Next Station

Chapter 18

Autumn always loved whispering its familiar, repetitive tale into the city's ear — but what did it matter? Even repetition, when carried by a cool, golden breeze, could be beautiful.

This year, too, the leaves quietly drifted from the branches, the alleys smelled of damp earth and memory, and the faint afternoon sunlight spread a gentle chill over the cobblestones.

For Maral, this autumn could have been one of the brightest seasons of her life; her paper, titled "Innovative Approaches to Early Detection of Subclinical Myocardial Fibrosis in Young Adults," had just been published in the prestigious Journal of the American College of Cardiology — an honor every medical student dreamed of.

Congratulatory messages flooded her phone, one after another, filled with excitement and praise...

But among all those words, Maral's eyes searched for something — a message that wasn’t there. A message from someone who now stood silent, deliberately.

Perhaps that small absence, like a single raindrop sliding down a misted window, dulled the color of her happiness just a little.

Maral smiled — a smile of gratitude — yet in the depths of her gaze, something of autumn lingered: not sadness, not despair — just a quiet longing that made the beauty of the season feel like a piece of wordless music.

✨✨✨✨✨✨

Morning at the Hospital

Morning crept through the thick hospital curtains like a faint thread of light, spilling softly across the polished floors. The air was filled with the scent of fresh coffee and alcohol.

Surrounded by warm congratulations from nurses, doctors, and even the cleaning staff, Maral felt as if every smile added a new layer to the fragile skin of her happiness.

Her phone buzzed constantly; messages from old classmates, professors, even distant friends poured in.

But amid all the congratulations, her eyes would sometimes, involuntarily, drift toward a blank space — a message that hadn’t come.

The soft chime of the desk phone jolted her from her thoughts. A young nurse, flashing a mischievous smile, said,

— "Dr. Ilbilic wants to see you. She said to come to her office right away."

Maral silenced her phone, straightened her white coat, and made her way to Nuran’s office. Her heartbeat quickened slightly; meeting Nuran Ilbilic was never just a routine — her presence often marked small, unexpected shifts in life’s path.

She knocked and entered.

Nuran, seated behind a desk cluttered with medical files, looked up with a warm smile.

— "Hello, Maral dear. Come in, sweetheart. How's our champion doing?"

Maral smiled softly and replied,

— "I'm good, Professor. Thank you."

Nuran, her eyes always sharp and full of curiosity, leaned forward, clasping her hands together on the desk.

— "You know, Maral, I see a special future for you. You're not like others; your place will be different."

(She paused for a moment, then added with a gentle hint of mischief:)

— "And to start, we have plans for tonight."

Maral raised her eyebrows in surprise.

— "Tonight?"

Nuran smiled.

— "Yes. A charity exhibition and auction here in Istanbul. "Rare paintings will be auctioned off, and the proceeds will go toward building a hospital in a deprived region."

(She slid an invitation card across the desk toward Maral:)

— "This is for you. You’ve been personally invited. By Nader."

Something flickered inside Maral — the sound of Nader’s name brushed her skin like a cold breeze.

She glanced briefly at the card, hesitating.

— "Professor... I’m not sure if I should—"

Nuran’s tone shifted — firm, almost commanding — leaving no room for refusal.

— "I didn't say you should or shouldn’t, Maral. I said we’re going together."

Maral, both curious and a little shy, asked,

— "If you don't mind me asking... how do you know Nader?"

A spark of mischief danced in Nuran’s eyes.

Without pretense or hesitation, she smiled and said,

— "What, you think only young people are allowed to meet new people?"

Maral chuckled but waited, expecting an explanation.

Nuran shrugged with an endearing sweetness and continued,

— "Well, I'm a single woman. Nader is... handsome and charming. If you're curious, a few nights ago, we had an amazing dinner at one of Istanbul’s finest restaurants. It was unforgettable."

(She tilted her head slightly and added:)

— "During dinner, I told him about my plans to build a hospital in one of Turkey’s underserved regions. He promised to help."

