The universe… It sounds big, doesn't it? A cycle of nothingness that threatens with infinity. They act as if it's endless, but maybe it's just a flawed picture drawn by a child who doesn't know what they're doing. Galaxies, stars, celestial bodies… Even though they seem to move according to a certain order, everything is actually spinning within a vast chaos. And here we are, right in the middle of this infinity, searching for a "meaning" that might not even matter, with our tiny lives that last only a few years.
We are bound to each other and to this universe by a force we cannot see. Yet, most of the time, I feel less "bound" and more "stuck." Like a star that has forgotten how to move. Collapsed inward, dead, alone with my own darkness.
The law of attraction says everything attracts everything else; anything with mass pulls another thing toward it. Science says so, at least. But life isn't that straightforward. Sometimes, what you desire the most escapes you. Sometimes, the person you love the deepest ignores you. And sometimes, while you summon "life" with all that's inside you, death reaches you quietly, effortlessly.
Perhaps the law of attraction applies only to matter, not hearts. If it applied to hearts, wouldn't we be different? I don't think so. Still, I believe everything finds me: my thoughts, my fears, my longings. They come toward me like magnets. I don't call them—they just come. Maybe pain likes silence. And I've been silent for far too long.
Time is what most people think flows forward. But for me, time is a circle. The same feelings, the same words, the same emptiness keep returning. The weight I feel when waking up in the morning, the vague sadness that descends when I lie down at night… they start over every day.
Sometimes, I feel stuck in the past. As if years pass but I remain in the same place. Same hour, same minute, same woman. Time passes, but I don't change. I cannot change.
Being a woman is an entirely different universe. We are expected to create: to live with patience, grace, silence. Yet, most of the time, we just have to carry: the burdens, the words, the silences. Womanhood is not just giving birth; sometimes, it's learning to die without actually dying.
I have aged not through my body, but through what I carry inside. From my womb, I did not give birth to a child, but to silence. I accumulated the forced smiles, the pretenses that everything was fine. Being a woman often means playing a role. And this role is performed on an endless stage: without an audience, without applause, without exit.
Loneliness is always with us. Even amidst crowds. I feel those around me as if they speak a different language. It's like they're on another frequency, and I cannot hear them. They cannot hear me either…
Loneliness is sometimes not a physical emptiness, but a spiritual echo. You ask a question, and there's no answer. You begin to fall inward, and no one notices. That's where I am. And perhaps the worst part is that I've begun to want this loneliness. Because then, you need no one. But that also means no one can reach you anymore.
The universe may be vast. But the emptiness inside me is even vaster. And the law of attraction sometimes fails; because no one pulls you, and you cannot reach anyone. You just fall. Slowly, quietly, gently. Toward yourself.
---
I liked your long hair.
I liked your long hair.
I liked your long hair.
This was the sentence spinning in my head; not just spinning, it was a storm trapping me within itself.
What was the point? As if I had asked, "How does my hair look?" My hair looked beautiful short too. Why did he try to say, "Long hair was better"?
Ugh, what nonsense I was thinking. Whatever he said, I had to push it out of my head. After Taylan left, I returned to the living room and found Mrs. Züleyha sitting, waiting for me on the couch. I knew she would try to assert superiority when she started speaking, but she was too naïve to realize that the real advantage would be mine.
With a broad smile, she looked at me:
"Liyacım, would you like to have a little chat? To get to know each other better, or if you're tired, you can go rest in the room we prepared for you. It's a bit late."
I turned to her and smiled artificially:
"Mrs. Züleyha, meeting you is far better than resting right now. Knowing a woman like you is exactly what I want most, so let's talk, please."
I was surprised by the length of my sentence. And the first thing I noticed without her answering: Mehmet Ali Parskan was not in the living room. I had to ask—this could be important. Turning toward Züleyha, feigning curiosity:
"Where is Mr. Mehmet Ali?"
"He was here last," she said, surprised that I asked, raising her eyebrows. She got up, came closer, pretending to be glad that I was curious:
"Oh, dear, he sleeps very early. Since he wakes up very early, he went to his room while you were seeing Taylan off. He sent you his goodnight wishes. Sorry, sugar, it slipped my mind."
"Sugar." I was irritated but could only smile. I nodded in understanding. I had to ask questions to know her better. I knew a bit already; she was a famous news anchor. Then she married Mehmet Ali. Many assumed she was pregnant, but she wasn't. I was genuinely curious about why.
I didn't think their sudden marriage was due to being in love; a rich man like Mehmet Ali wouldn't let a family member in so easily. I had to come up with a clever question, and yes, I found one:
"You were very young when you married Mr. Mehmet Ali, weren't you? But even after five years, you still look very young."
We were literally standing while chatting.
