My suspicion that it wasn't only me hiding things—that they were hiding something too—wasn't just a suspicion.
Even though I no longer wanted to hear or know anything about Kerem, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious what kind of fear that Hotshot had put them through—fear strong enough to make them sit there, tense and pale, as if waiting for a tragedy to be announced at any moment.
I stepped down the two wide steps that separated the hallway area from the sitting area, and walked over to Nil, who was biting her nails in stress on the edge of one of the big couches.
I gently took her hand away from her mouth and placed it in my lap. She turned her absent eyes toward me, like she'd only just realized I was there.
"Sorry. I got lost in my own mess and couldn't pay attention to you," she said softly. "Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink?"
She moved as if to get up, but I pressed a hand to her shoulder and guided her back down.
"Don't bother. I don't feel like anything."
"Right," she murmured. "You must be worried about him too."
The moment she said that, she turned toward me, hope rushing into her expression.
"Did he tell you where he was going? Or anything that could help us figure out where he might be?"
Lying to someone who was worried about their friend felt heavy enough as it was.
Lying to someone like Nil—sweet and innocent—felt like swallowing a stone.
But in that moment, I didn't have another option.
To avoid her hopeful eyes, I looked down at our hands before I spoke.
"We fought last night, Nil," I said quietly.
After a short pause, I added more slowly, "And at the end of the fight… we broke up. So I don't know any more than you do."
She squeezed my hand gently, like she was trying to give comfort.
"Don't be sad. Whatever the problem is, I'm sure you and Kerem will talk and fix it when he comes back."
There was no place—and no time—to tell her how impossible that was, so I only nodded with a faint smile.
After that, both of us fell silent, disappearing into our own thoughts.
With every new minute that passed in that quiet, gloomy atmosphere, the air grew heavier. And without meaning to, your mind drifted away from optimism and leaned toward the worst.
I didn't know what kinds of fears were occupying their heads, but I doubted they could imagine anything more horrifying than the pictures my own mind was already painting.
I needed to steer my thoughts somewhere less destructive.
Otherwise, it would only be a matter of time before I had some kind of breakdown and spilled every secret I was trying to keep buried.
That thought immediately brought Kerem's strange rule to mind.
Back when Rüzgar first mentioned it, I could've found a good moment to ask Kerem what the truth was, and he probably wouldn't have refused to explain if it meant preventing me from making mistakes.
But at the time, it hadn't caught my attention much. And I definitely hadn't thought it would resurface again.
I guessed the rule was based on the idea that not just anyone could enter his home—and that anyone who did would have a permanent place in his life.
Not only did I have no idea why he'd have a rule that weird, but it also felt ridiculous that he'd let me in despite the way his friends talked about it, and despite how my situation didn't exactly "fit."
Thinking back, you could even say I entered his house because he insisted.
If he was truly that committed to his rule, shouldn't he have driven me home, no matter how tired he was?
When my thoughts started spiraling, I rolled my eyes at myself.
The more time I spent with his friends, the more I started exaggerating like them.
Beyond all that unnecessary complication, the reality was simple.
The person who made the rule could also break it whenever they felt like it.
Demir stepped out of the living room to answer his ringing phone. Bora got up, came over, and sat on Nil's other side. When she leaned her head onto his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her in a protective way that was meant to reassure.
And just like that, a scene flashed into my mind—Kerem and I sitting side by side in that rundown bar, talking with Uncle Mustafa, when he casually pulled me into his arms.
Why had I remembered that now?
It wasn't like I could be missing him.
I forced myself to look away, but the moment I did, I met Rüzgar's eyes.
There was something in his gaze that wasn't the usual blankness or irritation.
Longing? Sadness? Understanding?
It was hard to tell.
Maybe he knew, deep down, that Kerem had dragged me into a situation I never wanted, and maybe he pitied me. Who knew.
A moment later, his attention drifted elsewhere.
"Do you think he could've started again?"
Nil's question made every face change—Rüzgar's, Bora's, and even Demir's, who had just walked back into the room.
Demir was the first to react.
"That's over."
"Get that idea out of your head, Daisy," Bora added, voice firm.
What were they talking about?
What was this "thing" Kerem had supposedly ended—something that might start again now?
As I tried to understand what it could be, Rüzgar looked at me meaningfully.
"I don't think this is the time to talk about that."
The others flicked quick looks at me and then looked away with the exact reaction of people who realized they'd almost said too much.
Which only made my curiosity worse.
So there was something so secret they couldn't talk about it even in front of the girl they thought was Kerem's girlfriend.
Could it be connected to that "story" Kerem refused to tell me?
Was that why we had to hide things from his friends in the first place?
My questions kept multiplying, and my thoughts tangled until I couldn't form a clean, logical answer to anything. With an exhausted breath, I stood up.
At least washing my face and drinking coffee might help.
But the moment I reached the opening that connected the living room to the kitchen, a soft clattering sound made me flinch.
"Kerem?"