HEART ATTACK

FIRST MESSAGE

Some Stories Begin with a Single Sentence

Some stories begin with a single sentence.

Mine began with a feeling I didn’t know how to name, a quiet tremble in my heart that slowly grew into something I could no longer ignore.

I didn’t know what love was or how it was supposed to feel. I had only imagined it—what it might be like if it ever came, how it might change me, how it might turn ordinary days into something unforgettable. And then, one day, when I least expected it, it did.

I’ve always been a little old-fashioned. I don’t believe in meeting people through social media. I never felt comfortable sharing my life on screens. I don’t even have an account. At least, not until after the university entrance exam. These days, most relationships start on Instagram, with likes, stories, and short messages. But I wanted something different. Something slower. Something real.

My life was simple and narrow: home, school, tutoring center. Every day followed almost the same pattern. Wake up early, rush to class, study until my eyes hurt, return home tired. In a routine like that, meeting someone special seemed almost impossible.

One day, my friend told me that my name had come up in a conversation at the tutoring center. She had shown my photo to someone.

“Alp really liked you,” she said, smiling.

Being liked by a boy… It was something I experienced for the first time because of him. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and curiosity at the same time. I wondered who he was, what kind of person he might be. My friend laughed and said, “You’re so similar. You’re perfect for each other.”

And just like that, without realizing it, a quiet bond formed between two people who had never even met.

Whenever my friend went to the tutoring center, Alp kept asking about me. “How is she?” “What is she doing?” “Did she come today?” It went on for weeks. Each time I heard about it, my heart beat a little faster.

First, he asked for my Instagram. When he found out I didn’t use it, he was surprised. But he didn’t give up. He asked for my number instead. When my friend told me, I froze.

I didn’t know what to say. I felt nervous, like I was waiting for the result of an important performance. What if I wasn’t ready? What if I disappointed him? After thinking for hours, I finally agreed.

After insisting for a long time, he finally got my number.

Two days passed.

He didn’t text.

Without realizing it, I had started expecting something. Every time my phone vibrated, my heart jumped. Every time I checked the screen and saw nothing, I felt a small disappointment.

When will he write?

My friend said he was excited and shy. “He keeps talking about you,” she said. “He doesn’t know what to write.” Maybe that was why he was silent. Or maybe I was learning how to wait, how to be patient with my own feelings.

That weekend, I left the tutoring center at noon. The sun was bright, and the streets were crowded. I was walking slowly when my phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number.

“Hi, it’s Alp. Are you Defne?”

My heart started beating so fast I thought the whole world could hear it. My hands were shaking as I typed my reply. I smiled like a fool in the middle of the street.

It was November 30, 2025.

The day everything began.

When we first started talking, we were both shy, yet brave. We talked whenever we could—between classes, late at night, early in the morning. Our “last seen” times were always changing. Sometimes we replied immediately. Sometimes we waited, pretending not to care, even though we did.

Even when we weren’t talking, I was thinking about him. Sometimes I caught myself smiling for no reason. Sometimes I replayed his messages in my mind, reading them again and again.

It was the first time I talked to someone so polite, so gentle. He listened carefully. He remembered small details. He asked about my day, my exams, my worries. His compliments were sincere and warm. He never made me feel small.

Something inside me kept growing.

I was in love.

I wanted to meet him everywhere, but I was afraid. What if he didn’t like me in real life? What if the magic disappeared when we stood face to face? I stared at myself in the mirror, noticing every flaw, every insecurity.

My biggest fear was my family finding out. The thought felt heavy on my chest. I imagined their questions, their worries, their rules. Still, among all that fear, there was a strange courage. As if my heart had already made its decision and was asking me to follow.

I was scared, but I didn’t step back. Some feelings cannot exist without risk.

We decided to take things slowly. We didn’t want to rush. I told myself we should wait at least a week or two before meeting. I wanted everything to feel right, not forced.

