The One Who Got Away

{Chap+er 1}

"And him leaving me never goes away from before my eyes. The last time my eyes were able to see him, it hurt so much. I couldn't see beyond my tears.

So I sat down. Waiting for his return. Until my heart turned into a rock.

And my eyes hurt even more."

I finish reading the words which I can barely see clearly now. It takes me a moment to recover my composure, to blink away the moisture suddenly filling my eyes and bring myself back to the present. I lift my eyes up to the room and for the first time in over ten minutes, I register the sea of faces who have all come to my book signing. It has been 5 years since I did one of these and during all that time I seem to have forgotten how  to paint on my clown face, with the wide sunny smile. Though beneath the Bozo mask cracks hides the traces of my tears. After a dead silent heartbeat it is my good friend and publicist, Beste who makes her way to my side of the cosy bookstore to field off questions from the gawking audience.

I am not always rendered this ineffective. Perhaps maybe it has something to do with the passage which I just read aloud that was selected by my editor and publisher, Yiğit. He is not only overly involved, he is also usually more on top of these things. But with the fourth reprint of The Phoenix and The Albatross and the latest copy featuring new cover art. He has been otherwise preoccupied with only things that editors do. Such as pushing for a bonus chapter to be included for the new edition. While also trying to sweet-talk me into writing a sequel to the internationally acclaimed and voted Turkey's Best Début Novel by Cornucopia magazine in their 2018 issue.

Instantly I am pulled out of my reverie by Beste's elbow nudging me, in time to hear one of the attendees ask me a question. "Do you still believe in love, even though you and Can Divit are no longer together?"

With my best practiced pageant queen smile, I make eye contact with the audience member. And at that exact moment I'm grateful for all those annoying sessions with my therapist, Deniz. I can show off the breathing exercises she taught me to do whenever I feel a wave of panic coming on. The panic attacks are always triggered by his name. And just when I feel myself slipping under water, her mantra calls me back to safety. Breathe in like a fish and breathe out like a whale.

It is a small mercy that I am able to answer the question without faltering. "Of course, I do. Or else I wouldn't be a romance writer," I say, ever so smoothly and making a mockery of the turbulence I now feel.
Before a follow up question is posed, Beste deftly intervenes and announces that our time is limited and it would be best to move onto the actual book signing  to accommodate everyone who has shown up today to have their copy of the book signed. A resounding applause with whoops of praise ensues and in that flurry of activity is my chance to gracefully excuse myself for a few minutes to collect myself.
Stepping away from prying eyes I make my way to a kitchenette that is reserved for staff of the bookstore. Earlier a welcome platter of delicious finger food and treats were laid out for me and my team. So I take full advantage of my now deserted hide out to text Ayhan. The perks of having a childhood best friend for a life coach is that I know I can talk to her anytime, anywhere and about everything.

Scrolling down my phone's contact list, I find Ayhan's name and type out, "Ayhan?". We have been friends since we were both 7 years old. My sister, Leyla, was only 2 years older but already counted herself too cool to be saddled with me and her know-it-all friends. So I befriended Ayhan, who was also from my neighbourhood otherwise fondly known as the mahalle. Twenty years strong and we are still two peas in a pod. It is not surprising that with a simple text message of her name and a question mark, she knows exactly that something is amiss. 

A response that reads, "Sanemsie, what is wrong?" pings on my phone. She is the one person in the whole world I allow to get away with calling me 'Sanemsie' when in fact it is just Sanem.
Back to her text, I could go for candor and tell her how I almost fell apart at the mention of his name. However, after my close friends and family had to witness my unceremonious melt down following him leaving me broken hearted, ending our engagement and subsequently my temporary residence into a rehabilitation centre. Or that is what my parents prefer to call it instead of what it really was. A loony bin for those like me whose neurons had decided to go on strike under an avalanche of emotional mess. So instead I opt for a more conceivable and palatable response of, "Missing my partner in crime and wishing you were here." It may not be what I had intended but it was no less true. Thank goodness this is my last stop on a month long book signing tour because I'm exhausted. Kayseri, the name alone of this ancient city and national cultural alcove has brought on a deluge of memories that leave me spent and emotionally venerable. He finally did it, drove me so insane that I went off running to Anadolu. And if Yiğit hadn't pleaded so much for me to do this stop, I would have flaked out like I did on the last tour. But here we are in "Caesar’s City", and I must admit after the little I've seen, we definitely saved the best for last.