile and added:

— "By the way, Mr. Kaan...

"Do you know where Dr Maral usually hides in the hospital?"

Kaan, still lost in the storm inside him, merely turned his head slightly.

The man said,

With a bittersweet glint in his eye:

— "If you can't find her...

(he smiled wistfully)

— she's probably up on the rooftop.

It's like she's trying to get closer to the sky."

Kaan said nothing.

But the words planted a quiet seed inside him.

He didn't know what moved him.

He didn’t know how he walked,

Nor how, on that cold autumn night when breath turned to mist,

He found himself on the hospital rooftop,

under a brutal, mercilessly vast sky.

Heavy clouds churned in silence.

The moon, pale and veiled, barely glowed.

Kaan stood still.

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his gray coat.

And stared at the cold horizon.

The cold wind seemed to dance with an imaginary braid of hair in his mind—

The way Maral must have wrapped her arms around herself on nights like this,

Gazing up at the sky during exhausted night shifts.

He stood there,

motionless,

Like a stone in the heart of a storm.

It felt like here, on the hospital's silent heights,

He could still catch a breath of her presence—

As if part of Maral's soul always lingered here,

Among the wind,

Among the distant stars,

Where the earth was no longer enough.

And in the heart of that cold night,

Beside the blurred shadows of the city,

Kaan looked up at the sky in silence;

With a heart that could never,

ever,

Be the same again.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The night, with all its heavy darkness,

Slowly began to fade.

From the far corners of the city,

Through the mist and silence,

a sound rose—

Soft, drawn-out, and infinitely sorrowful.

The call to dawn prayer,

Like a thread of light in the darkness,

Wove its way through the cold, empty streets.

Kaan, still standing on the rooftop,

Listened without meaning to,

As the sound wrapped itself around him.

He was not a religious man.

He had never known how to believe like others did,

Had never learned how to pray.

For him, the world had always been about earth, stone, and calculation.

But at that moment,

As the muezzin whispered:

"Allahu Akbar..."

"God is Great..."

Something inside Kaan broke.

The knot of grief he'd been swallowing for hours

Suddenly, it burst open.

His knees buckled.

He fell —

Not from physical weakness,

But from the unbearable weight of sorrow he could no longer carry.

Kneeling there,

On the cold, unyielding rooftop,

He bowed his head.

His hands fell aimlessly to the ground.

And his tears,

For the first time in years,

We were finally freed.

Under his breath, in a voice cracked and faint,

Without even knowing who he was addressing,

he said:

— "God..."

(his breath hitched.)

— "Oh God..."

(softer, more broken:)

— "Whoever you are..."

(his eyelids were wet, his voice trembling.)

— "Please..."

(another tear fell.)

— "Help Maral."

That night, heavy with the scent of damp earth and whispered prayers,

A man stood alone—

Flagless, faithless—

Armed only with the wounds love had carved into him,

And reached toward the sky.

No one knew if, up there,

Among stars too hidden to see,

No voice was ever heard.

But in the heart of that moment,

At the heart of that prayer,

One thing was certain:

Hope,

love,

pleading—

None of it was made of pride or strength anymore.

Everything,

Everything,

Was now distilled into a bare, aching heart.

Of a man named Kaan.

✨✨✨✨✨

In the dimly lit room where Maral lay unconscious,

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and medicine.

But amid all the clinical smells of the hospital,

Something different floated gently —

Something warmer, more familiar:

A delicate thread of a specific perfume —

Bitter, soft, and always unmistakably his.

It slipped, uninvited and silent,

Into the deeper layers of Maral's battered consciousness.

The sense of smell —

The first guardian of life,

The first sign of return.

Somewhere deep inside Maral’s fragile world,

Something stirred,

As if a tiny spark had been struck in the darkness.

A hand — warm, heavy, and steady —

Still cradled hers.

And in a small, almost imperceptible moment,

Maral’s delicate fingers moved —

Just a little, just enough.

The monitor beside the bed let out a soft, different beep.

The green lines on the screen shifted,

Their rhythm is subtly changing.

The door to the room opened quietly.

A nurse in a white coat and a familiar face entered —

Perihan —

A young nurse with shining eyes and a gentle smile.

The kind of nurse who helps patients

Not only with medicine,

But with wordless compassion.

Her sharp eyes immediately caught the changes on the monitors.

Without hesitation, she moved to the bedside,

Checked the readings,

And her smile widened.

Under her breath, filled with quiet joy, she whispered:

— "Our strong girl is coming back..."

Without asking questions,

With a look full of secrets and tenderness,

She glanced discreetly around the room,

As if guarding a mystery she was determined to protect.

Perihan —

The same nurse who would later,

In a soft and intimate silence,

Helps Maral piece together the lost fragments of this long, harrowing night.

But for now,

She simply smiled.

She simply prayed.

She simply believed:

Maral — this resilient, stubborn girl —

Was on her way back.