Preparation, Longing, and Truth
594 Words
Six months after Murat’s final disappearance, Selin made a decision: she was ready to move on. Not from his memory—she’d carry that always—but from the holding pattern she’d been in.
She started by making changes to her life. Accepted a promotion at work. Started running in the mornings. Redecorated her apartment—nothing drastic, just enough to make it feel like hers again, not theirs.
And she let Kerem in. Really in. Not just as a friend or a support system, but as a partner.
“I want to try this,” she told him one evening. “Us. For real.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But I’m as sure as I’m going to get. And I think that’s enough.”
Kerem smiled. “Then let’s try.”
They established their own rhythms. Friday night dinners. Sunday morning runs. Quiet evenings reading side by side. It wasn’t the passionate intensity of her relationship with Murat. It was something different: sustainable.
Of course, there were moments when Murat’s shadow fell across them. When Selin would go quiet and Kerem would know she was thinking about him. But those moments became less frequent, less intense.
One evening, they were cooking dinner together when Kerem asked: “Do you ever wonder what he’d think? About us?”
Selin considered this. “I think he’d be jealous. But I also think, if there was any part of him that really loved me, he’d want me to be happy. And I am. Not in the way I was with him—that was fire and chaos. This is… steadier. Calmer. But it’s real, and it’s mine, and I get to choose it every day.”
“I like that. Choosing it every day.”
“Me too.”
That night, after Kerem had gone home, Selin sat alone in her apartment. The silence was comfortable now. Not oppressive, not weighted with absence, just quiet.
She thought about Murat. Not with longing or grief, but with a kind of gentle acknowledgment. He’d been a huge part of her life. Both the good and the bad of him had shaped who she was now.
“Thank you,” she said to the empty room. “For loving me the way you could. For letting me go when you finally understood I needed to be let go. I’ll remember the good parts. The rest… I’m leaving behind.”
The air didn’t change. No sudden chill, no whispered response. Just silence.
And Selin realized: she was talking to a memory now, not a presence. Murat was truly, finally gone.
Instead of grief, she felt relief. Release. The weight she’d been carrying for nearly two years finally lifted.
She picked up her phone, texted Kerem: “Come over tomorrow? I want to cook you breakfast.”
His response was immediate: “I’ll bring coffee. See you at 9.”
Selin smiled, set down her phone, and went to bed. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she fell asleep quickly, peacefully, without checking corners or listening for sounds that shouldn’t be there.
She slept through the night. No dreams, no disturbances, no midnight wakings.
Just sleep. Deep, restful, healing sleep.
And when she woke the next morning to sunlight streaming through her window, she felt something she hadn’t in years: excited for the day ahead.
Not because anything extraordinary was happening. But because life—normal, ordinary, beautiful life—was waiting for her.
And this time, she was ready to live it.
- Writer
