As she slowly opened her eyes, she tried to understand what had woken her. Really, she should have first figured out where she was and why she had fallen asleep in the first place. But when she felt the warmth and faint purring at her feet, she realized she was at home.
Thank God—she was home.
Careful not to disturb Ash, she reached for her phone resting at the cluttered edge of the table, barely visible beneath the mess, and checked the time.
04:54 // Dawn was near.
She stared blankly at the notification on her screen. Another day was beginning. She hated that life kept going. She hated life itself. Her world had stopped on a certain second day of May. Everything should've stopped, frozen in place. And yet the sun kept rising, the seasons kept changing, and the days went on.
And most of all… when did tears stop falling?
Tossing the phone onto the other sofa, she tiptoed into the bathroom, as if afraid to wake someone. She avoided her own reflection in the mirror and stepped quickly into the shower.
She was a wreck.
But that wreckage had long since become her normal. So long that she had forgotten what "normal" even meant, what it looked like to live it.
Then again, it hadn't actually been that long.
The years she had lived without him hadn't even reached the count of the ones she had spent with him.
So maybe Einstein was right—maybe time really was relative. Maybe time truly was the enemy. When she had been happy and at peace, time had raced like light. But when it needed to mend her wounds, it crawled slower than a turtle.
Or maybe—just maybe—time had too much work to do right now. Had anyone ever considered that? Maybe time was too busy trying to heal all the broken hearts and shattered souls out there, and so it couldn't keep up with its main job.
Did it matter?
She stepped out of the shower and tiptoed into the bedroom. She grabbed one of her black suits, a black shirt, and a black tie, tossing them onto the bed. Her gaze lingered on the bed for a moment. What she couldn't understand was why she still found it so hard to sleep like a regular person in a regular bed. Everything was in storage now—everything that had once carried his scent, his skin, his presence.
She took a deep breath and began getting ready. The one thing she had mastered through all of this was controlling her face—how to shape it however she needed it to look. No one should ever be able to guess a thing by looking at her.
Even though she had started early, the pain that sometimes seized the left side of her chest made her pause and drag things out longer than she intended.
While walking into the kitchen, she checked on Ash's automatic feeder and the home security cameras. She still hadn't had the time to investigate the outage from last week. She had thought it was just Ash playing with the wires—but she'd been wrong.
"Later," she muttered. "I'll deal with it later."
After making herself a small protein shake, she took her meds. God knew—if they didn't help, she wouldn't even bother.
She was just about to head out in her heels when she caught a glimpse of the living room over her shoulder.
The coffee table was a disaster—covered in nut shells, chocolate wrappers, empty alcohol bottles, crumpled napkins. Some of it had even spilled onto the floor. The ashtrays were overflowing, cigarette packs scattered everywhere. She tossed her bag in the foyer, grabbed a trash bag, and began cleaning up in a flurry.
Because Uncle Emin always showed up around this time, as if he could sense it. And he'd absolutely be doing a damage check after the anniversary. The fact that she technically had the day off? That was just bait in the trap.
"Show up to work today," she imagined him saying, "and I'll be there to close in on you."
After stuffing a second trash bag, she opened two of the windows slightly and left the apartment. Dumped the garbage. Got in her car and headed toward the office.
At least the streets didn't feel as dead as they used to.
The same sentence echoed in her mind again.
Life goes on.
Humanity always finds a way. She stopped in front of her favorite coffee shop. Before getting out of the car, she dug into the depths of her bag and fished out her phone to send a message to Mert; "Coffee?" Just as she locked the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, her phone buzzed again.
>> "You coming?"
As she began typing a reply, another message came through.
Dad >> Are you awake?
A strange smile crept across Deniz's face. It felt absurd for a moment. And just then, as if Mert realized how silly his earlier message was, another one popped up before she could hit send:"If you're at Lobu, could you get 2 chocolate caramel chunk cookies and 2 ham cheddar sandwiches? A large filter coffee for me, latte for the intern."
Another small smile slipped in unnoticed.
"Are you all waiting for me to serve you on a silver platter too?"
Just as she was about to call Uncle Emin, she caught sight of Mert's crying emoji reply, and that made it smile number three for the day.
What a strange day.
"Goo...d morning? Were you awake?" Her surprise showed in her hesitant tone.
"Morning, Uncle. I'm heading to the office. Do you want me to bring anything?"
"Wait… you're coming in?" His surprise only grew.
"We'll talk when I arrive. I'll come straight to your office."
"Alright, Denizcim. I'll be waiting. Be careful."
"I always am."
"Of course you are."
The moment she walked into the coffee shop, the scent of freshly ground beans and warm pastries danced through the air in perfect harmony.
"Finding joy in small things" her therapist had once told her—back when therapy had still felt like something she could manage.
