I
The Woman... In the corner of a room cloaked in white-painted walls, a woman sat quietly, her gaze shifting between the bare surfaces and the old landline telephone placed beside her, chasing seconds as they stretched into minutes. From time to time, she ran her fingers through her hair, and, as if recalling something distant, lowered her head with a faint, wistful smile. Then, with a renewed seriousness, she turned her face back to the telephone, watching it for several long seconds.
She hugged her knees to her chest, her pale face turned longingly toward the silent receiver. There was nothing else she could do. She waited… patiently, quietly, soundlessly, and helplessly.
And just then—whatever thought had crossed her mind—she cautiously reached toward the phone. Her fingers brushed the receiver; she seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then, suddenly, she picked it up and pressed it to her ear.
The Woman:
“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?” She waited, every nerve poised, hoping for a sound—any sound—to answer her. But as the silence deepened, a quiet sorrow crept across her face, swallowing the last traces of hope. “He’s not answering...” she whispered, and gently placed the receiver back into its cradle.
She drew a deep breath and turned her gaze once more to the empty walls. A shadow, born from the darkness in her eyes, seemed to stretch across the pale surfaces of the room. Her trembling hands clasped her knees; she sat frozen, unmoving, staring at the blank wall with a stillness that bordered on surrender. Only the soft rhythm of her breath could be heard in the room.
Nothing else.
No ticking, no voices, no life.
She remained like that for some time, her head resting gently on her knees. But not for long.
Lifting her head with a weary motion, she glanced around the room as if searching for something—anything—that might anchor her. A deep sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes returned to the telephone. She swallowed hard. Slowly, her hand reached for the receiver again. This time, without hope—only the pull of habit, of memory, of longing.
She lifted the receiver once more and pressed it gently to her ear.
The Woman:
“Hello? Hello!... Please… say something.”
Her voice trembled, barely escaping her lips. Her eyes had filled with tears, and the flush rising in her cheeks betrayed her silent effort not to cry.
She waited a few seconds longer, hoping for a reply.
But no one else spoke.
Only her voice lingered in the silence, unanswered.
The stillness crushed her. It tossed her hopes into a burning fire, feeding the flames of despair.
With heavy disappointment, she lowered the receiver from her ear.
Just then—a soft voice came through the line.
“Hello.”
“Hello! I hear you!” she said quickly, bringing the receiver back to her ear with urgency.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you answer?”
“I don’t know… How are you?”
“I’m not bad,” she said, and now a faint smile touched her lips. The color returned to her cheeks. “I’ve been waiting for your call all day. But I had a feeling—I knew you’d call.”
“Yeah...”
“Will you speak to me again today?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I do. Very much...”
“Alright then...”
The woman waited, filled with restless anticipation, clinging to the silence, hoping the voice on the other end would begin to speak.
And then, from the other side of the line, after a slow, rhythmic breath, the man began to speak—calmly, gently—as though unfolding a memory he had carried too long.
The Man:
“It all began four years ago…
On a cool spring day.
The first time the young man saw her… was in the university courtyard, just after class.
She appeared in the crowd—unexpected, unannounced—yet everything seemed to pause for a moment as she passed.
He watched her as she walked by, quietly memorizing everything—the way the light caught her short hair, the softness in her hazel eyes, the blue jacket she wore, even the shoes on her feet. He captured it all like a photograph etched into memory.
And the girl…
Perhaps she never even noticed him.
Perhaps she simply passed by, unaware that, in that single moment, something had begun.”
“Perhaps the young girl saw him too—caught a glimpse of the boy’s dark eyes, his thick hair, the sparse beard shadowing his face, and the gray jacket he wore,” the woman said with a soft smile.
“Yes… that’s right,” came the voice from the other end of the line.
“That was their first meeting.
The young man thought of her for days on end, doing everything he could to see her again.
He wandered through every building on campus, searched every faculty,
and spoke to thousands of students just to gather a single clue about her.
In the end, his efforts bore fruit.
He found the beauty who made his heart tremble—
and she was closer than he ever imagined.
That very day, he stood outside her faculty building, waiting for her to finish class.
Without letting her know, he quietly followed her all the way home.”
“The young girl knew everything.
Though her heart pounded fiercely and her breath came in short gasps, she forced herself home.
Then, rushing to the window, she watched him secretly.
When she saw the young man, a shy smile blossomed on her face like a startled child’s.”
“Since that day, the young man had set out to learn everything about the beautiful girl he had fallen in love with.
