The Boundary
356 Words
The escalation happened gradually, then all at once. Small things at first—doors closing harder than they should, lights flickering when Selin talked to Kerem, the television changing channels when she watched romantic movies.
“Stop it,” Selin would say. But Murat didn’t.
Then the incidents became less subtle. Her laptop mysteriously crashed, deleting a work presentation. Her phone died constantly, even when fully charged. Items she needed would vanish, only to reappear in strange places.
“You’re being petty,” Selin said one evening after finding her car keys in the freezer.
“I’m being present,” Murat corrected. “Something you keep trying to pretend I’m not.”
“This is harassment.”
“This is love.”
“No, Murat. Love doesn’t sabotage. Love doesn’t manipulate. Love doesn’t trap.”
“I’m not the one who’s trapped, Selin. You are. By your own delusion that you can have a normal life.”
The argument echoed through the empty apartment, Selin shouting at air while her ghost fiancé watched with cold satisfaction.
“I hate you,” she finally said, voice breaking.
“No, you don’t. That’s the problem.”
And he was right. She didn’t hate him. She hated the situation, hated the impossibility, hated her own inability to choose sanity over this insane connection. But Murat himself? She still loved him. And that was the cruelest part.
That night, Selin made a decision. She packed a bag—just essentials. Called Kerem.
“Can I stay at your place for a few days? I need space.”
“Of course. Is everything okay?”
“No. But it will be.”
As she headed for the door, Murat’s presence intensified. “You’re leaving me?”
“I’m leaving this. Us. Whatever this toxic thing has become.”
“Selin, please. Don’t.”
“Watch me.”
She walked out. Murat tried to follow, but as she crossed the threshold, something stopped him. He couldn’t leave the apartment. Boundaries he hadn’t noticed before suddenly became absolute.
“SELIN!” His scream echoed through the empty rooms, but she was already gone.
- Writer
