The Trace
390 Words
Six months later, Selin was living a life she barely recognized. She’d started a new job, made new friends, even gone on a few dates (none serious, but steps in the right direction). The nightmares had stopped. The compulsion to talk to empty air had faded.
She rarely thought about Murat anymore. When she did, it was with a strange mixture of sadness and relief—like remembering a fever dream, intense while it lasted but ultimately unreal.
Kerem had become her closest friend. There was still that unspoken possibility between them, but neither rushed it. Selin was healing. That was enough.
One afternoon, she was walking through Taksim when she saw it: their old apartment building. She’d avoided this neighborhood entirely, but today she had a work meeting nearby and couldn’t avoid it.
On impulse, she entered. The elevator took her to her old floor. She stood outside her old door, now belonging to strangers.
“Did you ever really exist?” she whispered. “Or was it all in my head?”
A couple emerged from the apartment—young, laughing, alive. They looked at her curiously.
“Can we help you?” the woman asked.
“No, sorry. I used to live here. Just… nostalgic, I guess.”
They smiled politely and moved past her. Selin watched them go, then placed her palm against the door.
For just a moment, she felt it: that familiar coolness, that sense of presence. But when she pulled her hand away, it was gone.
Real or imagined? She’d never know. And she’d made peace with that uncertainty.
As she walked away, Selin realized something: she didn’t need to know if Murat had been a ghost or a delusion. What mattered was that he was gone now, and she was still here. Living. Moving forward. Choosing life over the comfortable prison of grief.
And that—finally—was enough.
She texted Kerem: “Dinner tonight? My treat.”
His response was immediate: “Always. See you at 7.”
Selin smiled. Real, genuine, without the weight of impossible love or ghost fiancés or the space between living and dead.
Just a smile. Simple. Human. Alive.
And in that moment, she knew: she was going to be okay.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually.
She was going to be okay.
- Writer
