Next day
Sarah and Aniya waited for Abdullah at Taksim Square around 9:30 PM. When he arrived, he carried cake and flowers to Tayyep's home. Eric joined them shortly after, his gaze lingering on Sarah. She wore a long black shirt with black palazzo pants and a scarf (dupatta) featuring white Urdu calligraphy poetry. Her hair fell freely over her shoulders, accented by small earrings. The ensemble made her look undeniably pretty.
They arrived at Tayyip's home; no ordinary Turkish house. Stained glass windows adorned the exterior, and a lush garden framed the path to the entrance. An expensive car, identical to Mehmet's, sat parked near the gate.
"Mehmet sir is already here," Abdullah noted.
"How do you know?" Aniya asked.
Abdullah pointed to the car.
"Isn't it Tayyep's?"
Aniya glanced at Eric, who shook his head. Sarah's attention, however, was drawn to the tulips in the garden.
Tayyep and his mother welcomed them warmly. The interior was as stunning as the outside—elegant furnishings, intricate decor. Tayyep's mother fussed over everyone, hugging Aniya and Sarah and complimenting their outfits.
Mehmet sat at the far end of the living room, silent. He didn't greet anyone, but his eyes followed Sarah briefly before flickering away.
"Is that something written on your scarf?" Abdullah asked Sarah.
She nodded. "It's poetry in Urdu."
Mehmet's gaze snapped back to her for a second.
"Basic manners: you should translate it yourself," Abdullah teased.
Sarah obliged:
"They never became mine, yet still I lost my heart.
Better for my heart if they had never come at all."
A subtle shift crossed Mehmet's expression.
Tayyep's mother returned, surprising them by speaking fluent English. She was elegant, generous—the perfect hostess.
Eric, who had been talking with Tayyep in the corridor, returned and sat beside Sarah on the sofa. Mehmet's jaw tightened. He shot Tayyep a look—one that Tayyep understood immediately.
Aniya excused herself to take a call. Eric chatted with Abdullah while juice was served. Sarah's hand nearly tipped over her glass, but Mehmet steadied it before it could fall. His fingers lingered a second too long. They both pulled away quickly.
"Oh, this painting! It's breathtaking," Aniya remarked upon returning.
"Mehmet gifted it to me last year," Tayyip said.
Sarah's eyes traced the artist's signature in the corner.
At dinner, Sarah sat beside Aniya, Mehmet across from her. Eric regaled the table with travel stories, amusing everyone except Mehmet, whose expression remained unreadable. Sarah participated in the conversation, laughing at Eric's anecdotes. Mehmet only interjected occasionally—not to socialize, but to redirect Sarah's attention to him.
Later, Sarah excused herself for water, though she really sought air. The kitchen was warm, fragrant with fresh bread. She poured a glass just as Mehmet entered, silent except for the soft click of the door. She startled slightly.
"You always vanish during dinners," he said, his tone calm but edged with something unreadable.
"I just wanted water," she replied, holding up the glass.
He stepped closer, reaching past her for a napkin. The space between them grew charged.
"You should stay where people can see you," he said lightly, though his gaze lingered. He took her empty glass, his fingers brushing where hers had been.
"I won't vanish," Sarah murmured.
As she moved past him, a strand of her hair caught on his shoulder. Mehmet's lips twitched—almost a smile. He touched the strand briefly before leaving.
Sarah turned to go but stumbled, her foot catching the table. Mehmet reacted instantly, grabbing her hand and pulling her upright. The momentum threw her against his chest; their eyes locked for a breathless second before he released her, pretending nothing happened.
"Be careful," he said, turning away.
"You have a fever," Sarah called after him.
He glanced back, his gaze dropping to her hands.
"You're a doctor now?"
"No, I just... sensed it from your hand," she murmured.
"I'm fine. You should be careful," he replied softly before leaving.
Sarah shook her head, as if dispelling a thought.
Later
They sat in the lounge talking about their cultures and other things.
"We should leave now," Aniya suggested later. Mehmet was deep in conversation with Tayyep's mother.
"Have some Kehwa first," Tayyep's mother insisted.
Abdullah stepped onto the terrace. "It'll rain tonight." The air had turned chilly. Mehmet noticed Sarah shivering. While Aniya helped in the kitchen and Tayyep pulled Eric aside to discuss scholarships, Mehmet draped his jacket over Sarah's shoulders without a word.
"I don't need it. Whose is it?" Sarah asked.
Mehmet said nothing, but his eyes answered.
"But you already have a fever. Take it, or you'll—"
"I'm fine," he interrupted. "Wrap it around you."
It wasn't the first time he'd covered her from the cold, though she didn't know it. Some promises a man keeps silently
Sarah studied him—unpredictable as ever. He stared at the sky while she eyed the black spot on his chest (from her eyeliner-stained hand earlier). Sensing her gaze, he looked over.
"Am I handsome?" he asked.
"What?" she stammered.
"You were staring. I wondered." His lips twitched into a faint smile.
"I wasn't staring. I was looking at the tulips not you," she muttered.
"Ah. I thought maybe the fever affected my eyes."
"No. Maybe the fever scrambled your brain," she whispered.
Mehmet laughed—a rare sound. His eyes crinkled, a dimple appearing. Handsome, indeed. Sarah looked away, adjusting the jacket.
He's handsome.
No he's not handsome, he's an arrogant monster.
Sarah was struggling with her thoughts.
As they prepared to leave, Sarah approached Mehmet.
"Your jacket," she said, handing it back. "Thanks."
"It's still cold. Keep it. How are you getting home?"
"By cab. Take it—it's yours."
"The driver can drop you," Mehmet said, ignoring her refusal.
"No, we're fine. Abdullah's with us. Eric already left."
"Abdullah left too," Mehmet informed her.
"We're still fine," Sarah insisted.
Mehmet's gaze held hers. "I'll drop you myself."
"You have fever—"
"Miss Sarah, I'm fine. Would you like to see a thermometer?" he quipped, sliding into his car. "I can't let you go alone."
As he waited for Aniya and Sarah, he muttered to himself, "Miss Sarah, you'd be surprised what lists you end up on without knowing."
The rain had eased by the time Mehmet pulled up to Sarah and Aniya's building.
"Seatbelt," he said when Sarah leaned forward to unclip it.
"I'm taking it off," she replied, tugging at the strap.
It didn't budge. She pulled harder, but it had jammed. "It's stuck," she muttered, trying again.
"Hold still," Mehmet said, leaning over. His hand brushed her arm as he reached for the belt, the faint scent of his cologne surrounding her. The click of the release was louder than it should have been.
"There," he said, his voice quieter now.
"Thanks," she murmured, stepping out quickly, her heartbeat not matching her calm tone.
"I said I wouldn't waste a thought on him… yet his voice keeps circling my head. Why do I care if he listens, if he notices? He shouldn't matter. And still… he does. A little maybe."