Afternoon
"Coffee?" Mehmet asked as he saw her sitting in the library.
"Um, not now," Sarah replied, closing a book.
"I mean coffee at a café," he clarified.
"Oh… okay. When?" Sarah twitched her lips and asked.
"At 3. What do you say?" he replied.
"Ask Anne if she's okay with 3," Sarah answered.
"She's not coming with us. We'll have dinner together. For coffee—it's just you and me," Mehmet said and sat beside her.
"Okay," Sarah smiled softly.
Sarah's phone rang, and she glanced at it. Eric. Mehmet's eyes darkened instantly, his jaw tightening.
"I won't come today. Maybe tomorrow," Sarah said into the phone.
She laughed at something Eric said, and Mehmet's hands curled into fists beneath the table.
"Okay, Eric. Take care," she smiled before hanging up.
Mehmet's expression had shifted, different, and guarded. His thoughts raced: What if she chose him? His heart stopped for a beat.
She deserves a man… a real man… someone who knows how to love her. Anne's voice echoed in his head, pressing harder than he wanted to admit.
"What happened?" Sarah asked softly, sensing the storm in his eyes.
"Nothing. You should… call him again," he muttered, trying not to let it out, but the words betrayed him.
"Eric?" she asked, hiding a sly smile.
"He's a little busy. I'll talk to him later," she lied, teasing him deliberately. He looked back at her with blank, unreadable eyes.
To break the tension, Sarah slid a book toward him. "You had my Polaroid picture in this one," she said lightly.
"No, I hadn't," Mehmet lied.
"Aniya gave it to me when you were busy enjoying the Istanbul streets," he added sarcastically.
"Oh, so I can take it back?" she teased.
"Yes, of course. It's yours," he said, shifting his gaze away.
Sarah pulled out a pen, signed her own picture, and handed it back to him. "Here. Maybe someday if I become famous, you'll have my autograph. You can proudly say, 'I wasted all my best sarcasm on her.'"
For the first time in that day, he smiled—small, reluctant, but real.
"And how exactly will you become famous?" he asked, voice teasing but eyes softer than before.
"Maybe by painting. Anne is teaching me with so much patience and effort," Sarah inhaled deeply, speaking with quiet pride.
Mehmet laughed. "Yes, you'll be famous for drawing shapes and flowers no one has ever discovered before."
"Are you making fun of me?" she frowned.
"How can I?" he said softly, and her breath stopped for just a moment at the sincerity in his tone.
"Oh, I need something from the store," Sarah changed the topic.
"What?" he asked, looking at the picture.
"Hair color," she said.
"What? Why? I mean, isn't this brown shade your natural one?" he asked, looking at her suddenly.
"It is my natural, but I want burgundy now. I always wanted to," she looked at him excitedly.
"Um, Sarah...
It will look good on you, I know...
But what if for now you just keep the brown shade..."
He said in a low voice.
"Nope, I want it," she smirked.
"Sarah..."
"Okay," he lost the battle with her.
"Won't that color suit me?" Sarah frowned.
"No, it will obviously look good on you, but this one is natural and pure.
I... Keep this shade, Sarah. Please," he almost requested. Sarah was stunned by his behavior. He never said "please" ever.
"In Pakistan, Mama stopped me, and now you," Sarah frowned.
"I'm not stopping you from doing something, but I... I mean, brown looks good on you. If you still want, then who am I to tell you to do something or not," Mehmet managed to say. Sarah dramatically narrowed her eyes.
"Get ready; we're leaving in some time," Mehmet said and stood up.
At the café
Sarah waited outside as Mehmet parked his car. She had dressed simply but looked effortlessly pretty, her wavy hair falling over her shoulders, some strands caught in the light breeze. Mehmet was wearing a black polo shirt with jeans, some short strands fell on his forehead and he settled them back.
"Shall we?" Mehmet asked as he approached.
"Are you sure? This café doesn't seem like your aesthetic," she teased.
