Next morning
"Um, Mehmet, can I...?" Sarah hesitated at the library door.
He nodded. "It's not an office. You don't need permission." He shelved a book.
How's your wound? Sarah asked but he didn't reply. Her warmth, her closeness was still haunting him
"Where's Anne?" she asked. Mehmet gave her a strange look. "Your Anne," she corrected.
"In the garden, maybe," he replied.
"I need to get something from my apartment," Sarah said as Mehmet picked up another book.
"We'll go there tomorrow."
"I can go alone. And I have to visit the library," she added.
"You need rest. Don't leave for a few days. A driver—or I—will take you later," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"You can't cage me here," Sarah fired back.
He lowered his book, eyes sharp. "When Aniya returns, you can go wherever you want."
"I won't obey your orders," she said, though her voice wavered.
"I'm not asking you to obey. Live as you like but don't leave without telling me," he said firmly.
Sarah's voice slipped out, quieter:
"Those men… who took me." She swallowed. "What happened to them?"
Mehmet froze mid-shelving, fingers tightening on the book. He didn't turn around when he answered.
"They won't touch you again."
"That's not an answer."
Finally, he faced her, gaze dark and unreadable. "They're gone. That's all you need to know."
Her stomach tightened. "Gone where?"
He let the word hang a beat too long, before saying, low and clipped:
"Hell."
Her breath caught. She stared at him, searching his face, but there was no softness there—just stone.
"You…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You sound dangerous."
Mehmet's lips curved into the faintest, dangerous smirk. "Do I?". For a moment Sarah stopped breathing.
"Eric hasn't called. Abdullah hasn't seen him. His phone's still off," Sarah said, changing the subject.
"And?" Mehmet frowned.
"Can you check if he's okay?"
"I don't take orders, Miss Sarah," he echoed her earlier tone.
Sarah glared, then stormed out. And then silence wrapped the room. Mehmet leaned back, hand pressing over his wound, eyes burning. "She deserves peace… not my shadows," he muttered, almost to himself.
Late night
Sarah wandered the hallway, restless after dinner. The house was quiet; Anne had gone to sleep, and Mehmet still hadn't returned. Her steps led her upstairs almost instinctively. She opened a door almost at random, curiosity pulling her inside. Warm air and faint light spilled out, and she froze as the room revealed itself—Mehmet's.
The space was sleek and meticulously organized: polished dark wood furniture, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with rows of leather-bound books, a large desk with neatly stacked papers, and subtle artwork that spoke of wealth and taste without being ostentatious. A faint scent of sandalwood lingered, grounding the otherwise intimidating aura.
Her fingers grazed the spines of books, lingering on one thick volume she picked up. As she read, her eyes caught a partially hidden file behind the row. Her pulse jumped. Her name.
She lifted it carefully, flipping the cover. Her scholarship files… the funding that had brought her to Turkey. Her stomach knotted. He's been arranging this for me… all this time? Watching me… helping me…
"Shit…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Before she could fully process it, she heard a soft step behind her. She spun around. Mehmet stood there, eyes sharp and unreadable. He was coming toward her.
"Stay away from me!" she hissed, clutching the file to her chest. Mehmet's gaze shifted from her to the file.
Her scholarship… Fuck…
"I… it's not what you think," he began, taking a step closer.
"Don't!" Sarah snapped. "Why is this here? Have you been… watching me?" Her voice trembled with anger and fear.
"I—Sarah, wait, let me explain—"
But she wouldn't listen. She shoved him twice, but he didn't budge. His gaze darkened, a mix of anger and fear flashing across his face.
"Enough!" he said, stepping forward swiftly and pinning her gently but firmly against the wall. "You will listen to me!"
Her pulse raced as she found herself trapped. His closeness was overwhelming—his chest near hers, the faint scent of sandalwood, the warmth radiating from his body. She could feel the edge of his earlier wound against her hands where she had shoved him.
"Leave me…" she stammered, but he held her gaze, forcing her to hear him out.
"Listen to me very carefully, Miss Sarah. My house arranges scholarships every year," he said, voice low but commanding. "Kerman manages most of it. I just sign off. I don't even know the names of the students. Nothing else. Ask him if you want proof."
Sarah blinked, the anger draining slightly. "I thought… you were watching me all this time."
Her shoulders relaxed, and she mumbled, "I'm sorry about hitting you… at the wound."
Mehmet's stern expression softened. He uncaged her from the wall, stepping back with a faint smirk. "Careful next time," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Now… make coffee."
Sarah raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. "Coffee?"