(Smiling knowingly, she added:)

— "Truth be told, Nader has been making quite the effort to get close to me... but, well, I know how to play the game too."

Nuran’s enigmatic smile lingered in the air like a faint perfume, and for a moment, Maral stood silent — caught somewhere between surprise, curiosity, and a vague, unsettling feeling.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Charity Gallery Night

Around eight o'clock in the evening, Istanbul rested quietly under the silvery shadows of streetlights.

The narrow street leading to the gallery, lined with tall cypress trees and glistening wet cobblestones, looked like a page from an old book.

A sleek black car pulled up gently at the main entrance.

The driver stepped out with quiet dignity and opened the door.

First came Nuran — wearing a long, deep ruby-red evening gown, her hair pinned up in an elegant, professional twist.

And then Maral — in a simple yet flawless black satin dress with clean, classic lines —

Old Money Elegance.

Her dark hair cascaded in soft waves, and a thin silver necklace graced her slender neck.

At the entrance, Nader stood waiting in formal attire, wearing a smile that hovered somewhere between warmth and calculation.

Without hesitation, Nuran slipped her arm through his and laughed lightly.

Maral stood a few steps behind, like a passerby unsure which direction to look.

Inside the gallery, a soft golden light fell over classical and contemporary paintings.

The air was laced with the mingling scents of white roses and red wine.

Guests, glasses glinting in hand, were suspended in brief, thoughtful silences.

Maral, mesmerized by a painting awash in faded colors and drifting lines, suddenly felt the atmosphere shift.

She turned —

And her eyes found him.

Kaan.

Wearing a sharply tailored black suit, black shirt, and a slim black tie with a tight knot.

Simple, yet devastating.

His hair neatly styled, his expression cool and composed —

Like a living portrait from another world.

For a moment, Maral forgot to breathe.

But before she could even blink, a girl appeared beside him —

Golden hair, sky-blue eyes.

She softly slipped her arm through Kaan's and leaned in, whispering something into his ear.

Maral saw Kaan stand still — his face unreadable — but the faint tension in his clenched jaw betrayed him.

Their eyes met —

Maral’s deep black gaze locked with Kaan’s green one.

A moment heavy with a thousand unspoken words... yet not a single one was exchanged.

Maral pressed her lips together in silence.

The blue-eyed girl, delicate as silk, nestled even closer to Kaan.

From across the room, Nader watched.

With a meticulous gaze, he observed everything.

Maral didn’t know —

But this scene was his design:

A carefully staged moment meant to fracture her heart, to carve an eternal distance between two souls aching for each other.

And Kaan?

Inside, he was a storm.

He ached to walk over, to take Maral’s hand,

To look into her eyes and quietly say:

"Congratulations, Maral, on your paper. You deserve all the honor in the world..."

But he couldn’t.

Nader — his hidden mentor and superior — had whispered into his ear more times than he could count:

"If you truly love her, you must let her go. Sometimes love means letting go."

And so Kaan stood there, trapped between his mind and his heart —

So numb, so cold —

He barely recognized himself anymore.

✨✨✨✨✨✨

Leaving the Gallery

Maral tore her gaze away from the bitter scene, slow and heavy.

The air inside the gallery — despite the scent of roses, the taste of wine, and the sparkle of lights — had grown suffocating, like a room with no windows.

She drew in a breath, straightened her shoulders, and made her way toward Nuran, who was engaged in warm conversation with Nader.

Her voice was soft but steady:

— "Professor... I have to go. I have an early shift tomorrow. Just wanted to say goodbye."

Nuran cast her a quick, questioning glance but said nothing.

Nader offered a faint smile — one that hovered somewhere between knowing and indifference.

Maral gave a polite nod, her eyes shining with sadness even as her smile remained flawless.

Then, quietly, she wove her way through the crowd — without once looking back.

Kaan, who hadn’t taken his eyes off her, hesitated.

All the rules he had repeated to himself, over and over, unraveled in an instant.

The echo of Maral’s footsteps rang in the hall, each step striking against his heart.

Without meaning to, he took a step toward her.

