Kemal cracked his eyelids open under the pale light of morning, his head throbbing with a sharp ache. The darkness that had clung to his mind for days was now tightening its grip—his memories felt less like events and more like shadows, suffocating his thoughts and making him question his own sanity.
He rose slowly, as if seeking refuge in silence, and walked to the kitchen. The monotonous hum of the coffee machine filled the space while he prepared his cup, all the while pondering what—if anything—he should tell Yelda. Should he speak of the strange event from the day before? Or remain silent, hoping that time would somehow erase it?
But what if he did tell her? Would she see him as someone losing his mind? Or would she catch the terror behind his eyes—and start to believe?
Kemal finished his coffee, threw his coat over his shoulders, and stepped outside into a sky that leaned toward gray. The air felt heavy; even the rustling of leaves seemed tired.
He quickened his pace, trying to suppress the unease settling deep within. As he walked toward the street where he was to meet Yelda—a street he knew by heart—the world around him grew hazier. The streets were eerily quiet. Only the sound of his own footsteps and the faint whisper of the wind filled the silence.
Just as he was beginning to find comfort in that loneliness… the sound multiplied.
A step. Then another. Matching his rhythm, his pace—yet unmistakably not his own.
He stopped. The sound stopped too.
Narrowing his eyes, he glanced behind. The street was empty. But a thin thread of tension hung in the air, whispering that something was not right.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it again—this time, a still figure beneath the shadow of a streetlamp, watching silently. It didn't move, didn't blink. Just stared.
A sudden tram rumbled past, and when Kemal turned back, the figure was gone. No trace on the pavement, no shadow beneath the lamp. As if it had never been there.
But Kemal knew what he'd felt. That gaze had pierced him, sunk into his bones.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He wanted to call Yelda. But his fingers trembled—partly from the cold, and partly from… something else.
As he neared the meeting point, the cobblestones beneath his feet felt harder, the air heavier. Everything seemed darker and quieter than it should have been.
And still, he felt it—the presence at his back, like a cold breath against his neck. A stranger. Whenever he tried to turn around, a voice—perhaps fear, perhaps the last flicker of reason—urged him not to.
He no longer had the courage to look back.
Because if he turned…he feared he would see someone standing there.
When Kemal finally descended the stone-paved slope into Balat, the sky loomed above him in a leaden hush. The shadows of old wooden houses fell across the sidewalk, blending the faded traces of the past with the uncertain present.
He slowed down at the sight of the small café on the corner. The warm glow behind the window offered a sense of peace in defiance of the cold outside. Reaching for the door, his unease softened for a moment.
Inside, it was quiet—perhaps two tables were occupied, soft murmurs lingering at the threshold.
His eyes scanned the room—Yelda hadn't arrived yet.
He gave one last glance outside. No one approaching. No sign of a pursuer. But the sensation wouldn't leave the nape of his neck.
He sat down at a window-side table. His mind, however, remained outside, searching the street's shadows for a silhouette.
A waiter approached. Kemal shook his head.
"I'm waiting for someone," he said in a low voice, not even sure he wanted to explain his presence to himself.
Half an hour passed. Still no sign of Yelda.Time trickled by, thick and heavy behind the café's fogged window.Kemal checked the time—she was late. That was unlike her. She was always punctual.
A quiet worry began to stir inside him.
He pulled out his phone and typed a short message:"Where are you? I'm here, waiting for you."
He hit send but didn't let go of the phone. He kept checking—had it delivered? Was it seen? Was she online?
Nothing changed. The silence wasn't just outside—it had followed him into the screen.
Unable to bear it, Kemal called her. Only to be met with more silence… and then, a busy tone that broke it.
A chill rushed through him. It spread from his throat through his limbs, settling into his muscles like an invisible frost. His breathing quickened; sweat beaded on his brow despite the cold.
He tried to collect himself, but his hands were shaking. The chair beneath him felt unstable, as if it might give out at any moment.
Gripping the table for support, he stood and hurried toward the restroom at the back. It felt like if he didn't get there soon, he might fall apart right there.
He opened the door and went straight to the sink. Turned on the tap—ice-cold water hissed from the faucet, echoing against the tiled walls. He splashed his face. Then stood still, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked drained.
When he returned to his table, a surprise was waiting—one that only deepened his unease.
On the table lay a torn piece of paper, its edges curled from moisture. A note was scribbled across it:
"Stop digging. Some doors, once opened, can never be closed."
Kemal recoiled, the note slipping from his trembling fingers.Was the shadow that had followed him real? Had it left this message?And Yelda—what if someone had hurt her?
Panic surged in his chest. He rushed out into the street, desperate to catch a glimpse—of the figure, of Yelda, of anything.
But all he saw were empty streets… and a fine rain beginning to fall.