Maybe that was step two in the whole grieving process—step one being giving yourself permission to come back to life, to live again. From the feel of your cat's fur brushing your skin, to the colors of the morning sky from the rooftop, to the taste of that white chocolate cake you'd ordered just for yourself, to the rich aroma of the coffee you brewed from scratch.
Being able to notice the moment… and stay there, even briefly.
While walking to the counter to pay for her rather large order—because let's be honest, two sandwiches were never enough for two young men—Deniz was still replaying her therapy sessions in her head.
"The thing is… I don't want to come back to life."
That one sentence—just admitting that truth—had been enough for her to quit therapy altogether. That place wasn't for her. It was for people trying to move on. And no one around her—no one in her tiny circle—wanted to accept that her life had come to a full stop.
Then again, she'd only gone in the first place because Uncle Emin had insisted.But to his credit, he'd never pressured her again.
She paid, then got in line to wait for her order. As she pulled out her phone and opened a news app—not to read, just to avoid eye contact with anyone—she heard:
"Decaf large coffee for Oktay."
The man ahead of her stepped forward to grab the drink, and Deniz lifted her gaze for a moment—just long enough to meet his eyes.
His hair was neatly styled, but a single black strand had fallen free, brushing against his forehead. "Too neat," Deniz thought. The haircut, the beard trim, even his nails—it all screamed discipline.Military?
Or maybe just OCD.
She was certain she'd seen him somewhere before. With her sharp visual memory, sometimes she noticed the most useless things. When the man turned to leave, coffee in hand, something clicked.She shoved her phone into her coat pocket and instinctively ran her fingers through her short, choppy hair—something she only did when anxious.
Please don't talk to me. Don't make contact.
But of course… it was one of those days.
Time, which had been dragging, suddenly sped up. A woman in heels came rushing out of the restroom, caught her heel on the tile grout, and crashed into the man.
There was no avoiding it.
The coffee lid hadn't been fastened properly. He caught the woman just in time, but some of the coffee had definitely spilled—Deniz could tell by the look on his face.
"S-sorry…" the woman stammered, and a few customers turned toward them, concerned.
At the counter, the barista set two large bags on the counter.
"Takeout for Deniz! Oh, are you alright? Please stay still—I'm coming!"
Without a word, Deniz grabbed the three oversized bags and marched toward the door with long, deliberate strides. Through the window, she could see the man watching her, debating whether to call out to her or not.
She didn't give him the chance. She walked out, got in her car, and drove off.
As she headed toward the office, she knew those questions now circling in her head wouldn't leave until they found answers.
That man recognized her—she was sure of it. But she couldn't place his voice or gestures in memory. It must've been from a photo.
But then… where had he seen her? Without realizing it, she found herself already at the office, sitting in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. She couldn't even remember how she'd gotten there. When she looked around the room, she noticed a figure sprawled in one of the armchairs, legs propped up on the coffee table, munching on a sandwich, half-buried in an oversized hoodie.The glow of the laptop on his lap reflected faintly on his thick-rimmed glasses.
Deniz stretched her arms and back.
"If you're feeling human again, Mr. Karahan wants to see you in his office in about fifteen minutes," Mert said, stuffing the last bit of his sandwich into his mouth and reaching for his coffee.Deniz stood and walked over to one of the cabinets on the left side of her office. She checked herself in the mirror mounted on the inside of the door.
"When did he say that?"
"This... morning... around eight."
The dark circles under her eyes were still visible. Annoyed by the way makeup clung unevenly to her skin, she wiped it all off and started over. Her office was like a fortress—one wall lined entirely with cabinets, all neatly filled: spare suits, shoes, makeup, a mini bar, pillows, blankets… Everything stored away, orderly and hidden. She always had to be prepared.
After finishing with her face, she lightly misted her long bangs with hairspray so they wouldn't fall into her eyes. The back of her hair was cropped short—nearly a boyish cut—but the top she had left longer. There was a time she'd considered shaving it all off, but the handful of people she still cared about had practically begged her not to.
She slid off her soft indoor slippers and replaced them with her heels.
"We need a meeting, too," Mert suddenly said, rummaging through the bag she'd brought.
"Is there a problem?" she asked, cracking open a window slightly—Mert had asthma; she shouldn't have sprayed anything indoors.
His face lit up as he found the chocolate cookie, grinning as if he'd struck gold. The cookie was the size of his face. Holding it up to his cheek, he mumbled a cheerful "Thanks…"
Deniz rolled her eyes. "That wasn't an answer."
"There might be. I noticed a strange pattern in the system logs."
She raised one eyebrow. "Someone trying to get in?"
Mert put down the cookie and took a sip of coffee. "It's more like… probing. Subtle. Feels like someone's testing things, little by little."