She liked this. Which woman wouldn't like looking young? She turned to me warmly:
"Oh dear, I was 35 then. Now I've turned 40, but my soul is still that of an eighteen-year-old."
She laughed.
I couldn't believe it. Could a person be that annoying? I stepped closer:
"Time hasn't taken anything from you. Your happy marriage is very evident," I said.
"Yes," she said, pausing, clearly pleased with my question.
Although she seemed flustered at first, she quickly recovered:
"Oh, dear, it's obvious to outsiders how happy we are. We love each other like crazy, madly in love."
The way she said it made me want to vomit. Honestly, the most irritating woman I had ever seen.
I needed to gather what I learned. She had been flustered—so their marriage was not pure happiness. That was enough for now. I could infer something: maybe secret lies, betrayals, silent compromises due to money—many theories.
While I pondered, she looked at me thoughtfully:
"Dear, what are you thinking about?"
"Mrs. Züleyha, I have lessons to finish, it's finals week. If I may, I'd like to retreat to the room you prepared for me. Otherwise, stress will give me a panic attack," I said. She smiled and sincerely put her hand on my shoulder:
"It's wonderful that you care and are anxious about your lessons, dear," she said.
I thanked her. As I was about to leave the living room, she called again:
"Liya, after breakfast tomorrow, we'll go to the farmhouse. I want you to have some time alone with Taylan. You are the first girl he has accepted so far, and I'm proud I chose you," she said.
I thought, Am I an object? I pretended to accept her words politely and said "Good night," finally leaving the room.
---
I examined my room first. Entirely decorated in white and pastel shades, detailed like a guest room. At least it was prettier and more spacious than mine.
Actually, I had no lessons—I lied. I had already completed them before coming. So there was nothing to do now.
I played video games on my phone. I loved video games; they were fun and distracting. That was enough for me.
After getting bored, I put on my nightgown. Finally, that stupid dress was off. I hated wearing dresses.
No matter how beautiful, I hated them.
Wearing my nightgown, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. It was a satin shorts-and-top set. I valued nightwear as much as underwear, so my nightgowns were sexy and beautiful.
Ugh… there was a bathroom in this room, but no drinking water. I had to go to the kitchen. So, I left my room.
I was relieved to see the hallway empty. I just needed a big glass of water and would return.
I started down the stairs. I was glad not to meet anyone.
And fuck, damn it! Yes, I know, I say "fuck" a lot, but what else could I say?
Taylan Sarp Parskan.
Completely shirtless, wearing jeans, snacking. The moment he noticed me staring, he looked at me, practically leering.
In a teasing tone:
"I couldn't get enough of saying I liked you today… but I like your nightgown," he said, that stupid grin still on his face.
What kind of smile was that? It affected me so much, I didn't understand it. I turned to him angrily:
"I don't need your opinion. You didn't want the girl downstairs anyway. What changed now?" I said. He laughed.
Was that supposed to be funny? I wondered.
The idiot flirted and stepped closer.
"I just got my first attitude from my bride-to-be, and I found out my bride-to-be listens at doors," he said.
My nerves were shot. Bride-to-be? I thought.
How would I survive these nine days? My previous marks were mostly nerds, not handsome. What if he were like that?
I stepped closer and blurted out foolishly:
"Do you really think my hair looks ugly?" He grinned again.
Idiot! Shut up, Liya! I thought. He immediately took the comment in stride, smirking:
"Everything looks good on a beauty," he said.
Damn it, why did I like that? I was angry with myself, and when I didn't reply, I moved to another topic.
Taking a step back:
"Do you always change your mind so quickly? You were tired of the girls Züleyha found; you weren't going to even look at them. What happened now? Did your brain fry?" I said.
His grin widened, stepping closer, looking into my eyes:
"I can't say no to beautiful girls, unfortunately," he said. I laughed in exasperation.
Was this idiot trying to play with me? Big mistake. He had no idea what kind of player I was—or even knew.
I turned, pretending not to be affected:
"I don't think other girls are ugly either. Every woman is beautiful," I said.
He replied:
"Yes, but I realized this morning I only like girls with black hair, freckles, and green eyes," he said. I rolled my eyes.
When I avoided getting closer and stepped back, he teased:
"Wow, you're so willing, weren't you almost impressed by the girl you ran into?" He laughed.
Yes, that idiot laughed, stepping closer mockingly:
"Did you think I was impressed by you? I just said you're beautiful, and I liked you," he said. I wanted to sink into the floor in shame.
Why was I acting like an idiot, saying such nonsense? I didn't know. He had an undeniable charm, and even after one day, I was falling for it. Not good. Not good at all.
"Like it or not, do you think I care? I just want this marriage done in nine days, and when we go abroad, we'll live separate lives. I'm not marrying for love, but for my family," he said, eyes darkened.