But before he could reach her, a firm hand closed around his arm.

Kaan turned —

And found Nader’s serious gaze fixed on him.

There was no smile this time, only a silent command in his eyes:

"Let her go."

Kaan pressed his lips together.

Something inside him cracked — silently.

Unaware of the silent war behind her, Maral disappeared through the exit.

And Kaan stood there, amid the warm gallery lights and the murmur of voices.

Alone.

A silence settled inside him — a silence that no painting, no soft music, not even the hand still clinging to his arm, could fill.

Only a voiceless whisper echoed through his mind:

"Sometimes loving someone means staying silent.

Sometimes it means watching them walk away."

✨✨✨✨✨✨

Night at Maral’s Apartment

Maral’s small apartment was wrapped in silence.

Only the faint sound of her own breathing moved through the darkness, blending with the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

She had changed out of her evening gown into a simple cotton blouse and comfortable pants.

Her dark hair was loosely undone, and her gaze lingered on a half-cold cup of tea left untouched on the table.

Her phone lay abandoned on the couch, its screen dark and lifeless.

Maral had glanced at it several times without meaning to, wishing for something — a message, a sign, anything —

But there was nothing.

The small window overlooking the street was slightly open.

The cool autumn air drifted in, gently stirring the thin curtain.

Maral leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes.

But her mind refused to quiet down.

A voiceless whisper circled in her head:

"Maybe that old village fortune-teller was right... Maybe Father's worries weren't so far-fetched.

Maybe Kaan isn’t the man I thought he was..."

For a moment, her heart clenched, the way it does when you accidentally press too hard on a fresh wound.

But then, something deeper inside her murmured back:

"But I have seen goodness in this man's eyes — over and over again.

And eyes never lie.

Never."

She exhaled slowly, as if trying to push the ache from her chest.

She placed a hand over her heart, where it beat — quietly, wearily.

In her heart, she whispered:

"You're stronger than this, Maral. You've learned to keep going, even when the world turns its back on you."

But she also knew — some hurts couldn’t be silenced just by repeating brave words.

Night settled over her like a heavy blanket.

Maral closed her eyes and made herself a quiet promise:

Tomorrow will be a new day.

✨✨✨✨✨✨

Kaan, Alone in the Car

Kaan sat behind the wheel of his black car.

He had parked a little ways down from the gallery, where the streetlights dimmed, and their glow grew faint.

The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up slightly, his tie loosened, but his jacket was still on.

Like a statue caught between staying and leaving.

In the fogged-up window, he caught his own reflection:

A tired face, eyes carrying the weight of losses too deep for words.

He thought:

"I wanted nothing more tonight than to be by your side, Maral.

I wanted to be the first to congratulate you.

But... this isn't the game I chose.

I'm just following its rules."

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.

A short message from Nader:

"I told you. For her own sake, for her future. Let her go."

Kaan let out a hollow smile.

He raked a hand through his hair and leaned his head back against the seat.

Above him, the Istanbul night stretched wide and starry —

But for him, no stars shone tonight.

His hand moved toward his phone.

He wanted to write something — a sentence, even just a word.

But his fingers trembled.

And in the end, he set the phone down, untouched.

He didn’t start the car.

He just sat there.

In silence.

In longing.

In a love he couldn't give voice to.

And he whispered — just for himself:

"Congratulations, Maral..."

But the words died in his throat before they ever touched his lips.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The Next Morning at the Hospital

The cold, pale morning light streamed through the hospital’s tall glass windows.

Maral, dressed in her white coat with her stethoscope draped around her neck, had just started her early shift tasks when the pager crackled to life:

— "Dr. Aydin, please report to Professor Ilbilic’s office."

Maral grabbed her phone and headed toward Nuran’s office.

Nuran, full of her usual energy, was already waiting by the door.

With a mischievous smile, she said,

— "Come on, sweetheart. Time to see a special case."

Maral followed her.

In the awakening corridors of the hospital, Nuran’s voice turned almost conversational:

— "Last night was nice, wasn’t it?"

