GHOST LOVER

Silent Scream

Istanbul’s sky that day was heavy and gray, like molten lead poured across the heavens. Even the leaves of the ancient plane trees in the courtyard of Teşvikiye Mosque seemed to have absorbed their share of the suffocating grief, hanging motionless in the air. Selin stood in the very center of the crowd, yet she was miles away on some distant island. The harsh fabric of her black coat burned against her skin, and the weight of the silk scarf wrapped around her throat made breathing difficult. But she didn’t move an inch.

People were talking. They were saying things. But Selin heard none of it. All those condolences, those “be patient” platitudes, those “he’s in a better place now” clichés—they all dissolved into a white noise, vanishing into the fog in her mind.

The coffin was there. Right in front of her. A plain wooden box covered with a green cloth. Inside was Murat. Or what used to be Murat. No, that wasn’t right. Murat was still Murat. He had to be. Because if he wasn’t, then who was she? If Murat was gone, what remained of Selin?

When they moved to the cemetery, the damp smell of earth began to sear her throat. Her mother, Gönül Hanım, gripped her arm so tightly it hurt, but Selin felt nothing. She watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. Slowly, steadily, irreversibly.

The imam’s voice droned on. Prayers. Verses. Words. But none of it meant anything. The only real thing was the sound of earth hitting the coffin. That dull, hollow sound. Like a final period at the end of a sentence.

Then something happened.

As the last handful of soil fell onto the grave, the crowd held their breath. Was that a scream? A sound? But no. Selin stood there, her lips slightly parted, but no sound emerged. It was as if her scream was trapped inside her, unable to escape. A silent scream. The most terrible kind.

People began to disperse. One by one, the crowd thinned. Gönül Hanım tried to pull Selin away, but Selin resisted. She wanted to stay there. Right there, at the edge of that fresh grave.

“Come on, dear,” her mother whispered. “Let’s go. He’s at peace now.”

Peace. What a meaningless word. How could Murat be at peace when Selin was in such torment? How could he leave her behind and find peace?

But she went. Because she had to. Because that’s what people do—they bury their dead and return to their lives. Even when their lives have ended, they return. Like automatons. Like the living dead.

On the way back, sitting in the car, Selin looked out the window. Istanbul continued as it always had. Cars, people, streetlights. The world hadn’t stopped. Only she had.

That night, lying in her childhood bedroom at her parents’ mansion, Selin stared at the ceiling for hours. Sleep wouldn’t come. She didn’t want it to. Because when she slept, she would have to wake up. And waking up meant facing another day without Murat. One more day in an endless succession of days without him.

Finally, as dawn approached, she closed her eyes. But even behind her closed lids, she saw him. Murat. Smiling. Reaching out his hand. Calling her.

And Selin decided, at that moment, that this was unacceptable.

Death could take many things. But it couldn’t take Murat from her. Not like this. Not without her permission.