GHOST LOVER

Waltz for Three

Days passed, and Kerem became a regular presence in Selin’s life. Coffee in the mornings. Dinner some evenings. Weekend walks along the Bosphorus. To anyone watching, they looked like a budding couple. To Selin, it was exhausting maintenance of her cover story. To Murat, it was torture.

“I don’t like this,” Murat said one evening after Kerem had left. “He’s getting too comfortable here.”

“That’s the point. If he’s comfortable, he won’t suspect anything.”

“Or he’ll fall in love with you and make things infinitely more complicated.”

“He’s not falling in love with me.”

“Selin, the man looks at you like you hung the moon. Trust me. I’m a man. I know the look.”

She didn’t have a good response to that, because part of her suspected Murat was right. Kerem’s glances lingered a bit too long. His smiles were a bit too warm. His excuses to visit were getting thinner.

The situation came to a head one Saturday evening. Kerem had invited Selin to a work event—a gallery opening for one of his designer friends. “Just as friends,” he’d assured her. “No pressure. But I could use the company.”

Selin had accepted, knowing her parents would hear about it and be pleased at her “progress.” What she hadn’t counted on was Murat insisting on coming along.

“Absolutely not,” she’d said. “You can’t go to a gallery opening.”

“Watch me.”

And so Selin found herself at a trendy Beyoğlu gallery, standing beside Kerem in a cocktail dress, feeling Murat’s presence hovering somewhere behind her.

The evening started well enough. Kerem introduced her to his friends. Everyone was kind, if a bit curious about the “friend” Kerem had brought. Selin played her part—charming, interested, alive.

Then they moved to view the art. One piece in particular caught Selin’s attention—a abstract painting in blacks and grays, with a single spot of red in the center. Something about it resonated deeply.

“What do you think?” Kerem asked, standing close beside her.

“It’s about loss,” Selin said quietly. “See how the red is drowning in gray? But it’s still there. Still fighting to be seen.”

“That’s beautiful,” a voice said behind them. One of Kerem’s artist friends had overheard. “You have a good eye.”

They fell into discussion about the piece. Selin found herself actually enjoying the conversation—talking about art, about emotion, about how we process grief through creativity.

Then she felt it. That familiar drop in temperature. Murat, moving closer.

“Selin,” Kerem said, drawing her attention back. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

As Kerem guided her toward another group, Selin felt Murat following. She could sense his mood darkening with each step, each interaction, each moment she spent engaging with the living world without him.

On the walk home, Kerem was ebullient. “That was great! Everyone loved you. Ayşe was asking if you’d come to her opening next month. And did you see how into your interpretation Mehmet was?”

“It was nice,” Selin said, meaning it. For a few hours, she’d almost felt normal.

“Selin,” Kerem stopped walking, turning to face her under a streetlight. “I know I said ‘just friends,’ but I need to be honest with you. I really like you. And tonight, seeing you laugh and talk and just… be alive… I like you even more.”

Selin’s heart sank. “Kerem—”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said quickly. “I know you’re still dealing with Murat. I just wanted you to know. When you’re ready, if you’re ever ready… I’m here.”

The temperature plummeted. Somewhere beside them, invisible to Kerem, Murat’s presence became almost tangible in its intensity.

“Thank you,” Selin said carefully. “That means a lot. But Kerem, I need you to understand something. I’m not dealing with Murat. I’m not ‘getting over’ him. What Murat and I had… it doesn’t just end because he’s gone.”

“I know. And I respect that. But Selin, life is for the living. And you’re so alive. Don’t forget that.”

Back in the apartment, the fight was immediate and fierce.

“How dare he?” Murat’s voice filled the room. “How dare he stand there and tell you to forget me? To move on?”

“He didn’t say forget you. He said I’m alive.”

“Same thing! He wants you. He wants to take my place.”

“No one can take your place!” Selin’s voice rose. “You know that. But Murat, he’s not wrong. I am alive. And sometimes, like tonight, I enjoy being alive. Is that so terrible?”

Silence. Heavy and cold.

“No,” Murat said finally, his voice small. “It’s not terrible. It’s just… watching you with him. Watching you be part of a world I can’t fully be part of anymore. It’s killing me. Again.”

Selin moved to where she felt him strongest. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you too.”

“Do you ever regret it? Choosing this half-life with me instead of a full life with someone like him?”

“Every day,” she said honestly. And then: “But I’d make the same choice every time.”

They stood in silence for a long time, two souls existing in the space between worlds, knowing their situation was impossible, knowing it couldn’t last, but choosing it anyway.

Because sometimes love means choosing the impossible.