FUSUN HANIM'S SILENT FAREWELL

The question Selin had asked Kerem in the garden that morning — about Ada — still hung in the air of the house like a knife blade. Kerem had chosen his words carefully, weaving just enough truth with just enough invention. The scholarship, he explained, had been his idea, arranged through his own connections: a brilliant but orphaned medical student he had met years ago through a mutual acquaintance. Mert had agreed as a favour and handled the administrative side, nothing more. The girl had never set foot in their lives. Selin had listened without interrupting. Then she looked at her tea. Then she looked at Kerem. The sharp suspicion in her eyes softened, not completely but enough to breathe through. Kerem recognized the shift — not belief exactly, but the willingness to be relieved. Some