He chuckled, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "Yes. Consider it… a truce."
"Truce…" Sarah mumbled and moved out to the kitchen.
After some time, she returned with a hot cup of coffee. As she handed him the cup, he took it with a soft smirk. "Careful, don't spill it. I might hold you accountable."
Sarah laughed softly, tucking a strand behind her ear.
"Where's your coffee?"
"I just made it for you," she said, looking at his shoulder.
He stood, took a cup from the study table, poured half the coffee into it, and handed it to her. She took it and managed a small smile.
"Did I hit hard?" she asked, feeling guilty.
"Much more than my expectations," he smirked, and Sarah laughed softly. His gaze stopped at her face for a moment, then moved away.
I have to call Kerman now… he thought.
Next morning
"Can I help you?" Sarah asked as she saw anne in the garden.
"No, dear, we're finished here. Come, let's sit in the sunlight," Anne replied warmly. "You seem tense. Did Mehmet say something to upset you?" She studied Sarah's face as the younger woman shook her head.
"No, I just... I don't want to burden you or him," Sarah murmured, staring at her palms.
Anne clasped Sarah's hands. "I've always wanted a daughter, and now I feel I've found one in you. You're no burden, Sarah." Her voice softened further. "I know Mehmet's behavior worries you. He's been this way since his teenage years. He cares deeply but can't show it. That boy notices everything yet says nothing."
Her eyes grew misty. "After his father died, Mehmet became my entire world. He was far too young to shoulder those responsibilities." A tear escaped down her cheek.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." Sarah squeezed Anne's hands, unsure how to comfort her.
"It's alright, child. I understand why you're afraid of him. He doesn't recognize love when he sees it , doesn't even know how to love properly. Between managing his father's crumbling empire and raising him alone, I failed to give him enough affection. That's why he's like this now." Anne wiped her eyes with a trembling hand.
"I understand," Sarah said softly, though she'd never dealt with such raw maternal grief before.
"I know you want to leave, but please stay until your friend returns. You're safe here with us." Anne looked at Sarah with such maternal tenderness it made Sarah's throat tighten.
For the next hour, Anne shared stories about Mehmet's childhood. With each revelation, Sarah's understanding of him deepened.
He'd had a happy early childhood, but after growing close to his father, the sudden loss had forced him into adulthood overnight. While others enjoyed their teenage years - making friends, joining clubs, attending parties - Mehmet had responsibilities alongside his grieving mother.
Literature became his only escape. Every aspect of his guarded personality traced back to those formative years. When he'd needed love most, his father was gone and his mother was fighting to save their family legacy.
"No wonder he's so guarded… I never knew how much he lost, how alone he must have felt."
Tayyep and Kerman remained his only true friends. After numerous betrayals from others, he'd learned to trust almost no one. The cold exterior was armor protecting warm emotions he didn't know how to express. He still longed for love as much as anyone, he simply didn't understand how to give or receive it.
The memory of Sarah slapping him flashed through her mind, and she shook her head unconsciously.
Later, they watched Mehmet leave the house without a word of farewell. Anne's sad smile spoke volumes.
"He loves you, Auntie," Sarah said gently.
Anne nodded, dabbing at her eyes. "I'd love for you to call me Anne, like he does."
"But... wouldn't Mehmet mind?" Sarah hesitated.
"He won't," Anne assured her, then brightened. "Do you have any hobbies, Sarah?"
Sarah's face lit up. "So many back in Pakistan! Baking, gardening, classical dance, music lessons... Here I just sleep through my free time." She laughed, gazing at the tulips swaying in the garden breeze.
"Why not pursue them now?" Anne asked.
"I... well, either I don't have time or I've lost interest, I suppose," Sarah replied with a shrug and a smile.
Anne's eyes twinkled. "But now we both have plenty of free time." She winked, making Sarah laugh.
"Absolutely! What are your hobbies? We could do something together."
"Painting was always my passion, but we can do whatever you'd prefer." Anne's animated expression made Sarah realize how long it had been since the older woman had someone to share these moments with.
"Let's start with painting - or maybe baking?" Sarah suggested after a thoughtful pause.
Within the hour, they were unpacking art supplies the driver had fetched from town.
"I don't even know how to draw a proper flower," Sarah confessed as Anne set up their canvases.
"That's quite alright, dear. I'll teach you." Anne guided Sarah to a lounge chair before beginning her own painting. Sarah watched in awe as the older woman's skilled hands brought a garden scene to life.
