Wreckage of Two Worlds
490 Words
The double life was taking its toll. Selin found herself exhausted all the time—from maintaining the lie with her friends, from managing Kerem’s gentle but persistent interest, from navigating her family’s concern, from existing in two worlds simultaneously.
Dr. Levent noticed during their session.
“You look tired, Selin.”
“I’m not sleeping well.”
“Nightmares?”
“No. Just… busy mind.”
He made notes. “Your mother tells me you’ve been socializing more. That’s good. But are you also taking time for yourself? For processing?”
“I’m processing fine.”
“Are you?” He leaned forward. “Selin, recovery isn’t linear. It’s okay to have setbacks. To have days when the grief feels fresh again.”
But that was the thing—Selin wasn’t grieving anymore. How could she grieve someone who was still with her every day? The grief had transformed into something else. Something more complicated. A strange contentment mixed with constant vigilance.
“I’m okay, Dr. Levent. Really.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.
That evening, Selin stood at her window, looking out at Istanbul. Behind her, she felt Murat’s presence.
“I lied to him,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“I’m tired, Murat. So tired. Of lying. Of pretending. Of being two different people.”
“Then stop.”
She turned. “What?”
“Stop pretending. Tell them the truth.”
“You know I can’t do that. They’d lock me up.”
“Maybe that would be better than this slow fracture.”
Selin felt tears building. “Are you saying you want me to leave? To give up on us?”
“No.” His voice was anguished. “I’m saying I hate what this is doing to you. You’re exhausted. You’re lying to everyone who cares about you. You’re living two half-lives instead of one whole one. And it’s my fault.”
“It’s not—”
“It is. I should have stayed dead, Selin. I should have let you grieve and heal and eventually move on. Instead, I’m keeping you trapped in this limbo.”
“I’m not trapped. I’m choosing this.”
“Are you? Or are you just too afraid to let go?”
The question cut deep because part of her wondered the same thing. Was this love? Or was it inability to accept loss? Was she honoring what they had, or running from what she’d lost?
“I don’t know,” she admitted, voice breaking. “I don’t know anymore.”
Murat’s presence wrapped around her—as close to an embrace as he could manage. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together. Like we always do.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
But even as she said it, Selin wondered: How long could they really keep this up? And what would happen when one of them finally broke?
- Writer
