Father’s Vigil
That night, unable to sleep, Selin called her father. It was late, but Haldun Bey answered on the second ring. “Selin? Is everything okay?” “I don’t know, Baba. I really don’t know.” There was a pause. Then: “I’m coming over.” Twenty minutes later, her father was at her door. He looked tired—older than she remembered—but his presence was solid, real, grounding. They sat in her living room, tea between them. Murat had withdrawn, giving them space, but Selin could feel him listening from the bedroom. “Talk to me,” her father said gently. So she did. Not about the ghost—she couldn’t explain that. But about the grief, about feeling stuck, about not knowing how to move forward when part of her wanted to stay frozen in the past. Haldun Bey listened without interruption. When she finished
- Writer