"You don't know all my sides, Miss Sarah," he smirked.
They sat at a corner table. She ordered a caramel latte; he ordered black coffee.
"How can you drink that? It's so bitter," she said, making a face.
"Not everything in life is meant to be sweet," he tilted his head and replied.
She brushed it off with a wave. "Try this; you'll love it."
"You'll share your coffee?" he asked.
"I'm just asking you to taste it. Unless you think I've poisoned it," she smirked.
He took a sip, then made the tiniest face.
"Too sugary. It's like drinking melted candy," he said, wiping his mouth.
"You're dramatic, Mehmet," Sarah chuckled.
"You want this?" Mehmet asked her and pointed toward his black coffee.
"No, I don't want to die after drinking this poisoned and bitter water," she smirked. Mehmet slightly slid his mug to her, and unknowingly, she tasted it.
"It's bitter, Mehmet," Sarah made a face and said.
"Not anymore," he smiled softly and drank his coffee where her light lipstick stain was. She managed to breathe.
After a pause, Mehmet said quietly, "Anne was so happy because of you."
"Because of me?" Sarah blinked, surprised.
"You don't realize what you bring into people's lives," he said softly.
Their eyes met for a heartbeat too long before Sarah broke the moment with a nervous laugh, trying to breathe. Mehmet was still watching her.
"What? Do I have coffee on my face?" Sarah asked, wiping her cheek.
"No. Nothing," Mehmet replied, finally looking away.
"You never told me about your family," he asked as they finished.
"I have one brother, and Mama and Baba back home," Sarah said. "And Aniya is like a sister to me—she's been with me since school. I lived in Lahore, Pakistan—"
"I didn't ask you to write an essay," Mehmet cut in sarcastically.
"I can throw this mug at you," Sarah narrowed her eyes.
"Yes, you can," he smiled.
"So you still remember the paperweight?" she sighed.
"I forgot, Miss Sarah. I'm just saying I'd let you throw anything at me."
Her expression softened. "That's a big power to give me," she teased, then her gaze caught the faint scar still on his forehead. She touched it absently, her fingers lingering as her eyes met his.
"I…" She faltered, then pulled back quickly. "You shouldn't keep paperweights in the office," she muttered.
"I didn't give you any gift on your birthday. I don't know what you like. Tell me what you want," Sarah asked, looking at the coffee mug.
His skin still burned where she touched. He composed himself and asked, "Will you come with me to Balat?"
"Is it near?" she asked, grabbing her bag.
"Almost four kilometers from Galata," he replied, holding the door for her.
"I've only seen it on Pinterest," she smiled.
"Balat, huh… It's beautiful. We'll walk there," he said.
"I asked you for your birthday gift," Sarah reminded him.
"Balat," he meaningfully said.
Balat
Balat in the late afternoon carried a quiet charm. The sun hung low, washing the colorful wooden houses in golden light. Faded blues, reds, and yellows glowed against the cobblestone streets. The smell of fresh bread drifted from a vendor, while cats wandered lazily between people's feet, claiming the alleys as their own.
Sarah walked slowly, taking it all in. The uneven stones under her shoes, the crooked balconies, the rhythm of life—it felt alive, timeless.
Mehmet glanced at her, then let his hand brush against hers before finally taking it. Their fingers slipped together naturally. Sarah's gaze flickered to their joined hands for a moment before she looked away, pretending to study the drying laundry above them.
"You like it here," Mehmet said at last, his voice low, almost just for her.
Sarah nodded. "It feels real. Like the city is breathing."
His thumb brushed gently along the back of her hand, slow and unhurried. "It's better with you here."
Her cheeks warmed, and she whispered, "You always say things like that."
"Because they're true," he shrugged.
"Of course you never lie," she said with a small smile.
"Can I say something?" Mehmet asked, looking at the stone steps ahead.
Sarah nodded.
"Your eyes are pretty," he said in a low voice.
Sarah smiled and bowed her head in thanks. As they walked up the stairs hand in hand, she whispered, "I don't like them."