I think he was starting to take me seriously. He said nothing else, only:
"Do you want a sandwich? Should I make one for you too?" I was hungry. I couldn't say no, so I said, "Sure."
"Alright then, go to the table, don't stand there waiting," he said. I obeyed.
I was already sleepy, and I didn't feel like saying anything more. When finally he stopped making me wait, he didn't sit at the table but called me out to the balcony—a terrace-like balcony with a swing, wide enough. We sat down, and when he handed me my sandwich, I started eating. I was sure it was the best sandwich I had ever eaten in my life. When I realized he was looking at me, he said, "I guess you like it."
Unable to lie, I said, "Yes, it's delicious, thank you," and he replied in a knowing tone, "I'm very good at cooking, just so you know. During our fake marriage, when we meet occasionally, I'll make you nice things," which surprised me.
He had believed with a single word that the marriage would be fake—and accepted it. I couldn't convince the other men I had scammed so easily, or I had been pretending as if the marriage was real. But this handsome bastard had immediately agreed.
Of course, it worked in his favor. Why would such a flirt want to get married? He had to, to take over the company. That was as simple as I thought. Silence fell because I didn't respond. He, feeling uneasy about it, asked, "Tomorrow, shall we go to the country house and spend time there? If it bothers you, I can leave after everyone else is gone and take you home. Everyone will think we are there," and I agreed—though I didn't actually want to stay with him.
A long silence followed, really long. Finally, I realized the man who had been looking at me all along had stopped, and I asked him curiously, "Why did you stop looking at me?"
"Because if I keep looking, I'll say things I shouldn't, Liya," he replied, and I found the sentence odd. What did that mean?
Most likely, he had almost let something slip because after saying it, he seemed flustered—and it was the first time he had used my name. Somehow, hearing my name from his voice felt different.
I couldn't respond. What could I even say? I turned my head away and looked at the sky. "I wonder what he's doing right now? I miss him; I need to see him," I thought, and looked at the clock—midnight had arrived, and my eyes slowly closed. I was heavy from the meal, and I had fallen asleep beside a man I had met only a day ago. That day, I had taken a step I would deeply regret, and nothing would ever be the same afterward.
---
January 2012
The air was freezing. Liya was out of breath from running while holding a small baby in her arms. She loved winter, loved the snow, but that day she hated it—her feet were sinking, she couldn't run in the snow.
The baby in her arms was crying. Liya tried to calm him because someone could hear them—the man could—and it would be the end for both of them.
Liya's breath was almost gone from running. They were in the forest, and she sat under a tree. Wearing only a white dress, holding a small baby, she was freezing. She tried to warm the baby. They had been kidnapped, trapped in a mountain house, and Liya had to run to protect herself and her sibling. But they hadn't succeeded—he had found them.
The middle-aged man, exhausted, approached Liya and said, "Did you really think you could escape, little one?" causing her to start crying.
Shivering and sobbing, Liya said, "Please leave us alone, please, please don't kill us. He's too small," but the man forcibly took the baby from her arms and threw him into the snow. Both Liya and the baby cried again.
Turning back to Liya, he said, "I'm not going to kill you; I only want you. I won't obey those who ordered this, don't worry, I won't kill you," and reached for her dress. Liya cried, loudly, for both her sibling and herself—she knew this was wrong. Her caretakers at the orphanage had taught her everything, but now she had no power against this man. Half-frozen and exhausted from crying for her sibling, she was at her limit.
As he reached to pull at her dress, a gunshot echoed through the forest.
The man collapsed in front of Liya, blood flowing from his head—a horrifying sight—but Liya felt relief. She was extremely glad the bastard had died, and she ran to her sibling, holding him to warm him. Then, a man appeared in the distance.
Jesus…
---
Present Day
I swear, I'm saying "fuck it" again because… fuck it. I had fallen asleep beside this bastard, and he had fallen asleep beside me.
When I began to stir, the only thought in my mind was to escape before he woke up—but I couldn't. The moment I tried to move, his hand grabbed my wrist, and I heard his voice:
"Why did you wake me up?"
"I didn't wake up, you did," I said, looking at his face, annoyed.
With a flirtatious tone, Taylan leaned closer and whispered, "I wake up from the slightest movement, and I woke up because of you. Now you have to put me back to sleep," and I was sure my surprise showed on my face.
How was I supposed to put him back to sleep? I turned to him angrily, looking into his eyes, "What are you saying?" and he seemed to enjoy my reaction, teasing me.
Finally, he said, "I haven't had such a comfortable sleep in a long time."
I couldn't lie—I had slept very well too. How had this happened? I was the kind of girl who could barely sleep anywhere except my bed, and now I had fallen asleep in a swing—it was ridiculous, I thought.
