I stared at the phone screen for a long moment.
Alekos Csepel.
For a second, I thought about letting it ring out. But something inside me—pride, habit, maybe guilt—dragged my thumb across the screen.
I held the phone to my ear.
"Hey," I said, my voice calm, steady. Too steady.
"Selin." His voice was low, like he hadn't slept.
"Yeah," she said lightly. "You're calling late."
"I just got in a few hours ago. I—" He exhaled. "I heard what happened. From my father."
A long pause.
"Oh," she said finally. "Right."
"You fainted?"
She laughed softly. Too softly. "I wouldn't say fainted. More like… momentary collapse. Dramatic phrasing, you know how hospitals are."
"That's not funny."
"I didn't mean it to be," she said quickly, then softened. "I'm fine, Alekos. Just tired. I didn't eat much that day, and things have been busy. It was a fluke."
"Is that what you told the ER, too?"
"I told them I was tired. That's all."
"You don't sound tired."
A beat of silence.
"You sound like you're trying not to sound like anything at all."
Selin paused again, and he heard the faintest inhale. Controlled. Restrained.
"Alekos, I promise. I just need some rest."
He stood up, walked to the window. Ran a hand through his hair.
"You don't have to explain. You don't even have to talk. I just need to know—are you really okay?"
"I'm managing," she replied. Carefully chosen words.
"That's not what I asked."
She hesitated. Her voice cracked—not enough to break, just enough to make him notice. "Alekos, please. I'm not... I can't do this right now."
He was quiet.
Then, calmly: "Okay."
She sighed. "Thank you."
"But I'm still coming."
"What—no, you don't have to—"
"I'm already in the car, Selin."
"You just said—"
"I said you didn't have to talk." He grabbed his keys. "I didn't say I'd let you go through this alone."
She didn't answer. But she didn't hang up, either.
So he whispered, "Leave the light on," and ended the call.
Then he walked out the door, not knowing what he'd find.
Just knowing he had to be there.
A few minutes back, the first thing Alekos felt was the weight of jet lag pressing behind his eyes like a dull headache.
He'd only meant to nap. The flight from Zurich had drained him, and the meetings had felt endless. His shirt was still half-buttoned, and his suitcase lay unpacked near the door. The only light in his room came from the thin slit between the curtains, casting a soft glow over the wood floors.
But then—
He heard it.
Selin's name.
He sat up, suddenly awake.
The voices downstairs were muffled but clear enough in the stillness of the house.
"She fainted during rounds," his father was saying, his voice tinged with worry. Alekos swung his legs over the bed, heartbeat quickening.
"She insisted she was fine," his father said—his voice low, terse, like he didn't quite believe it himself. "Said it was just exhaustion. Took a day off. Nothing else."
Alekos stood, walked barefoot down the hallway, pausing at the landing just before the stairs. He didn't speak yet. He just listened.
"You should've pressed her," Nilay snapped. "Selin's always been like that. Hiding things. Pretending. You know how she is."
"She's not my daughter, Nilay."
"No, but she's been like a daughter to me. You've known her since she was a child. You could've at least asked—"
"She didn't want to talk," Atlan muttered.
Alekos came down the last few steps.
"She fainted?" he said sharply, his voice startling both of them.
They turned to look at him—his father in a pressed dress shirt, his mother still in her reading glasses, folded newspaper in her lap.
His father sighed. "You just got home. I didn't want to worry you."
"You should've," Alekos said, his eyes locked on his father. "What exactly happened?"
"She collapsed during rounds. Said she was just tired. That's all we know."
"All you know," his mother corrected.
Alekos didn't answer. His jaw tightened as he turned and headed back up the stairs, ignoring their questions.
By the time he reached his room, he was already dialing.
She picked up on the third ring.
"Hey," she said lightly, too lightly.
And then—just like before—he knew.
She was lying.
Selin stood by the window, her fingers gently resting against the cool glass.
The city had disappeared beneath a curtain of rain.
Thin streaks ran down the pane like tears she refused to shed. The lights outside were blurred, smudged like a watercolor, and everything—cars, trees, buildings—looked distant. Detached.
She hugged her arms around herself, a cardigan draped over her shoulders like armor. Her hair was damp from the shower, and her skin still smelled faintly of lavender soap. The apartment was dark, save for the dim glow of her bedside lamp. Her bed was turned down. The silence was thick.
Was he actually coming?
He'd said so. But people said things when they were worried. When they didn't know what else to do. Maybe he just wanted to feel like he tried. Maybe—
A thunderclap rattled the window, and she flinched.
Selin dragged herself to the bathroom. Her body moved like it didn't belong to her—slow, mechanical. She brushed her teeth without tasting the mint. Washed her face without feeling the water. Everything was numb.
Her reflection stared back at her, hollow-eyed.
She turned off the light.
And stopped dead.
The front door had opened.
She heard the soft shuffle of shoes on tile. The familiar, precise sound of his footsteps. The door hadn't creaked — it had unlocked. With a key.
Selin's breath caught.
Alekos stepped into the warm hallway light, water dripping from his coat, his shoulders hunched slightly against the cold. His hair was damp and curling at the edges. His jaw set tight.
And his eyes —those vivid green eyes —cut straight into her.
"You still have the key," she whispered, stunned.
"You never asked for it back," he said simply.
The rain hissed outside, casting shadows across the walls as lightning flared behind him.
He took a step forward.
His gaze raked over her—not with judgment, but worry. Deep. Intent. Like he was scanning for damage she wouldn't name.
"Did you fall when it happened?" he asked. "Did you hit your head? Bruise anything?"
"No," she replied too quickly.
He narrowed his eyes. "Selin."
"There's nothing to see," she whispered.
"Then tell me what I can't."
She looked away.
Her voice cracked like something in her chest finally split open. "I'm tired of pretending."
Her legs gave way.
Alekos surged forward, catching her before she even hit the floor. His arms wrapped around her like they had done this a thousand times before. She curled into him, fists clutching the front of his damp shirt as her body broke down.
"I held it together for so long," she sobbed, "and it still wasn't enough. I tried to be normal. I tried to move forward. But I'm not okay, Alekos. I'm not."
He didn't speak.
He just pulled her closer, her forehead pressed to his chest, his hand resting protectively on the back of her head.
"You don't have to be okay right now," he murmured. "Not here. Not with me."
The rain kept falling outside.
And inside the walls of her quiet, aching villa, Selin finally let herself fall apart.
And Alekos was right there—anchoring her through the storm.