"What? Balat?" Mehmet asked, surprised.
"My eyes," she replied.
He stopped. "Why?"
"People have prettier eyes than me. Once, a friend told me my color was too common compared to her blue eyes. I was young, but it stuck with me. Since then, I've never liked them," she admitted, watching a cat pass by.
Mehmet turned to her, still holding her hand. "I swear I've never seen eyes more beautiful than yours.
They can speak, they can smile—and their smile is lethal."
Sarah froze. She hadn't expected him to say something like that. She smiled faintly, trying to hide how her heart raced.
They walked again, the silence heavy but alive between them.
"You notice everything else," Mehmet murmured, his voice rougher now, "but do you ever notice what I'm telling you without words?"
Sarah's breath caught. She looked away, toward the crooked balconies.
"Careful," he whispered, low enough only for her. "Balat keeps the secrets it overhears."
"It's so raw and pure," Sarah looked around and said.
A breeze tugged at her hair. They kept walking, their hands still joined, the unspoken between them louder than words.
"Should we go now?" Sarah asked him. He nodded. They walked to the car.
"Mehmet...
Are you sure I don't have to dye my hair?" She looked at him while he was talking to someone on the phone.
"I'll call you back," he hung up the phone.
"Yes, I'm sure. Your natural color is worthy. And...
The color you mentioned...
It will look good on you," he said.
"This isn't an answer, Mehmet," Sarah protested.
He stopped the car and looked at her.
"Miss Sarah, your natural hair color is worthy, and I like it. Don't dye it, and it's a request, not an order.
Obviously, every color will suit you, but this is something else..."
His words came out calmly and were enough for Sarah to stop blinking.
She smiled.
"Yes, you have to reply like this, not in code," Sarah managed to say, keeping her voice steady.
"Can I drive now?" he asked gently, and she nodded.
Later That Night
"Why aren't you coming with us?" Mehmet asked as he saw Sarah sitting in her room.
"I want you to spend time with Anne alone," she mumbled.
"And I'm tired too," she added.
"Are you sick? I mean, headache or something?" he asked.
"No, I'm alright, just need some sleep," she smiled and said.
"Okay, take care. We'll be back soon," Mehmet gently said and went out with Anne. She was beaming with joy as she was going with Mehmet.
When they left, Sarah locked her room and turned on the laptop. She video-called Aniya.
"Aniya....
When are you coming back...."
She asked even though she knew the answer. She even had a picture of Aniya's ticket.
"In three days," she replied.
"Everything alright?" she asked.
"No....
I'm feeling low....."
Sarah replied, and a tear slipped from her eyes.
"What happened?" Aniya asked her anxiously.
"I don't know, Aniya....
If I stay here anymore....
I'll fall for him....."
She confessed while crying.
Aniya smiled softly.
"You already did, Sarah," she softly said, and Sarah looked at the screen.
"No, I ....
I don't know; this isn't true....
I can't, Aniya...
There's so many differences—
Cultural....
Traditional...
We can't live together....
Our nature..."
She said between tears.
"Why are you overthinking, Sarah? You both are mature enough. You can manage it," Aniya tried to convince her.
"I don't know what to do....
I'm feeling stuck...."
She said and buried her face in her hands.
"Look, Sarah, don't complicate this. Okay? I'm coming back in three days. We'll sit and discuss it," Aniya forced a smile and said.
"For now, eat something and sleep," Aniya added.
"If you want to talk to me, I'm here," Aniya tried to lighten her mood.
"I'm sorry I disturbed you. Congratulations on Rahim's nikah," Sarah smiled and wiped her eyes.
"You also should have some rest. We'll talk about this when you're here," Sarah composed her mood again and hung up.
She went into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water for herself, but the glass slipped from her hand and fell. Pieces of glass were on the kitchen marble floor. She bowed down to collect them, and before that, she wiped her eyes, which were still watery. She collected the pieces of glass and unintentionally, one piece badly tore the back of her hand.