(She cast a quick glance at Maral and added:)

— "Nader’s an interesting man. Strong, sharp — he knows where to be, when to be, and how to be."

(She laughed softly:)

— "But you... you slipped away too fast!

You need to live a little, Maral.

It’s not just books and papers, grades and research all the time...

Otherwise, one day you’ll find yourself sitting alone in a cold, empty room."

Maral smiled faintly, but something heavy stirred in her chest — a weight that no casual joke could lift.

Nuran went on:

— "Life isn’t just about the operating room and the JACC journal.

You need to find a balance between medicine and living."

She threw Maral a playful wink.

They arrived at a patient’s room, where, written in bold red marker on the file, were the words:

"High Surgical Risk."

Nuran gripped the door handle, pausing before she entered, her tone turning more serious:

— "The patient is a woman, about seventy-two years old."

(Her gaze locked onto Maral’s:)

— "She has severe aortic stenosis. Her heart’s badly damaged. Left ventricular dysfunction, too — the left side isn’t pumping properly."

(She lowered her voice:)

— "There’s heavy pressure on her heart.

The pump is weakening.

Operating on her... it’s like walking down a razor’s edge.

Even under the best circumstances, death during surgery is a real possibility."

Maral blinked slowly.

The air around her felt heavier, denser.

But her face stayed calm —

She had learned long ago that a patient must never see the tremble in a doctor’s hands.

Nuran opened the door.

The elderly woman lay quietly on the bed, her pale face and frail hands motionless.

Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling — deep, still, as if carrying the weight of a lifetime within them.

Maral stepped inside.

And she realized:

Today, she will need something beyond medical knowledge —

A silent kind of courage,

The strength to look into the eyes of someone who might never see another morning.

✨✨✨✨✨✨

Inside the Patient's Room

The room smelled of medicine and alcohol.

The oxygen machine hummed softly, its sound threading through the heavy air.

Beside the bed stood a woman in her early forties, her face lined with exhaustion but lit by a quiet resilience.

She held the frail hands of her elderly mother, Emine Hanım, between her own — as if trying to lift some of the weight from her fragile shoulders with the warmth of her touch.

In the corner of the room, a large, broad-shouldered man sat hunched on a metal chair.

His head was bowed, his legs jittering restlessly.

When she saw Maral and Nuran step in, the woman offered a faint smile.

— "Hello, doctors. I'm Nergis, Emine Hanım's daughter."

(She gave a quick nod to the man:)

— "This is my brother, Mehmet."

(She hesitated for a moment, her tone turning more cautious:)

— "Mehmet... he’s very attached to our mother. He's always been her protector."

(Quieter, almost apologetically:)

— "Sometimes, when he gets anxious, it’s hard for him to control his emotions."

Maral glanced carefully at Mehmet.

Large, wide eyes, carrying a muted shine, a boyish innocence trapped inside the frame of a grown man.

But Nergis hadn’t said everything.

It was hard for her — maybe even shameful to admit —

But she knew.

Mehmet had always been a little out of step with the world.

A limited intellect, bursts of uncontrollable emotion, and a fierce, almost childlike attachment to their mother had shaped his life.

For him, the world was simple:

Mother meant safety.

Anyone threatening her — even with good intentions — was an enemy.

Maral, her voice calm and steady, asked,

— "Has she ever undergone heart surgery before?"

Nergis shook her head.

— "No, this is the first time."

(Her eyes shimmered with fear.)

— "Her heart... it’s very weak."

Nuran spoke, her tone soft but serious:

— "You understand surgery carries very high risks?"

Nergis nodded, her lips trembling.

Mehmet sat still, his fists clenched tight on his knees —

But inside him, something was brewing — silent, yet fierce.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

After the Initial Conversation

After the initial conversation, Maral offered Nergis a gentle smile and said,

— "We’ll do everything we can. Your mother is stronger than she looks."

Nergis gave a trembling smile in return, though her eyes were brimming with tears.

Mehmet stood silently beside her,

His clenched fists were the only sign of the storm raging inside him.

Moments later, the nurses entered the room.