"Night shift?" she asked, turning toward the door.
Mert leaned his head back against the couch and met her gaze. "Nooo, not tonight, there's a match!" She gave his forehead a light smack.
"Not 'sister,' it's 'chief.' You'll call me chief," she said as she walked out and headed for the elevator, pressing the button for the 30th floor.
It had been nearly six months after Emre's death when she finally agreed to head the cybersecurity department of Mr. Emin's company. Back then, her thoughts of following Emre, of leaving the country and fulfilling a plan she hadn't even dared speak aloud, were still vivid. Someone must've tipped him off—maybe the passport photographer, or a clerk she'd spoken to.
His wife and daughter had been among the first international victims of that widespread disease. So perhaps he'd already thought of everything Deniz had thought a dozen times over.And, as always, he had placed Deniz in a position where she wouldn't be completely destroyed—but wouldn't escape either.
When the elevator opened, she turned left, walked past the meeting rooms, and greeted the assistant.
"Hello, Miss Deniz ," Emre greeted her with his usual flawless smile. Deniz never called Mr. Emin's assistant by name.
"Is he free?" she asked, nodding toward the door.
"Yes. He's expecting you."
She raised her eyebrows and walked to the door. "I'm sending up two medium sweet coffees."
"Thanks," she said as she opened the door.
She found him as always—standing at the massive windows, hands in his pockets, staring thoughtfully outside. His gray-white hair was perfectly combed, as usual. When he saw her, he opened his arms slightly but then frowned, noticing her heels.
Deniz couldn't help but laugh, giving him an exaggerated bow before hugging him.Instead of returning to his desk, he sat opposite her, motioning for her to sit as well.
"You really do this just to upset me, don't you?"
"Oh, come on. Don't be dramatic."
They made small talk until the coffee arrived. Mr. Emin spoke about a defense industry company he was currently negotiating with. Its front-facing focus was climate research and modification, but that was mostly a cover. Behind the scenes, they were working on much more intricate and meaningful operations. Most of the company's efforts went into R&D and engineering support for major defense firms. In some ways, it could even be considered a human resources hub—they pooled talent and leased it out.
Deniz asked for the list of recent meetings and client names. Mert's concern had settled somewhere in the back of her mind, and she couldn't let it go. It had to be handled today. Mert wasn't the type to raise a red flag over nothing.
Once they'd run out of corners to turn around the elephant in the room, Deniz realized they weren't quite on the same page.
There was something he wasn't saying.
"Can I assume you're feeling better?" he asked cautiously.
She shook her head. "Still the same."
He didn't say anything right away. But Deniz knew him well. She could tell when something was bothering him—his brows furrowed more deeply, the wrinkles between them grew sharper. He spoke less. Joked less. Only a handful of people would even notice.
"I thought you were the same yesterday too," he said finally. Then cleared his throat. "I told you before—my time stopped. It's not going to move forward."
He sighed. "I can't say you're wrong. And I can't expect you to move on, Deniz. I know what he meant to you. I was there, by both your sides, as you grew up."
Deniz murmured, "Damn pandemic."
It had taken everything from her. And "everything" wasn't an exaggeration. Emre had been the only thing that ever truly belonged to her in this world.
"I'm not going to say you're still young either," he added. "Sometimes the heartaches we feel when we're young hurt even more."
Deniz gave a crooked smile. "So older hearts hurt less?"
"Not exactly. Pain doesn't come in small or large. But with years comes a kind of maturity, a wisdom that lets you see some things as inevitable."
She gave him a sarcastic look.
He took a sip of his coffee. "Don't look at me like that. Why do you think I'm investing so much right now? Why do we even have a medical R&D division?"
She leaned her head back, resting her arms on the chair, staring at the ceiling. "Feels like we're just trying to comfort ourselves."
"You're not entirely wrong. But that doesn't change the fact that we've helped save thousands of lives."
"Is that how we're measuring this—by numbers?" It had always seemed irrational to her. Seeing the big picture. Helping the majority. If she had the chance to bring Emre back, she would trade thousands of strangers without a second thought. Who wouldn't? It wasn't about ethics. Who decided whose life mattered more?
"Whatever you say, I see it as progress. No matter the reason."
Deniz didn't reply. Was choosing not to argue and sparing the feelings of someone who cared about her also a kind of progress? Or was it just a bribe before the deeper damage she might inflict later? The deep waters were still close—they hadn't receded. She stood on the edge of a cliff, and all it would take was one step for the warmth to drain from her completely. Those thoughts still hovered close enough to whisper in her ear.
"Mert's birthday is coming up. Should we go to the farm?"
His sudden change of topic was almost too deliberate. Whatever was bothering him today, he had no intention of saying it.
