The Invisible’s Comparison
512 Words
Kerem showed up at Selin’s door two weeks later. She hadn’t seen him since their last conversation, and his presence surprised her.
“Hey,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Can we talk?”
Selin let him in. Murat immediately tensed but stayed quiet, respecting the truce he and Selin had established.
“What’s up?” Selin asked, offering tea.
“I’ve been thinking. About you, about us, about everything.” Kerem sat on the couch, hands clasped. “And I realized something. I’ve been trying to save you. But you don’t need saving.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You need… space to figure things out. And I’ve been crowding that space with my concern and my feelings and my judgment.”
“Kerem—”
“Let me finish. Please.” He took a breath. “I care about you. I maybe even love you, though I’m not sure you can really love someone you don’t fully understand. But what I want doesn’t matter if it’s not what you want. And clearly, what you want is… complicated.”
Selin sat across from him. “It is. Very complicated.”
“Is there someone else? Really?”
Selin glanced at where Murat stood. “Yes. In a way. But not in a way you’d understand.”
“Murat.”
It wasn’t a question. Kerem said it with certainty, with resignation.
“Yes.”
“He’s dead, Selin.”
“I know.”
“But you’re still in love with him.”
“I don’t know if it’s love anymore. But it’s something. And I need to figure out what before I can move forward with anyone else.”
Kerem nodded slowly. “Okay. I can respect that. I don’t understand it, but I can respect it.”
“Thank you.”
“But Selin, one thing. When you’re ready—if you’re ever ready—for something real, something living… I’m here. No pressure, no expectations. Just… here.”
After he left, Murat spoke. “He’s a good man.”
“He is.”
“Better than me.”
“Different than you. Not better. Not worse. Just different.”
“You could be happy with him.”
“Probably. But I’m not in love with him. I’m in love with you. Ghost or not, betrayer or not, impossible or not. I’m in love with you.”
“That’s incredibly stupid.”
“Yes. It is.”
“But you’re doing it anyway.”
“Yes. I am.”
Murat moved closer, his presence wrapping around her like cool air. “I don’t deserve you.”
“We’ve established that.”
“But you’re choosing me anyway.”
“Apparently I have terrible judgment.”
“Apparently.”
Despite everything—the pain, the impossibility, the sheer insanity of it all—they both smiled. Because sometimes love isn’t about deserving or logic or sanity. Sometimes it’s just about choosing, over and over, even when every choice seems wrong.
And that, for better or worse, was what they kept doing.
- Writer
