Two days before university classes began, Sarah and Aniya wandered aimlessly through the winding streets of Istanbul, their steps guided more by curiosity than direction. The city hummed around them—vendors calling out in lilting Turkish, the faint sweetness of roasted chestnuts drifting through narrow alleys, the distant clang of trams mingling with the chatter of locals.
They entered a small bakery, expecting the comforting scent of warm bread and pastries but chaos greeted them instead.
The owner's voice cracked with anger, accusing a customer of theft. Plates clattered to the floor, and a few startled pigeons fluttered near the doorway. Voices rose, tension vibrating like static in the air.
And as if fate had scripted it, Mehmet and Tayyep stood there, already engaged in the commotion.
Sarah's stomach flipped when Mehmet's gaze met hers. She froze.
Not this man again.
She'd prayed she wouldn't see him and here he was, cutting through her day like a bad omen. A wave of déjà vu hit her. For a second she saw a flash of metal, heard a faint scream, and then it was gone, leaving her shaken.
"So, these must be your tactics," Mehmet sneered, his tone cutting through the chaos.His sharp words didn't quite fit. They almost felt forced, like he was trying too hard to act cold toward her.
"I'm not talking to you," Sarah replied, folding her arms, her back stiffening. "And for the record, you were here before us. That man isn't accusing me of stealing, maybe you should check yourself."
"Alright, enough," Aniya interjected firmly, gripping Sarah's wrist. "Let's go. And sir, whoever you are, please stay away from us."
Mehmet's eyes hardened, sharp as obsidian.
"Your friend should stay away from my city," he said coldly.
Sarah tilted her head, her lips curling into a mock smirk. "You're Mehmet Ibrahim, not Sultan Mehmet. This isn't your city."
"If he wanted to corner me with words, I'd meet him with sharper ones." She thought.
Aniya tugged her toward the door, Tayyep trailing closely behind. Mehmet stayed inside, slamming the bakery door shut as the owner demanded CCTV footage.
"She literally came in after us, and yet you blamed her," Tayyep muttered once they were safely outside in Taksim Square, the evening sun casting long shadows across cobblestones.
"I didn't blame her for anything," Mehmet's voice floated over the square, calm yet sharp. "I just don't like her. Something about her feels wrong. I don't want to see her again."
The two men disappeared into a tall building. The call to prayer echoed faintly from a nearby mosque, and golden sunlight kissed the domes of the Blue Mosque, turning the stone into molten amber.
Sarah exhaled slowly, letting herself relax. "Do you think he knows you?" Aniya asked cautiously as they walked.
Sarah frowned at a lone grey pigeon perched on the windowsill of a nearby cafe. "I don't know. I've never seen him before. I don't think he knows me."
For the next hour, they dissected every detail—his gaze, the tone of his voice, the subtle shift of his posture—until dusk wrapped the city in deep violet and gold.
________________________________________
Morning arrived too quickly, sunlight pouring into their hostel room.
"Come on, Sarah, wake up! We're going to be late," Aniya urged, yanking at the comforter.
"Just two minutes and thirty seconds more," Sarah mumbled, burying her face into the pillow.
"Get up now, or I'll leave without you," Aniya warned, tugging the blanket completely away.
"I'll kill you someday," Sarah muttered playfully, swinging her legs off the bed.
By the time she stood in front of the mirror, Sarah's hair was loosely tied in a bun, strands escaping to frame her sleepy face. Her short kurti and baggy jeans were casual but practical, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She stared into the mirror, puffed her cheeks, and whispered, "Courage, Sarah. At least enough to face professors… and monsters in wristwatches."
"I'm still half-asleep," she muttered, tying her shoes.
Aniya looped her arm through hers. "So today—no talking about that man. And tonight we will sleep early."
"Don't ruin my day by mentioning him at all," Sarah replied, rolling her eyes.
At university, groups of students introduced themselves. Sarah and Aniya joined in, scanning faces for familiarity. Outside the window, a plum tree leaned toward them, leaves rustling softly in the morning breeze.
After introductions, the professor outlined the course, his voice calm and precise.
During the break, the girls sat in the cafeteria with two new acquaintances: Eric, a calm, green-eyed boy from Canada who tied his hair in a neat bun, and Abdullah, a local student from Bursa.
"Are you guys planning to find part-time work?" Abdullah asked, sipping juice.
"Not right now," Eric replied, his tone even. "But I've applied for an internship at a publisher's house. It's only two months—just for fun."
"You should try it too, if you're into literature," he added, sliding the application toward them.
Sarah's curiosity sparked. "Is it a private publisher house or just regular?"
"I. Murat, It's his." Eric replied simply.
Sarah froze. "Wait—the writer of Across the Sea ?"
Eric nodded. "Yes, though he mostly stays behind the scenes."
Sarah's eyes widened. "I've never seen him online. I don't think he's on Instagram or anywhere."
Little did she know, Istanbul had already begun weaving its bittersweet twist and it involved him.