Past
The papers spread before him were filled with ordinary things—her grades, the small competitions she had once entered, a list of hobbies she never pursued for long, her family background. To anyone else, they would have been dull facts. But to him, they were pieces of a life that felt warm, lived-in like walls and windows of a home he had longed for.
He traced his fingers lightly across a line that mentioned her name, a faint smile touching his lips. So simple. So common. And yet… It steadied him.
For the first time in years, the details of someone's life didn't feel like data. They felt like home.
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Present
Sarah was walking in library and her ankle twisted on the library's uneven step. Pain shot up her leg, and she barely caught herself against a bookshelf, sending a cascade of loose papers fluttering to the floor.
A shadow fell over her before she could straighten.
Mehmet's voice was low, almost annoyed, as if her clumsiness were a personal affront. He didn't ask if she was okay. Instead, he knelt in one fluid motion, his hand closing around her bare ankle. Sarah's breath hitched.
"You don't have to…" she said.
His fingers were warm, calloused against her skin as he turned her foot gently, testing the joint.
"Does this hurt?" he muttered.
She swallowed. "A little."
His touch softened, almost apologetic, as he traced the swelling. "You'll live." But he didn't let go. Not for three heartbeats. Not until his eyes flicked up and locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. Then he released her.
"Watch your step, Miss Sarah." He strode away, leaving her ankle tingling and her thoughts in chaos.
"He looked handsome when he asked me, " Does it hurt?" Sarah whispered and then shook her head to brush her thoughts.
________________________________________
Next day
Aniya was making lunch in the apartment while Sarah was in the bedroom.
"Do you know where my scarf is?" Sarah called out to Aniya.
"Which one? The Urdu calligraphy one?" Aniya asked.
"Yes," Sarah replied.
"No, I was searching for that too. I wanted to wear it but couldn't find it," Aniya said while flipping a steak in the pan.
"How is that possible? I never took it off outside the house, so it should be here," Sarah murmured to herself.
"Maybe you forgot it in Mehmet's car when he dropped us off," Aniya suggested as she poured sauce onto a plate.
"I never took it off anywhere outside, and I still remember that night. It got stuck in the seatbelt, and he helped me with it," Sarah said, walking out of the room.
"So now he's helping you?" Aniya teased.
"Shut up, or I'll throw this pot at you," Sarah said, and Aniya laughed.
"I've known you since childhood. Your eyes can't lie to me," Aniya said, pouring water into a glass.
"My eyes aren't lying, but yours are blind," Sarah replied sarcastically.
"Has anyone come here?" Sarah asked.
"No, Sarah, no one has come here—not even Abdullah or Eric," Aniya said patiently.
"Or even if someone came, they just took the scarf and left?" Aniya had a point.
Sarah watered the tulip pot. Two tulips were blooming. She smiled and touched their petals.
"These are precious, Aniya. Where did you get them? I want to buy more," she said, inhaling their scent.
"What? That tulip pot?" Aniya asked, and Sarah nodded.
"Stop, Sarah. You got them. I didn't," Aniya laughed.
"You forget too soon," she added.
"No, I didn't. I walked into the apartment, and this pot was there on the kitchen shelf, so I thought you brought it," Sarah said in surprise.
"Don't you dare scare me," Aniya said, placing two plates on the table.
"We should call someone—maybe the police."
"I swear, Aniya, it wasn't me who brought it," Sarah said, staring at the pot.
"Then who?" Aniya asked, sniffing the air dramatically.
"We'll ask the building guard. Maybe he knows something," Aniya suggested, and Sarah nodded.
Sarah spent the week in restless silence, her thoughts spiraling like the Urdu calligraphy on her missing scarf. Every corner of the apartment felt suspicious, had someone been inside?
The tulip pot appeared overnight, its blooms too perfect, too knowing. She traced the petals with uneasy fingers, half-expecting them to dissolve like a dream. Was it a gift? A warning? The scarf's absence gnawed at her. Someone was watching her the shadowed sedan, the shopkeeper's lingering stares.