My friends and I practiced “first date” scenarios. We sat together and laughed, discussing every detail. What I would wear. What color suited me best. What perfume I should use. What topics I should avoid.

Alp told our mutual friend about his plan.

“I’ll buy her flowers,” he said. “But I don’t know which ones.”

The thought alone made me smile for hours.

At the tutoring center, he smiled while texting me. One day, a teacher noticed and asked, “Do you have a crush?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Her name is Defne.”

When I heard this later, my heart melted.

We talked openly. We trusted each other. We shared small details, meaningless stories, childhood memories, future dreams, secrets we told no one else.

We talked until late at night. Sometimes I fell asleep with my phone in my hand. He woke up late; I woke up early. My sleep schedule was ruined. Sometimes I fell asleep in class. My eyes burned.

But I never complained.

Because I was happy.

I dreamed about him. I replayed his words in my mind. Some sentences settle in your heart forever.

“I love Atatürk, and I love the one who loves Atatürk in their heart.”

After that, it felt like there was a place in the world made just for me.

“When you’re here, I can’t focus on anything else.”

“This is only for you. It comes from my heart.”

His words made me feel safe. They made me feel chosen.

Sometimes he didn’t say things directly. He let me feel them. He hinted, smiled, paused in the right moments.

“…we’ll say this in the future too.”

“…you’ll help me miss you, won’t you?”

Some sentences made me feel more valuable than anything else.

“People don’t forget.”

“You are important to me.”

“If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

And slowly, without noticing, I fell deeper.

At the tutoring center, I was in the same class as Batu. He was also in the same class as Alp. At first, I didn’t care.

Then he started making small hints.

“There’s someone in our class…” he would say.

Sometimes he looked at me while saying it.

Sometimes he asked directly.

“Is there something between you and Alp?”

“No,” I said every time.

We weren’t officially together.

But I knew I was lying to myself.

Later, I learned he had asked Alp the same question.

“Yes,” Alp had answered.

Without hesitation.

That moment changed everything.

I had said no because I was afraid. Because I was cautious. Because I didn’t want to admit it out loud.

But Alp wasn’t afraid.

All my sleepless nights, all my smiles at my phone, all my feelings… they came together.

I was in love.

And I couldn’t hide it anymore.

Our mutual friend Şeyma became my safe place. She listened to me patiently. She carried small pieces of information to me—his smiles, his moods, his worries.

Through her, I felt closer to him.

We talked about birthdays and zodiac signs. We guessed and laughed. We compared personalities.

Pisces and Capricorn.

Not perfect, they said.

Pisces feels. Capricorn thinks.

I wanted to be understood without speaking.

He wanted clarity.

I lived my emotions freely.

He tried to control them.

At first, it scared me.

But then I realized something.

He gave me stability.

I gave him softness.

He was the ground.

I was the water.

One held on.

The other flowed.

Maybe love wasn’t about being similar.

Maybe it was about balance.

Sometimes I sent him pictures. He rarely sent any back. I noticed, but tried not to care.

One day, he sent one.

His brown eyes were warm and deep. His smile was gentle.

I stared at it for a long time.

It wasn’t just a photo.

It was him.

And I knew I would never forget.

After that, every message meant more. We weren’t just talking anymore. We were becoming part of each other’s lives.

Two weeks passed.

We still hadn’t met.

We talked. We laughed. We shared.

But only through screens.

Sometimes that comforted me. Sometimes it made me impatient.

One part of me didn’t want to rush.

Another part wanted to see him more than anything.

We were in our third week.

I had admitted it to myself.

I wanted to meet him.

But I waited for him to ask.

It mattered to me.

I wanted to feel that he truly wanted it. That he was brave enough to take the first step.

Maybe he was waiting too. Maybe he was gathering courage.

I could have spoken.

But I didn’t.

I waited.

Because sometimes waiting is another way of loving.

As my impatience and silence collided inside me, I asked myself a question I was afraid to answer:

What if I keep waiting…

and that step never comes?

What will I do with all these feelings then?