She flinched but still collected the pieces and threw them away. She wiped her hand's blood and abstractly bandaged it. Her eyes filled with water again as she sat in her room.
Balat's streets were roaming in her mind. The way he talked to her, looked at her in those streets.
Your eyes, they can speak, they can smile, and their smile is lethal.....
She could hear him speaking near her. She tried to sleep but couldn't. Till she heard his car's voice. He came back. She looked in the mirror. Fortunately, her eyes weren't indicating that she had just cried.
After some time, she heard a knock on her door. It's him, she knew. Then the door opened, and he entered.
"You didn't sleep," he said softly.
"No, I was talking to Aniya," she forced a smile.
He gave her a bouquet of tulips. They were blooming politely—white and blue tulips. She smiled as she smelled them.
"Thank you, Mehmet," she smiled and said. Tulips lightened up her mood. His caramel eyes drew small as he smiled, and his soft dimple on his cheek was visible for a second.
"Did you cry?" Mehmet's smile faded. Sarah shook her head quickly.
"Your eyes," he frowned.
"Um, I'm feeling sleepy, so maybe..."
She tried to compose it.
"You can tell me, Sarah," he said gently, and his gaze shifted to her left hand.
"What happened here?" He quickly took her hand.
"I unintentionally broke a glass and it..." Sarah started.
" Where was the house help?" he asked in a serious tone.
"That was just a glass, and it's not much, just a scratch," she forced a smile and tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was tight enough.
"Who bandaged it?" Mehmet asked.
"I did," she replied.
"I can tell with my closed eyes that you did it," he smirked.
He went out and brought a first aid kit and sat beside her on her bed. She tried to move the blanket, but he stopped her. He cut the bandage.
"You were saying it was a scratch," he frowned.
"Look, is it a scratch or a deep wound?" he asked in a serious tone.
"You weren't crying for this, I know," he said while cleaning the wound. She flinched a little.
"I'm sorry," he apologized and tried to do it softly.
"I was missing Aniya and Mama and Baba," she said in a low voice.
"You can't lie to me, Sarah," he said softly.
"You can tell me whenever you want," he added.
After the bandage, he put the tulips in a nearby vase carefully.
"Do you need anything?" he asked, and she shook her head again.
"Did you eat anything?" Another question and another shake.
"I'm not hungry," she succeeded in saying.
"You're not sleeping like this. Wait a minute," he said and went out.
After some time, he brought a milkshake for her.
"Drink it; it's better to drink it rather than starve the whole night," he said.
"If you want any other thing to have, tell me; I can make it," he offered.
"You know how to cook?" she asked.
"Um, yes, I know many things," he managed to say.
"But your Anne said you never did," Sarah frowned.
"I can do it for you," he smiled softly, and Sarah managed to breathe with trembling hands.
"If I stay here anymore...
I'll fall for him....
Or I have already fallen...."
She thought.
"No, I'm fine," she declined his offer and said.
"Um, Sarah....
I can help you in extending your visa... if you want..." He offered as she was sipping the milkshake.
"No, Baba wants me to finish the degree and come back," she hid her expressions.
"You said you will do some job in Pakistan for a year, so you can do it here too," Mehmet proposed his plan.
"I have to go after my degree," she tried to finish the talk.
"And then?" he asked curiously.
"Then maybe a job there," she said and looked at her bandaged hand.
"Maybe?" he repeated.
"Hmm, Baba is looking for a match for me, so maybe after marriage, I'll do some job or my dream business," she managed to say without thinking of Mehmet.
"He won't ask you?" Mehmet managed to keep his tone softer as his jaw clenched.
"Obviously he will," she replied.
"But as I have no love interest, so he'll find someone, and if I find him good for me, then..." Sarah explained.
So you don't have any love interest..... I see, He thought.
He opened his mouth to say something but didn't.
"You're sure you don't wanna eat anything? We can go out if you want," Mehmet tried to change the topic.
"I don't want to go out," Sarah looked at her bandaged hand.
