On the Road
341 Words
A month after leaving her apartment, Selin made a decision. She would sell it. Move on completely. Start fresh somewhere new, maybe even a different city.
“Are you sure?” Kerem asked when she told him.
“No. But I need to do it anyway.”
She hired a real estate agent, started packing up the apartment. Each visit was brief, clinical. She avoided looking at spots where memories lived, where Murat had stood, where their impossible love story had unfolded.
On the final day, as movers loaded the last of her furniture, Selin did one last walk-through. The apartment was bare, empty of everything except echoes.
“Murat?” she called out, not sure why.
Nothing. He was gone. Truly gone this time.
She sat on the floor where their couch had been. Cried—not for him specifically, but for everything they’d been, could have been, never would be.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the empty air. “For all of it. For not being strong enough to let you go sooner. For not being brave enough to keep you.”
A cool breeze passed through the apartment, even though all the windows were closed. A final goodbye, perhaps. Or just her imagination.
Either way, Selin stood, wiped her eyes, and walked out. Closed the door. Locked it for the last time.
In the car, Kerem was waiting. “Ready?” he asked gently.
“As I’ll ever be.”
They drove away, and Selin didn’t look back. Not because she didn’t care, but because looking back would undo all the painful progress she’d made.
That night, in her new temporary home (she’d decided to stay in Istanbul after all, just in a different neighborhood), Selin felt something she hadn’t in over a year: peace.
Not happiness—that would take time. Not closure—she doubted she’d ever fully have that. But peace. The absence of constant turmoil. The quiet of a life that belonged only to her.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
- Writer