Without overthinking, I moved a bit closer to him, "If you let go of my wrist, I'll leave because your arm is exposed, and I'm in just a nightgown. I'm cold. If anyone sees, it could be misunderstood."
"You won't be misunderstood; we're getting married, and whoever sees us will just be happy," he said, and I had to admit he was right. We wouldn't be misunderstood—but my heart could misinterpret things. So I tried to distance myself, pushing him lightly, "I'm cold; I want to go inside. See you later."
As I freed myself, he teased, "If you're cold, I'd warm you with a hug," and I rolled my eyes at him. He enjoyed teasing me, the stupid bastard—but he had no idea he was the toy in this game.
This thought made me happy—my prey didn't even know she was prey. That sense of victory thrilled me.
Once in my room, I got dressed—black pants and a purple sweater. We were going to the country house, probably at a high altitude, so I grabbed my coat and went downstairs.
In the living room, Mehmet Ali Parskan greeted me warmly: "Come, dear, let's have breakfast at the table."
Was this man really that kind, or was I missing something? The media portrayed him as a good father, a good husband, a good boss. Could he really be perfect? I wondered, as I sat down and saw the most luxurious breakfast table I had ever seen. Better than Nazlı's, frankly. I thought about the best chefs in Turkey, from the richest family, and sat down. Taylan Parskan came behind me, Züleyha was already at the table. Züleyha looked at me, either trying to convey something or imply something: "Dear, did you sleep well?" I had to say yes, as I couldn't lie, but her stepson would probably take it personally.
As I sat, our eyes met, and he winked. I didn't want him to, so I ignored it.
After breakfast, everyone was ready to leave.
We got into a sleek black limousine. Taylan sat next to me, and I tried to avoid eye contact. During the ride, I texted Nazlı.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by Taylan, whispering in my ear, "Give me your number."
What would he do with it? Ugh, we were going to marry anyway, and I had to give it to him. Even if this fake marriage was only to scam, the number was necessary.
I gave him my phone, and he saved my number. Five seconds later, as he handed the phone back, I saw a message in my inbox. It wasn't from Nazlı, or Jesus, or Semra.
It was from Taylan Sarp Parskan.
"We'll text, beautiful," the message read. I looked at Parskan sitting next to me. Why was he texting me when he was right there? Was he brainless or just stupid? As I thought this, we made eye contact again, and he winked. Damn it, a second time. I was fed up—truly fed up—but he winked so beautifully, damn it.
Finally, we arrived. Züleyha and Mehmet Ali said they would spend time elsewhere, and the car that took us left them behind.
Taylan and I began walking.
The silence was broken by his voice.
"So, you're studying English Language and Literature. I heard from Züleyha."
Was he curious about me? Why?
"Yes. What about you?" I asked. Despite being the son of a famous father plastered all over the media, no one knew what he had studied, and it wasn't clear why he would tell me.
I said "studied" instead of "study" because, at 27, it seemed impossible for him to still be studying. Maybe this didn't apply to him. Perhaps he still hadn't finished university due to his gossip-filled life.
He replied in a nonchalant tone: "I didn't study."
I couldn't believe it. They wanted an uneducated man to take over the company? Ridiculous.
"Why?" I asked, making eye contact.
"I mostly work in the field, I don't deal much with classes," he said, approaching me.
"Field?" I asked, pretending I didn't understand.
"Meaning, I work on ships, fish, dredge sand. I oversee them. But my father doesn't want me doing this anymore. Honestly, I like it. Five days a week in Rize, two days at parties—it's fun," he finished. A rich man really doing this? Unbelievable.
I didn't reply, just nodded, understanding. Finally, the long journey ended, and we arrived at the country house.
The estate was enormous, truly huge. Even more beautiful and aesthetic than the mansion. It was obvious someone else's hands had worked here.
I didn't comment, and asked Taylan where the bathroom was.
"If I don't go soon, I'll pee myself," I thought. "Third room upstairs," he said, without specifying left or right.
I went upstairs. When I entered the third room, no—it wasn't a bathroom. It was clearly a patient room.
There was a hospital bed, an IV, and a heart monitor. A drawer was open. I stepped closer to look around. The window faced the backyard. The open drawer caught my attention, and when I went to close it, I saw a photo inside. The face was turned away; it was an old photo with the year written on the back: December 2007…
I held the photo and turned it toward myself. There was a woman and a little girl. I didn't recognize the woman, and I couldn't clearly see the child's face. But looking closer, I noticed that the baby's outfit was exactly like the only piece of clothing I had from my own childhood, and the large birthmark on the baby's arm matched the one on my arm.
Wait a minute… could this be me? Was that my baby photo?
--