"I can make something for you," he again offered.
And the next moment, they were in the kitchen.
The kitchen was quiet, dim lights glowing above the marble counters. Sarah sat on one of the stools, while Mehmet rolled his sleeves up.
"What do you even know how to cook?" Sarah asked, resting her chin on her palm, watching him open cabinets like he owned the place—which, of course, he did.
"You'll see," he said simply, his voice low, calm, but with that hint of bossiness he never let go of. He pushed his hair back with his palm, messy strands falling forward again, and turned to the stove.
Sarah tried not to stare at the veins that stood out on his forearms as he worked, pouring oil into a pan, his movements precise, practiced.
He really knows what he's doing…
"You're too quiet," he remarked, chopping vegetables with swift strokes. The knife made a rhythmic sound against the board.
"I'm… just shocked. Didn't expect you to look like… this in a kitchen," she teased softly.
"Like what?" he asked without glancing up, raising an eyebrow.
"Like a normal human being, cooking pasta at midnight," she smirked.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but he focused on stirring the pan. The smell of garlic and butter began to fill the air, warm and comforting.
"Don't burn it," she teased again.
"Do you want to cook?" he shot back, finally turning to look at her.
"Nope. I'm enjoying the show," she said, smirking.
Minutes later, he placed two steaming bowls of pasta on the counter, sliding one toward her. "Eat."
"Bossy even in the kitchen," she muttered but took a bite. Her eyes widened. "This is actually good."
Mehmet leaned against the counter, eating from his own bowl with deliberate calmness. "You sound surprised."
"Because I am," she said between bites. "Anne told me you can't even make tea."
"She doesn't know everything," he replied, his eyes flicking to her.
For a while, they ate in silence. The only sounds were forks against plates and the hum of the refrigerator.
"This feels… strange," Sarah admitted after a while, staring at the pasta.
"What does?" he asked, his tone softer now.
"You. Me. Eating together in the kitchen at midnight like this," she whispered.
Mehmet tilted his head, studying her. His caramel eyes glowed under the warm kitchen lights, unreadable as always, yet softer, almost vulnerable. "Strange isn't always bad, Miss Sarah."
Her heart skipped. She lowered her gaze quickly, busying herself with another bite.
When she finished, he took her bowl, rinsed it in the sink. She watched as the water ran over his veiny hands, his jaw tightening slightly in focus.
He shouldn't look this good doing the most ordinary things…
"Don't stare too much," he said casually, without turning around.
Sarah nearly choked. "I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were," Mehmet said, finally looking over his shoulder with the faintest smirk.
Her cheeks burned. She muttered, "Your pasta isn't that good."
But the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. Then they both went out of the kitchen together.
"Mehmet..." She called him, and he looked at her.
"I think I have seen you somewhere. Not in Turkey. Somewhere else," Sarah managed to say.
"Maybe you did," he lightly said.
"I...
I don't remember but....
I feel like....."
Sarah said in breaks.
"Did you ever save anyone in Taiwan?" she asked.
"Maybe..." Mehmet innocently said.
"What do you mean by 'maybe'? Try to recall," Sarah said frustratedly.
"Okay, I will think and tell you about it," he said, and Sarah nodded with a sigh.
She entered her room.
"Sleep well," he said as he brushed his hand on her cheek. She felt his touch on her soul. He stayed after closing her door.
Pakistan....
We have to go to Pakistan as soon as possible, Anne....
He thought and called Tayyep.
"Come here," he called him and said.
"You should say, 'Tayyep, I need your help; come to my place,'" Tayyep corrected him.
"You're not my wife," Mehmet fired back.
"Don't forget how much I helped you in getting her," Tayyep said.
"But she's still not my wife," Mehmet hid a smile and said.
"So what?" Tayyep asked.
"So come here, Tayyep Buraq, if you still want the painting," Mehmet smirked.
"You're blackmailing me, Mehmet Bey, but I'll come," Tayyep said and sat in his car.