"You're incredibly talented, Anne!" Sarah exclaimed when Anne added the final touches. The painting depicted a lush garden with three figures sitting on a bench (their backs to the viewer), surrounded by vibrant tulips, a plum tree, and grapevines. The colors and brushwork were breathtaking.
"You're too kind. It's far from perfect. I've made so many mistakes," Anne demurred, though she smiled at the praise.
"All I see is pure emotion captured perfectly," Sarah insisted.
"May I see what you've done?" Anne asked.
Sarah laughed self-consciously. "Just a sad little pencil tulip." She showed her modest attempt on the smaller canvas.
"Everyone starts somewhere. Here, let me show you." Anne sat beside Sarah, guiding her hand through each step, even adding color to the simple tulip sketch.
"It still doesn't look like a proper tulip!" Sarah giggled.
"First attempts never do, darling," Anne reassured her.
Their laughter filled the room as Mehmet appeared at the entrance. For a fleeting moment, his stern expression softened at the sight of his mother teaching Sarah, both absorbed in their artwork. He approached silently, bowing to kiss Anne's hand. She beamed and kissed his forehead.
"Let me get you some water," she offered.
"No need, Anne. It's good to see you painting again after so long." His gaze lingered on her canvas before shifting to Sarah, who was trying (and failing) to hide her amateurish painting.
"Coffee?" he asked, though it wasn't clear whom he was addressing.
"You should eat something first," Anne chided. "Neither of you has had anything since breakfast. Let me prepare—"
Sarah began gathering the art supplies as Mehmet suddenly plucked her canvas from the table.
"Give that back! It's not finished!" she protested.
His brow furrowed. "Is this meant to be a tulip?"
"No! It's a... a very rare flower from Pakistan," Sarah lied, surprised to see genuine amusement in his eyes, the first real smile she'd seen from him in ages.
"Fascinating. Where exactly does this... unique species grow?" he asked, playing along.
"In the northern valleys. Very remote," she improvised.
"I'll ask Aniya to bring me seeds," he said, lips twitching.
"She wouldn't know where to look. Only I can find them," Sarah countered, trying to maintain her feigned seriousness.
"Then you'll have to bring me some when you visit Pakistan," he concluded, the ghost of a smile still present.
He selected a fresh canvas and settled beside Sarah. As he began sketching two elegant tulips, Sarah noticed his hands for the first time, long fingers moving with precise grace, the hands of an artist. He worked in focused silence, carefully painting a serene blue background before turning to her.
"His hands… so precise, so steady. How can someone be so controlled… yet so untouchable?"
"Lavender," he requested. When Sarah hesitated, he reached over and selected the correct tube himself. "This one." His concentration never wavered from his work.
Sarah found herself studying him instead, his damp hair suggesting a recent shower, the way his lashes cast shadows as he focused on each brushstroke.
"Blue," he said next. Sarah handed him a dark shade.
"Have you ever seen a tulip in this shade?" He finally looked up, catching her staring.
"I gave you the actual blue!" she protested.
"No, you didn't." His gaze held hers.
"Then how did you paint the background?" she challenged.
Mehmet merely shrugged and returned to his work. "Pink," was his next request.
Unnoticed by either, Anne stood in the doorway, her heart full at seeing her son so engaged after so many years of emotional isolation.
He completed the painting - a winter scene with two tulips (one pink, one lavender) leaning together as snowflakes dusted their petals.
"Which is better?" he asked, placing their paintings side by side. Sarah's abstract blob looked particularly pathetic next to his professional work.
"Mine," Sarah declared without hesitation, making him chuckle.
"Are you certain?" That faint frown she'd come to recognize as his version of teasing appeared.
"Anne's is clearly the best," Sarah dodged, laughing.
"That wasn't the question." His eyes held an unfamiliar softness.
"Whatever," she deflected, trying to reclaim her canvas.
"You can't admit mine is superior," he laughed, a rich, genuine sound that seemed to surprise even him. His laughter echoed through the house for the first time in recent memory.
"I don't lie," Sarah retorted with mock indignation.
He swiftly confiscated her painting. "Mehmet! Give it back!"
"This is a treasure, Miss Sarah. It requires safekeeping." His rare smile lingered as he stood, and despite herself, Sarah found herself smiling back.
The moment passed as Mehmet's usual reserve returned, but now Sarah could see the man beneath the cold exterior.
Over sandwiches later, he asked, "When do you want to collect your things from your apartment?"
"You said this evening," Sarah reminded him, checking the clock (4:00 PM).
"At five, then." He rose, taking her ridiculous painting with him as he left.
She was teaching him to live again.