Her place of residence, her neighborhood, her neighbors, the phone number of her home, her birthday, her father, her mother—if she had a sister, he learned about her sister; if she had a brother, about him too.
He sought to discover everything he could: which city she came from, all the little details that made her who she was.
He grew close to her classmates, and through her friends, he uncovered what she liked, what she loved.
The violet was her favorite flower, blue her favorite color, Paris her beloved city, the number seven her lucky charm, Les Misérables her favorite novel, romance her preferred genre, and Bayatılar her cherished music.
He took an interest in every detail of her life, unwilling to overlook even the smallest of them.”
“But the young girl’s true wish was different.
She longed for the boy who had captured her heart to ask her these things himself, to speak with her directly.
She waited patiently for that moment, burning with desire for the day he would finally appear before her and look deep into her eyes.”
“In truth, the young man was not a coward. Many times he had stood before her, ready to confess the words he kept hidden deep within his heart.
But each time, faced with her presence, he lost himself—barely able to stand on his feet.
His tongue tied in knots, he could not utter a single word.
So every day, quietly and unseen, he followed her all the way home,
and even from a distance, he made sure she reached safely.
The young girl understood the torment of her admirer.
Though she too suffered inwardly, she remained silent,
trying to speak through her eyes what she could not voice aloud.
Each day, the mere fact that her guardian angel escorted her safely home was a joy beyond words—
a happiness that could not be captured in mere speech.
But finally, the young man gathered his courage and stood before the one he loved.”
The man on the other end of the line paused, as if lost in thought.
After several deep breaths, he continued:
“Holding a bouquet of violets, he waited in front of the university gate.
Nervous and restless, he checked his watch repeatedly, pacing left and right, trying to pass the time.
But as the seconds slipped by, his anxiety only grew—his heart pounding harder and harder.
When he finally saw the young girl at the gate, he struggled to keep standing.
His body trembled uncontrollably.
The bouquet of violets in his hand, which he tried to hide behind his back, almost slipped as he hesitated to run away.
Yet at the very last moment, he summoned his courage and stepped forward to meet her.”
His fingers nervously fumbled with the violets in his hand, crushing their delicate petals until they were as pale as paper.
His anguish weighed heavily on the young girl as well, dragging her into the depths of torment.
To end the lover’s helplessness, it was she who first spoke—softly, almost whispering:
“I’m listening.”
The young man extended the flowers toward her, and without a breath, revealed the secret he had kept locked inside his heart.
Though the young girl remained silent, not uttering a single word, he found solace in the words of a book he had read all day, and spoke:
“I may never be Marius, but I will love you more than Marius loved Cosette.
I will protect you more.
And for as long as I breathe, I will stay by your side.”
Those words breathed new life into the young girl.
Blushing, shy, she lowered her eyes and surrendered herself to the embrace of dreams.
But she did not say a single word.
That was enough to unsettle the young man’s mind.
He waited patiently, longing for a response—any reply to the words he had spoken.
The young girl remained silent, offering only a smile in return.
And in that smile, the young man found his answer.
And... from that moment on, everything would begin.
His name—Ayaz—would be counted among the ones she loved.
A heavy silence settled over both sides of the line.
The woman eased her back away from the wall, straightening her posture.
She lowered the phone receiver from her ear, looking at it with trembling hands.
Frowning in thought, she lingered for a moment, then slowly lifted the receiver back to her ear, listening intently.
But no sound came.
Only silence.
The Woman:
“Are you there? Answer me!”
There was no sound.
It seemed there was nothing left to say.
The story had ended right here.
The woman felt a pang of regret—
her last chance to hear what she longed for was slipping away.
The Man:
“I’m here… I’m sorry.”
“I thought you’d left again.”
“No… I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“Then talk… Please,” she said softly, almost pleading.
“I will speak. Don’t worry…”
The voice fell silent again.
But only for a few brief seconds, before he continued:
“That day, the young man never again followed the beloved he adored in secret.
Instead, he walked beside her, on her left side, escorting her all the way home.
And so, their love began.
By day, their affection echoed through the university corridors,
and by night, it continued in whispered phone calls.
They spent every moment together, weaving dreams as one.
When they wished to speak, they spoke;
when silence was desired, they communicated for hours with their eyes alone.
Sometimes arguments would arise,
sometimes they would sulk,
and sometimes they were consumed by wild jealousy.
