Breakfast Across the Hall
536 Words
The next morning, Kerem found Selin sitting in the hallway outside her apartment, still in yesterday’s clothes, eyes red from crying.
“Selin?” He crouched beside her. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“He’s gone,” she said, voice hollow.
“Who’s gone?”
She looked at him, really looked at him, and made a decision. “Murat. He’s really gone this time.”
Kerem’s expression shifted to understanding. “Okay. Come on. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
He helped her up and guided her to his apartment. It was neat, modern, nothing like the lived-in warmth of her place. He settled her on the couch and went to make coffee.
“I know how this looks,” Selin said when he returned. “Like I’m crazy. Like I can’t let go.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Kerem handed her the coffee. “I think you’re grieving. And grief makes us feel things, see things, need things that don’t make sense to anyone else.”
“You don’t understand. I’m not talking about memories or feelings. I mean he was there. Actually there.”
Kerem was quiet for a moment. “Tell me.”
So she did. Not everything—she couldn’t bring herself to reveal the full truth. But enough. The sense of presence. The temperature drops. The cups moving. The feeling of never being alone.
“And now?” Kerem asked gently.
“Now he’s gone. He thinks I need space. He thinks I need to choose freely. But I’ve already chosen. I choose him. Even if it means everyone thinks I’m insane.”
“Then maybe,” Kerem said carefully, “he’s right. Maybe you do need space. Not to forget him—you’ll never do that. But to figure out who you are without him. To find a way to honor what you had while still living your own life.”
“But I don’t want to live without him.”
“I know. But Selin, you can’t live entirely in the past either. Even if… even if he’s somehow still here, you’re not. You’re alive. And life demands participation.”
They sat in silence for a while, drinking coffee, watching the morning light fill the apartment.
“Stay here today,” Kerem finally said. “No pressure. No expectations. Just… don’t be alone.”
And so Selin spent the day in Kerem’s apartment. They watched movies. They ate simple meals. They talked about nothing and everything. And slowly, so slowly, Selin remembered what it felt like to just exist without constantly performing or hiding or navigating between worlds.
It wasn’t better than being with Murat. But it was something. A reminder that she was still here. Still alive. Still capable of moments that weren’t defined entirely by loss.
When evening came, Kerem walked her back to her door.
“Thank you,” she said. “For not judging. For just… being here.”
“Anytime. That’s what friends do.”
Inside her apartment, Selin waited. Hoping to feel that familiar presence, that cool touch that meant Murat had returned.
But there was nothing. Just silence. Just emptiness.
Just her, alone with her choice.
- Writer
