GHOST LOVER

Double Date

Weeks passed in their strange new normal. Selin had become an expert actress—so convincing in her “recovery” that even Dr. Levent suggested reducing her sessions. Her parents started to relax. Life, it seemed, was returning to normal.

But then Kerem called with a proposition.

“There’s this friend of mine,” he said over coffee one afternoon. They’d fallen into a routine of meeting weekly, and Selin appreciated his steady, nonjudgmental presence. “She’s… well, she’s nice. I thought maybe the four of us could grab dinner?”

Selin nearly choked on her latte. “The four of us?”

“You, me, her, and…” Kerem paused, choosing his words carefully, “…whoever you’d like to bring.”

The implication hung in the air. Kerem knew. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to understand that Selin wasn’t as alone as she appeared.

“Kerem—”

“I’m not asking questions,” he said quickly. “I’m just saying… everyone deserves a normal evening out. Even people in unusual circumstances.”

That evening, Selin relayed the conversation to Murat. “He knows something. And he’s… okay with it?”

“Apparently.” Murat sounded almost amused. “So. Are we going on a double date with a living couple?”

“This is insane.”

“This entire situation is insane, Selin. Might as well embrace it.”

And so, three days later, Selin found herself at an upscale restaurant on the Bosphorus. Kerem arrived first, greeting her with a warm hug. Then his date arrived—a woman named Aylin, petite and cheerful, a graphic designer Kerem had met through work.

They settled into a table for four. Three chairs were occupied. The fourth sat empty.

“Is your friend running late?” Aylin asked pleasantly.

“He’s… shy,” Selin improvised. “He might just observe tonight.”

Aylin looked confused, but Kerem smoothly redirected the conversation, launching into a story about a disastrous client meeting. Soon everyone was laughing, and the evening found its rhythm.

Except Selin could feel Murat beside her. Not in the empty chair—that would have been too obvious—but standing just behind her, close enough that she felt that familiar coolness.

“She seems nice,” Murat murmured, meant only for Selin. “Kerem has good taste.”

Selin had to suppress a smile.

The waiter approached. “For you, miss?” he asked Selin.

“The sea bass, please. And…” She hesitated for just a moment. “And a second order. My friend will want the same.”

The waiter glanced at the empty chair, then at Kerem, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Of course.”

When the food arrived, Selin ate from her plate while Murat’s sat untouched beside her. To anyone watching, it looked strange. But Kerem kept the conversation flowing, and Aylin, though occasionally confused, was too polite to comment.

“So Selin,” Aylin said during dessert, “Kerem mentioned you recently lost someone?”

The table went quiet. Selin felt Murat’s presence intensify beside her.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“I’m sorry. That must be so hard.”

“It is,” Selin said honestly. “But I’m learning that loss doesn’t mean absence. Sometimes the people we love stay with us in unexpected ways.”

Aylin smiled sympathetically, taking this as the platitude it sounded like. But Kerem caught Selin’s eye, and something passed between them—an understanding.

Later, as they were leaving, Kerem pulled Selin aside while Aylin was in the restroom.

“Thank you for coming,” he said quietly. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

“It was actually nice,” Selin admitted. “Feeling normal for an evening.”

“You are normal, Selin. Your circumstances might not be, but you are.” He paused. “I don’t understand what’s happening with you. But I trust that you know what you’re doing. And if you ever need backup—someone to run interference with your family, or Dr. Levent, or whoever—I’m here.”

Selin felt tears prick her eyes. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because you’re my friend. And because,” he glanced meaningfully at the space behind her, “everyone deserves someone in their corner. Even people in impossible situations.”

That night, walking back to the apartment, Selin felt lighter than she had in months. Murat walked beside her—or his presence did, matching her pace.

“Kerem’s a good man,” Murat said.

“He is.”

“I’m glad you have him. When I can’t be visible, when you need someone real…”

“You are real, Murat.”

“You know what I mean.”

She did. And she was grateful. For Kerem’s quiet support. For Aylin’s oblivious kindness. For this brief evening of normalcy in their otherwise impossible life.

But most of all, she was grateful that even on a double date, even surrounded by the living, she never felt alone.

Because Murat was always there. Invisible to everyone else.

But infinitely real to her.