Since that night, amidst the heavy rain and the darkness of the upper floor of the office, I began to feel a drive that was hard to explain. Arya was no longer just someone I admired from afar. He was a puzzle I wanted to solve, someone I wanted to accompany, even though I didn't know how to approach him.
In the following days, I found myself paying more attention to him than ever before. I watched how he worked tirelessly, often staying late into the night, always leaving alone with a face that seemed increasingly exhausted. But behind his fatigue, I saw something much bigger—burdens he had never shared with anyone.
One night, I saw Arya walking out of the office. The rain was pouring heavily, as usual. I gathered the courage to follow him, though from a distance. I didn't know why I was doing it. Maybe I just wanted to make sure he was okay, or maybe I just wanted to feel closer to him, even though he didn't know.
Arya's steps led him toward the railway tracks, a quiet and dark place. When I arrived, a train passed with an ear-splitting roar. Amid the heavy rain, I saw him standing at the edge of the tracks, staring at something I couldn't see. But I could see the intensity in his eyes—focused, as though he was searching for someone or something.
I wanted to call out to him, to approach him, but my steps froze. A sudden fear arose in me. Fear of disturbing him, fear that he might think I was strange for following him. I stood just a few meters behind him, watching as he ran toward the tracks in panic, as if trying to approach something that only he could see.
But then, a railroad guard appeared and stopped him. I let out a relieved breath. However, on the other hand, regret began to grow rapidly. Why didn't I do anything? Why did I just stand there, letting him face it alone? I could have approached him, offered support, but I chose to stay silent.
As Arya left the tracks, I remained standing in my place, my body trembling from both the rain and the growing guilt inside me. I tried to follow his footsteps again, but my steps felt heavier, more reluctant. When I finally approached the area near his rented house, the atmosphere grew quieter. The rain still poured heavily, and the streets were deserted.
At the small alley leading to his house, a black cat suddenly appeared from behind a shadow. Its eyes stared straight at me, as if watching me. I stopped, feeling uneasy. The cat didn't move, just stood still in the middle of the road, adding to the eerie atmosphere. It was as if something was wrong.
I tried to walk past it, but for some reason, my steps grew heavier. Arya's image and the incident at the tracks kept replaying in my mind. I started to feel like something was wrong—not just with Arya, but with myself as well. Why was I always too afraid to act? Why couldn't I bring myself to approach him, let alone help him?
The black cat finally turned and walked in the other direction, but the image of its eyes lingered in my mind. When I finally reached my home, I felt like none of it would disappear so easily. Regret continued to haunt me, like a shadow that clung tightly.
That night, I sat at the edge of my bed, gazing at the rain still falling outside the window. I thought about Arya, the railway tracks, and the black cat. Everything felt like part of something bigger, something I didn't understand. But what I did know was that I couldn't go on like this. I had to do something before it was too late.
That regret began to gnaw at my thoughts. I knew that if I stayed silent, I would lose the chance to understand Arya, and perhaps I'd lose him as well. But on the other hand, I was afraid of facing what was really happening. And in the silence of that night, I made a promise to myself: I would find the courage to approach him, no matter what happened. But I didn't know if I still had enough time.