They moved with quiet kindness, preparing Emine Hanım —

Adjusting the cables, setting the IVs, handing over the consent forms.

Nergis gently brushed a hand across her mother’s face, whispering a prayer under her breath.

Maral and Nuran, dressed now in sterilized gowns and light blue masks, stood ready.

Without opening her eyes, Emine Hanım was carefully transferred onto the stretcher —

A movement so slow and soft, it felt as if her spirit was crossing through something immense.

In the narrow hallway,

Nergis and Mehmet stood pressed against the wall,

Watching as Maral walked alongside the stretcher,

Silently praying in her heart:

"We have to succeed... We have to bring her back."

The door to the operating room swung shut with a soft click.

The operation had begun.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Returning from the Operating Room — and the Attack

The heavy door of the operating room swung open with a soft click.

The stretcher rolled slowly down the narrow hospital corridors.

Under the white sheet,

Emine Hanım lay pale and still,

Tubes trailing from her nose and hands,

On her way to the recovery ward.

Maral and Nuran walked alongside the surgical team.

Maral prayed silently —

Emine’s heart was weak, but it was still beating.

The operation had been grueling, but for now, it seemed successful.

At the end of the hallway,

Nergis and Mehmet waited anxiously,

Their faces drawn and exhausted.

Nergis's eyes shimmered with worry.

Mehmet stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides,

Like a statue bracing for an inevitable blow.

The stretcher entered the recovery room.

Maral moved to the patient's side, checking her vital signs,

Then he turned and offered Nergis a tired smile through the glass door:

— "She's stable for now. "We just need to monitor her pain and vitals closely."

Nergis nodded, her voice trembling as she asked:

— "Can I come in?"

Maral gave a small nod of permission.

Nergis stepped softly into the room,

Kneeling beside her mother’s bed,

Pressing a kiss onto Emine’s cold, fragile hand.

Mehmet stood silently behind her.

Silent, but burning inside.

Minutes passed.

Maral began preparing an IV dose of pain medication.

Nergis, her voice barely a whisper, said:

— "Excuse me..."

(She glanced at Maral, helplessly:)

— "I just need to step out for a moment... the nurse needs me."

Maral nodded kindly.

Nergis let go of her mother’s hand and slipped quietly out of the room.

The door closed behind her with a soft thud.

Now it was just Maral, Emine Hanım and Mehmet.

Maral drew up the medication,

Reached for the IV line,

The soft beeping of the monitors filled the room.

But in Mehmet’s confused, fearful mind,

A different image formed:

He saw Maral as a threat —

Someone is about to hurt his mother.

His expression shifted.

His wide eyes reddened, flooded with terror.

And suddenly —

His massive body surged forward.

Before Maral could even react,

Mehmet grabbed her,

Dragging her away from the bedside with brutal force,

And slammed her against the wall.

The sickening thud of her head hitting the wall echoed in the small room.

A searing pain exploded in the back of her skull.

Maral tried to speak,

But Mehmet was already swinging at her —

Heavy, furious fists raining down.

A hard blow struck her cheek.

Her face went hot and numb,

The metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

She raised her arms in defense,

But another punch caught her at the temple.

She lost her balance,

Her shoulder slamming against the floor.

Her head hit the base of the wall again.

Darkness clouded her vision.

The room blurred into swaying white lights and muffled sounds.

In her final moments of consciousness,

Maral caught a blurry glimpse of Mehmet —

standing frozen,

His fists trembling,

His eyes are wide with horror and regret.

And then Maral —

With her bruised face,

Blood staining her lips —

Collapsed onto the cold hospital floor.

Silence swallowed the room whole.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Mehmet, Overcome by Panic

With a childlike terror,

Mehmet dropped to his knees.

He stared at Maral’s bruised face,

Her bloodied lips,

Her motionless hands.

A raw, guttural cry tore from his chest,

Echoing down the hospital corridors:

— "Help!

— Somebody, please!"

The door burst open.

Nurses and Nuran rushed in,

Their faces were frozen in horror.