Still… what if it was about her? "He wants a barbecue party. Boys that age never get full."There was a knock—three quick taps—and Mr. Emin called out, "Come in."Without entering, the assistant poked his head in through the door. "Your meeting is about to start, Mr. Emin."
"Alright, thank you, Emre."
A shiver ran down Deniz's spine at hearing the name. It was enough to get her up on her feet. Before Mr. Emin could rise, she leaned down, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and said:"Swear you do this just to get on my nerves."
He smiled. "Say what you want—I still believe you'll make it through this."
Without turning her head, she waved as she walked toward the door, nodded at the assistant, and headed back to her office.
What annoyed her the most was how he never seemed to lose hope in her. All she wanted was to be alone.
And that was the one thing she couldn't have.
Back at her office, the rest of the day unfolded as usual: work, and more work. The system logs had been piling up faster than usual lately. Strangely, she felt most disconnected from reality when sitting in front of her screen—which, according to Mr. Emin, was a blessing. Anything that helped her keep going, no matter how small, was a blessing in his eyes.
When she finally realized she hadn't moved from her chair in hours, she stretched. Her sleeves were rolled up, her heels off, and her feet were tucked into a foot-warming cushion—a birthday gift. She scooted her chair slightly to glance at Mert.
He had a lollipop in his mouth, as usual, and when she noticed it, she smiled without meaning to. He'd taken off his hoodie. Their haircuts were almost identical—even the texture. Deniz's top layers were longer, but side by side, it wasn't strange that people thought they were siblings.
His oversized glasses had slid down his nose, and he sat curled up shrimp-like in a chair big enough to seat two, typing rapidly on his laptop.
"Don't you have your own office?"
He didn't respond right away. She lifted her feet from the warmer, careful not to let them touch the floor, then scooted sideways to the cabinet near the corner window.
"I don't like it there. Sometimes the testing team hangs around. Too crowded."
She opened the minibar, took out a protein shake and two energy bars, then rolled back to her desk.
"Haven't we talked about this?" she asked, gently tossing one of the bars to him. Mert caught it mid-air and placed it beside him, still focused on the screen.
But not for long.
He soon set the laptop aside and began unwrapping the bar. There had always been a different kind of connection between them, from the very beginning. The kind of connection that formed its own silent language. Deniz bringing him something to eat always meant one thing: break time.
"I never said we hadn't. And I'm not hiding in here."
The sentence clearly had an unspoken continuation.
"Then why have you been working next to me like a curled-up shrimp for hours?"
Mert gave her a sidelong glance, chewed his bite, then took a sip of coffee. Deniz could tell he was dodging her question—her expression hardened, mouth tightening into a line, one eyebrow arching without her realizing.
When Mert saw her face, he grimaced. After a deep breath, he finally admitted:"I've been sitting here since the start of the day. Just in case… maybe you'd come in, like you did today."
He looked down, sheepish, like a child confessing a secret.
Deniz leaned back and sighed. "You do have my number, right?"
"What, should I text you every day and ask if you're coming in?" he shot back, half-mocking.Even at his age, despite everything he'd endured, despite the broken pieces, when Deniz looked into his eyes, she could still see the small child inside—the one who just wanted someone to hold his hand.
She shrugged. "Why not?"
While trying to encourage Mert, she was always battling with herself. She'd thought long and hard about taking him under her wing—about what that would mean. He was under Uncle Emin's care, but she had made a promise to herself too.
Had she lost even the respect she owed herself—if she couldn't even keep that promise?
When Mert smiled—when his eyes smiled too—it hit Deniz in the chest like a soft blow.
"Then I guess we'll be texting more often," he said.
She smiled back. "Sounds like a deal."
She finished off her protein shake. "How's everything at home?"
Mert sank further into the chair. "Better than I expected." He turned to her with a mischievous grin. "And I have more friends than you think."
Deniz nodded. "You should come visit me sometime."
"I think we should go to Uncle Emin's. Watching movies on that giant screen is way more fun."
Deniz laughed. "I'll steal his keys someday."
Mert suddenly looked uneasy, glancing around. He leaned toward the door."There's actually something I've been meaning to tell you, but…"
He was cut off by a knock and the door swinging open before he could finish. The assistant stepped inside without waiting:"Meeting Room Three, Miss Deniz —five minutes."
Then he was gone.
Deniz frowned and opened her calendar. Nothing was scheduled. What meeting?
She got to her feet quickly, buttoning her sleeves and heading to the cabinet with her makeup and mirror to check her face.
"Go on," she said, wiping off her lipstick and reapplying it—it had smudged from the sandwich earlier.
"Let's talk after your meeting," Mert replied.
She grabbed her jacket from the chair, slipped on her heels, and ruffled Mert's hair on her way out.
"We will talk."