GHOST LOVER

The Island Where Time Stood Still

Days turned into weeks, and Selin’s life settled into a strange rhythm. To the outside world, she was a widow slowly recovering. She visited her parents, met with her friends, even started going to therapy sessions with Dr. Levent. She played the part perfectly—sad but healing, grieving but accepting.

But the moment she returned to the apartment, the mask fell away.

“I’m home,” she’d call out, and the apartment would respond—a coolness in the air, the scent of Murat’s cologne, sometimes even the sound of pages turning from the book he’d been “reading.”

This double life was exhausting. Selin found herself constantly vigilant, always aware of what she said and to whom. With her mother, she was the dutiful daughter. With Melis and Pelin, she was the friend slowly putting herself back together. With Dr. Levent, she was the patient making progress.

Only with Murat could she be herself.

“I’m tired,” she told him one evening, collapsing onto the couch. “Pretending all day that you don’t exist. It’s like denying half of myself.”

“I know.” Murat’s presence settled beside her. “But you’re doing beautifully. Even I almost believed you were moving on today when you told your mother you might consider dating again.”

Selin’s eyes flew open. “That was just to throw her off! You know I’d never—”

“I know.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m teasing you.”

“Not funny.” But she was smiling too. These moments—these small, normal exchanges—they were what made the exhausting double life worthwhile.

“Selin,” Murat said after a pause, “tell me something. Do you ever regret it? Choosing this? Choosing me?”

The question hung in the air between them. Selin sat up, turning to face the spot where she felt his presence most strongly.

“No,” she said firmly. “Not once. Not ever. This—” she gestured around the apartment, at their strange shared existence, “—this is the only place I’m really alive. Out there, I’m just going through the motions. Here, with you, I’m real.”

“Even though I can’t truly touch you? Even though we can’t be like we were?”

“You’re more present now than you ever were when you were alive.” The words surprised even her as she spoke them, but she realized they were true. “When you were alive, there were always distractions. Work, friends, family. Now it’s just us. Pure, undiluted, us.”

Silence fell, but it was a comfortable one. The kind that only exists between people who don’t need words to communicate.

“I love you, Selin,” Murat said quietly.

“I love you too,” she replied. “Even if you are dead.”

“Especially because I’m dead.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “I’m much less annoying this way. No dirty socks on the floor.”

She laughed—a real, genuine laugh. These were the moments she lived for.

But the peace couldn’t last forever. A few days later, as Selin was preparing dinner (she still cooked for two, even though only one plate would be eaten), her phone rang. It was Kerem.

“Hey,” his familiar voice came through. “I know this is weird, but… can I come over? I’m in the neighborhood.”

Selin glanced at Murat, who was watching from the kitchen doorway. He gave a slight nod.

“Sure,” she said. “Come on up.”

When Kerem arrived, he looked tired. He accepted the coffee she offered and sat at the kitchen table—the same table where Murat’s plate still sat, empty.

“Selin,” Kerem began, his voice gentle, “everyone’s worried about you. They think you’re… not coping well.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?” He leaned forward. “Because Melis told me about what happened here. The cup. The cold. She said you claimed Murat was here.”

Selin’s heart raced, but she kept her face calm. “That was a misunderstanding. I was upset. I said things I didn’t mean. The cup moved because of a small earthquake. I overreacted.”

Kerem studied her face. “I want to believe you.”

“Then believe me.” She met his eyes steadily. “I’m getting better. Really.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay. But Selin… if you ever need to talk. Really talk. I’m here. No judgment. I promise.”

Something in his voice made her believe him. Kerem had always been different—more perceptive, more accepting.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

After he left, Murat moved closer. “He suspects something.”

“I know.”

“But he’s not going to tell anyone.”

“I know that too.” Selin turned to where she felt Murat standing. “Maybe… maybe Kerem could be an ally. Someone who knows but doesn’t try to fix us.”

“Maybe,” Murat agreed. “But for now, let’s be careful. Our secret is safe. Let’s keep it that way.”

And so the double life continued. Days of careful acting, nights of authentic existence. It was exhausting. It was complicated. It was unsustainable in the long term.

But it was theirs.

And for now, that was enough.