Proximity
527 Words
Two months into therapy, Selin and Kerem fell into an easy rhythm. They weren’t dating—both knew she wasn’t ready—but they spent time together. Movies, dinners, long walks along the Bosphorus.
“Do you still feel him?” Kerem asked one evening.
Selin considered lying. But she’d done enough of that. “Sometimes. But it’s different now. Less consuming. More like… a memory that won’t quite fade.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not as much as it used to. It’s part of my story now. Not the whole story, but a chapter.”
They walked in comfortable silence. Then Kerem said: “I need to tell you something.”
Selin’s heart clenched. “Okay.”
“I’m falling for you. Have been for a while. And I know the timing is terrible, and you’re not ready, and I’m not asking for anything. I just… needed you to know.”
Selin stopped walking. Looked at him—really looked at him. Saw the kindness there, the patience, the genuine care. And felt something she hadn’t in a long time: possibility.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “And for not pressuring me.”
“I would never.”
“I know. That’s why I’m going to say this: I’m not ready now. But maybe someday I will be. And if you’re still available then…”
“I’ll be here.”
They resumed walking, the possibility hanging between them like a promise.
That night, Murat appeared in her apartment for the first time in weeks. But he was different—fainter, almost translucent.
“You’re letting me go,” he said. Not accusing, just observing.
“I am,” Selin agreed. “Not because I don’t love you. But because holding on is killing me.”
“And him? You’re falling for him.”
“Maybe. Eventually. But that’s not why I’m letting you go. I’m doing it for me.”
Murat was quiet for a long time. Then: “I’m sorry. For everything. For betraying you. For dying. For coming back and making it all worse.”
“I know. And I forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I need to.”
“Will you remember me?”
“Always. But as you were, not as this.” She gestured at his fading form. “As the man I loved before everything went wrong.”
“That’s more than I deserve.”
“Probably. But it’s what I’m giving you anyway.”
And with that, Murat faded completely. Not with drama or fanfare, but quietly. Like a candle guttering out.
Selin sat in the silence he left behind. It felt different from before—not empty, but peaceful. She picked up her phone and texted Kerem:
“Coffee tomorrow? I want to tell you something.”
His response came immediately: “Looking forward to it.”
Selin smiled. It wasn’t a beginning yet. But it was no longer an ending either. It was something in between—a space where healing happened, where futures became possible, where ghosts finally rested.
And that, she thought, was enough.
- Writer
