Erkenci Kuş: Bad For Me

Chapter 14: In Which Can and Sanem start to actually communicate

Golden hour had settled over the bay like a benevolent monarch, casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, forgiving light. Sanem Aydin found herself on a familiar bench, her gaze tracing the path of a lone leaf pirouetting down from an ancient oak tree. She wrapped her arms around herself, not for warmth—no, the day was generous with its lingering summer heat—but rather as a shield, bracing for the conversation that loomed ahead.

"Sanem," came a voice—deep and achingly familiar—as footsteps approached, halting beside her.

She looked up, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of Can—the man who once held her world in his hands. His tall frame cast a shadow that fell across her lap, and she noted the way his jaw clenched, a sign of the inner turmoil that mirrored her own.

Sanem's heart raced as she saw Can standing before her, his figure a stark contrast against the backdrop of the bustling Istanbul streets. It had been a years since she had seen him, and yet he still had a way of making her feel like time hadn't passed at all.

"Can," she replied, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside her, her composure a fragile façade. She moved over on the bench, a silent invitation.

"Thank you for meeting me." He accepted the offer, sitting down with a careful distance between them. "Istanbul isn't the same without you. It's like a photograph—still beautiful but lacking life."

"Life goes on, Can," Sanem said softly. "With or without us."

"Does it?" He leaned against the railing, his gaze distant. "These streets, they echo with our laughter, our dreams. They remember us, Sanem."

Sanem's throat tightened at his words, memories flooding back to her. She had spent countless hours with Can exploring these very streets, dreaming of their future together. But then life had taken them in different directions, and their relationship had become nothing but a distant memory.

"Memories can be deceiving," she countered softly. As she spoke, the memories rushed back to her, flooding her mind with images and emotions long suppressed. She could feel their connection tugging at her resolve, begging to be acknowledged once again. But she knew that memories could be deceptive, that they could paint a picture far rosier than reality.

Can's voice trembled as he replied, "True. But some things are unforgettable." There was a hint of nostalgia in his words, a recognition of the bittersweet truth.

She couldn't help but ask, "Like what we had?" Her tone was wistful, tinged with a touch of sadness. She yearned for the past and all its beautiful moments, even though  she knew they were gone forever.

Can's eyes bore into hers, a storm of emotions brewing within them. "Especially that," he whispered, his voice thick with longing and regret. "Sanem, I've travelled far and wide, seen wonders beyond imagination, but nothing compares to the beauty we shared."

"Why did you leave then?" Sanem's words were like daggers, piercing through the tension between them.

"Because sometimes," Can said through clenched teeth, "love isn't enough." His jaw tightened as he fought back tears. "Or maybe, I wasn't enough."

Desperate to bridge the growing distance between them, Sanem reached out for him, but he flinched away. "Can—" she pleaded, her heart breaking at the sight of his pain. But he held up a hand to stop her, his entire being radiating with sorrow and resignation.

"Please, let me finish. I needed to find myself, to be someone worthy of your love. I'm not sure I succeeded, but I know this—I am better for having loved you."

"Can, you were always enough," Sanem's voice cracked, the dam of her emotions threatening to break. "And you made me better too."

"Did I?" He searched her face, seeking confirmation, absolution.