The young man would look pitiful and helpless as he tried to soothe his beloved,
while the young girl, coy and distant, would avoid making peace.
At times, she would gaze far away, softly singing the words of her favorite song—
her delicate voice rising as she sang,
“Not even to glance upon a stranger, only to look upon my beloved”—
throwing a playful challenge into the future.”
“Doesn’t one who loves feel jealousy for their beloved?”
The woman said with a smile.
Though the young girl could be coy and playful, she knew very well that her trust in her beloved was boundless.
She would not look at another, nor see another, nor love another besides him.
After the woman spoke these teasing words, a silence settled on both ends of the line for a while.
But then the man broke the quiet and began to speak once again.
The Man:
“The young man was in love even with his beloved’s teasing, her coyness, and her moments of hurt.
Not a trace of resentment lingered in his heart; instead, he loved her all the more, grew even more attached.
It was because of this that he protected her from himself, never dared to touch or offend her...
The young librarian student was devoted to her with all his heart.
For that reason, he spoke with his family, won their approval, and sent word to her doorstep.
That night, unable to sleep a single moment, the young man stood waiting in front of the building, hoping for news.”
“That day was the happiest day for the young girl.
She was so close to finally being reunited with her beloved.
She had spoken with her family and received their blessing as well.
Her father gave his blessing,
and her mother, through tears, embraced her only daughter.
At last, the young girl had achieved her heart’s desire...”
verything was unfolding so beautifully.
The formal meeting between the families had gone perfectly,
and the young man had finally united with the beloved he longed for.
No longer did they meet in secret—
their love blossomed openly,
lived and breathed in the presence of everyone around them.
By day, hours passed in silence,
their gazes locked deeply in one another’s eyes without a single word spoken.
By night, sweet conversations filled the space between the phone receivers.
Everything was simply perfect.
The families had spoken and agreed that the wedding would take place toward the end of summer.
The young woman would graduate from university,
and only then would they build their home together.
“Waiting… is life’s hardest habit.”
But time would surely bring them together.
The spring would end, and the young woman would graduate with honors.
And on that day—their happiest day, their wedding day—
dressed in a white gown, she would take the hand of her beloved
and walk into the wedding hall.
Relatives, friends, and acquaintances would shower them with applause,
sharing in their joy,
the woman added with a smile.
Toasts would be raised, and praises sung.
For one day, everyone would forget their worries and simply be happy.
Everyone would have a part in the making of this new family.
They had reached their dreams.
The young man had rented a small apartment near the city center.
There, they would live together, building a family.
They would laugh side by side and seek solutions to their troubles together.
Their greatest dream was to spend the twenty-first century in Paris—
at the very top of the Eiffel Tower.
For that dream, he worked tirelessly, doing everything in his power to make it a reality.
What wouldn’t he do for even a single smile from his beloved?
But nothing was as it seemed.
“No! No! Don’t say another word! For God’s sake!”
The woman gripped the phone tightly, trembling.
It was late autumn, the time when leaves drifted from the trees, blending with the earth below.
After work, the young man had spoken to his beloved wife one last time,
and then parted ways to head home.
Though the weight of unease pressed heavily on his heart,
he grew restless with anticipation to see her again.
Hurriedly, he set out on the road, eager to reach her side—
when suddenly...
If only he had left work a little later,
if only he had looked at the road,
if only the car hadn’t been there,
if only he hadn’t gone to work at all—
If only... if only... if only...
“Be silent! Don’t speak!” the woman shouted.
She could no longer hold back her tears—
they streamed down her cheeks like a flood.
“This can’t end like this… it just can’t!”
An hour later, the door to her home would open,
and a man in a police uniform would deliver the grim news.
“Forgive me. Forgive me, my violet-scented Rose!”
“Don’t go! Please don’t go!”
She screamed, pulling the phone from her ear,
her mind replaying the moment over and over.
The conversation was over.
She ran her fingers through her hair,
her gaze flickering between the empty room and the silent phone.
Sometimes she laughed wildly,
sometimes she sobbed uncontrollably.
Just then, someone entered the room.
They approached the woman and gently took the phone receiver from her hand, placing it back on its cradle.
The woman watched silently, her eyes never leaving the scene.
A nurse took hold of her arm and helped her to stand.
“That’s enough for today. You’ll talk again tomorrow.”
Without a word, the woman left the room alongside her.
Another nurse picked up the phone, sighed deeply as she watched the woman leave,
and without saying a single word, stepped out of the room as well.
