After two weeks
The haveli rose before them in all its quiet majesty—square and timeless, with weathered stone walls that held a hundred untold stories. It was exactly a home Sarah always wanted: elegant, simple, and alive. Her fingers brushed along the carved wooden frames of the windows as they walked, her eyes wide with wonder.
"It feels like the house itself is breathing," she whispered.
Mehmet didn't answer; his gaze wasn't on the walls or the arches—it was on her.
They moved slowly through the upper balconies, their footsteps echoing on the old wooden floorboards, a small library, each step revealing a new corner of the mansion. Potted plants lined the corridors, their leaves trembling faintly in the evening breeze that slipped through half-open shutters. Jasmine and tulips were blooming and dancing as though they had the opportunity to witness a true love which was not bound to any storm or duty, but to them.
When they reached the angan, Sarah paused. The courtyard opened like a heart at the center of the haveli: the gentle and small fountain sang in one corner, water breaking softly against stone, while a wooden swing swayed with the wind as though waiting for her. Evening lights filtered down from the high sky, spilling over the stone floor and wrapping them both in a golden glow.
Sarah's smile broke softly, tender and real. "I never thought I'd end up in a place like this."
Mehmet glanced around, then back at her. "It only feels alive because you're here."
Before she could answer, thunder rolled above, and a drop of rain fell, darkening the stone beneath their feet. Then another. And another until silver sheets poured into the courtyard, washing the sunlight away.
Sarah laughed suddenly, tilting her face toward the sky. "Perfect !" She ran a few steps forward, the water soaking into her hair. She turned to him, her hair darkened, eyes bright, her laughter echoing against the walls of the haveli and his heart.
He stood under the archway, arms folded, with a smile. "You'll catch a cold."
"You're here to take care of me," she teased, stretching out her hand.
For a moment he resisted like always, pride holding him back. But then, with a sigh only she could pull from him, he stepped into the rain. He reached for her hand, awkward, almost clumsy, as though dancing were foreign to him.
Sarah laughed again, soft and playful. "So the great Mehmet doesn't know how to dance?"
His grip tightened at her waist, his voice low, deep, softened just for her. "I don't dance. But… for you, I'll try."
And so they swayed in the storm, stepping on each other's feet, both hopelessly out of rhythm, both laughing as though the world had finally, finally let them breathe. Rain trickled down his brow as she leaned into his chest, the sound of her heartbeat mixing with the fountain's murmur, the swing's creak, the storm's song.
Her voice lowered, breaking with quiet truth. "I never thought… I'd find a love that feels like home."
Mehmet pressed his forehead to hers, his breath warm despite the rain. "I never thought my evenings would sound like this, my eyes would witness nothing but you, Sarah. With you, every corner, every second feels like peace."
They were laughing and trying to dance.
"We should take some classes for dance," Sarah chuckled, water dripping from her face.
"I'll teach you," Mehmet smirked, and Sarah laughed loudly.
"You're stepping on my foot while dancing, Mehmet. If I'm not holding your wrist, you'll fall," Sarah said with a laugh.
"That's the whole point, Sarah." He brushed a wet strand from her face.
"If you don't hold my hand, I'll fall," he whispered, and Sarah saw nothing but Mehmet—a man who knew how to protect her, to love her, to make a house a home for her. She put her head on his shoulder.
And in that courtyard—the heart of the haveli he had built for her—two souls laughed, swayed, and loved as though time itself had stopped. The house wasn't just stone and wood anymore. It was a witness, a shelter, a promise.
Not a cage. Not a duty.
But a home.
And in that home…. The swans would stay forever.