Elevator

-"Hazan already got over it Yagiz.."

-"Of course she is over it. Afterall it is mine, the heart and the ache both.."

- "Put her on the phone!"

-"I'm with you.. I'm with you.."

-"It is too late for her now.."

"She's already over it.."

"I heard you are worried about a girl called Hazan"

"I'm with you.."

"Hazan! I know you are there! I know you are still breathing, I am here, you're with me"

"I'm with you.."

"HAZAN!"

Yagiz woke up with his own scared voice in his head and a sharp pain in his heart. His bedroom felt like an unechoic chamber in comparison to the dream he just woke up from. What he had was no nightmare. No. For if it were one, he could easily reason that it was all a product of his own imagination. But it wasn't. What he had was a replay of the most terrifying moments of his life mixed with a bitter-sweet memory of the happiest few seconds. So his mind went on override and his heart ached to the degree of numbness. He felt deserted. He felt happy and scared, lost and found all at the same time. As the reality of the events of the previous day sank in, he broke into another cold sweat. He wondered how many more nights he would be haunted by the same visions until he liberated himself from those. He wondered if he ever wanted to really erase the memory those moments with Hazan, despite the darkness the rest of it bore. He didn't want to speculate that just yet.

His clock showed 05:38 as he lost all hope of going back to sleep. He discarded his sleeping shirt that was soaked in cold sweat in the laundry and sought comfort in a hot shower. While he turned the hot water on, he observed that his shower was slightly bigger than the grave their kidnappers burried him and Hazan in. Surprised that he wasn't at all distressed to think about that grave, he strangely found that he treasured those several moments of horror. The faded memory of his courage just when he was about to tell Hazan that he loved her washed over him anew. The courage he ironically found only after he felt the cold barrel of the kidnapper's gun on his nape, he mused back in the moment, was kindness, it was a gift. He would finally pour his heart to her in a moment when he thought he had nothing else to lose. The look of fear for his life on Hazan's face, was a gift. She scooted over to him despite the cold metal threat that would end everything before he got to tell her how he felt. Her little act of bravery to be closer to him in the face of a possible death at the hands of this rented dog, was a gift. The single big tear she shed for his miserable sake, was a gift. Was she the same girl that once threw daggers to him with her looks?

He knew if he, per chance, survived this; he would treasure all these memories. A treasure he would have to carry to his grave for the happiness of his own brother. The joke was on him. If all didn't turn out, at least he would get to die while looking in her eyes. So he begged maybe for the first time in his life:

"Look at me, Hazan. Just look at me.."

It felt like eternity since Yagiz taught himself not to hope anything from her side. But then his mind lingered again on the things she told him. Would she rather die there with him than to leave without him? Could she care for him so much? What was it that she wanted to tell him? He did not dare hope.. He did not dare expect.. He did not dare imagine she could feel anything of the sort for him. And if there was any bonding back there in the scene, he couldn't hold it against her. According to Farah yesterday night, she did recover from whatever happened in the graveyard. He decided to settle for his treasured memories and settle he would. As he left the shower  the foggy scenery left its place to a little more forced clarity in his mind. He turned back to the hard, cold reality as he set his foot on the tile flooring. He willed himself to face the dull reality while he wiped a patch on the mirror. "She got over it" he reminded himself. "It is all mine, the heart and the ache both"