Chapter 1
Chapter 1 — The Shadowed Sound
“Some sounds did not merely touch a person’s ears; they brushed softly against the roots of their soul.”
Meyra knew this well. Every time her fingers pressed against the piano keys, she did not simply hear the notes. The sounds spreading slowly through the room first became colors, then textures.
D minor had always been a dark shade. Like a night that grew heavier the deeper one wandered into it. G major, on the other hand, shimmered in amber tones like the glow of a sunset.
Human voices carried more complicated colors. Some were stained gray; no different from a weary fog that seeped beneath the skin.
Her gaze had been fixed beyond the window when she heard the voice rising from downstairs.
“Meyraaa!”
She added a few final strokes to the sketchbook lying on her desk. After gently setting down the pencil between her fingers, she pushed her chair back. Just as she turned toward the door, the voice called out again.
“I’m in the kitchen!”
She descended the stairs slowly. When she reached the final step, she turned to the right.
The first thing she noticed was the thin trail of steam rising from a cup of coffee on the counter. Then the faint melody of an old song drifted from the radio into her ears. The suffocating browns that had wrapped around her mind moments ago gradually began to dissolve, replaced instead by a calm shade resembling the white of daisies. She lifted a hand to her hair absentmindedly.
The woman spoke without turning around.
“He got worried when he couldn’t reach you. He wants you to call him as soon as possible.”
She gestured toward the cup on the counter.
“You should drink your coffee before it gets cold.”
Then her eyes moved toward the vase on the dining table.
“Your favorite flowers. Doesn’t it make you happy to see this vase full?”
A small smile escaped Meyra before she could stop it. She walked toward the table. Just as she reached for the vase, a sharp pain pierced beneath her foot. Her breath caught. She recoiled instinctively and saw a thin line of blood trailing from the sole of her right foot.
Her brows furrowed. Slowly, she lifted her head.
The music from the radio had stopped.
No one was in the kitchen. Her breathing tightened. Her gaze drifted heavily toward the table. The vase was still there.
But it was empty.
Meyra remained frozen for several seconds. The warmth beneath her foot had already begun to fade.
Then—
From far away, the morning adhan rose and blended into the silence.
The sound seemed to dissolve the heavy darkness lingering in the room. Istanbul was waking with the dawn. Somewhere up the street, the bell of a simit vendor echoed through the air.
Meyra closed her eyes. Her lips moved unconsciously.
“Please… let my mind not fight me today.”
She pressed her palms together. Slowly, the rhythm of her heartbeat began to steady.
By the time the silence settled once more, she found herself seated before her piano again. Her fingers drifted lazily over the keys.
The autumn wind of Istanbul reached all the way to the terrace, stirring the flowers resting in their pots. The distant hum of the city spread through her mind in waves.
She closed her eyes. Regulated her breathing. The first note echoed. Silver streaks slipped through the darkness before dissolving into nothingness.
And then—For a brief moment, the image shattered alongside the screech of brakes. Glass exploded. Rain drowned out every note coming from the piano. A sharp ache pulsed through her right wrist as though an old pain had awakened beneath her skin. Her fingers froze over the keys. With difficulty, she forced her eyes open.
It had happened again.
For the past several years, certain sounds and fleeting images had begun awakening fractured memories inside her mind. Reality, dreams, or cruel tricks born from trauma—she could no longer distinguish them easily. The doctors had called it normal.
“Suppressed fragments of memory.”
How easily they said it. As though becoming lost inside one’s own mind were a simple thing. She inhaled deeply. Counted.
One, two, three…
When she fully opened her eyes again, she realized her fingernails were trembling as she slowly pulled her hands away from the piano.
At that moment, her phone rang. She reached for the device resting beside the books.
“Meyra! I made your favorite dishes. Come eat with us.”
Meyra stayed motionless for a few seconds longer. The sounds inside her head still had not fully faded. After the accident, she had learned to fear silence more than anything. Because when silence came, her mind began to speak.
“I’m coming.”
She stood quickly, straightening the short black cardigan hanging loosely over her shoulders. As she descended the stairs, she pressed a hand against her stomach. Skipping meals had long become a habit.
She paused briefly at the kitchen door. An unexplainable unease stirred inside her. She didn’t know why. One brow lifted slightly.
She pushed open the garden gate and stepped onto the stone path. While walking between the trees, she secured her hair with a stick pin.
Then she looked up. And saw him. Something tightened painfully beneath her ribs. She faltered.
A man stood by the window, watching her. His black hair had been combed neatly back. His dark eyes appeared calm. But what was hidden behind that gaze?
Even before he spoke, his presence echoed through her mind in a deep, dark shade. Keeping the seriousness on her face intact, Meyra interrupted the silence.
“Yes?”
His gaze lingered on her face for another brief moment before he cleared his throat.
“Uh… I…”
He gestured toward the house.
“I came to visit my aunt.”
His Turkish carried a faint accent. The dense black echoing inside her mind moments ago became dusted with crystalline snowflakes instead. As she stepped closer, she noticed the resemblance. The tension in her expression softened slightly. Rather than speaking again, she simply nodded and allowed him to enter first.
As he stepped inside, his shoulders remained subtly tense. Too controlled. As though every movement had been carefully measured beforehand.
While closing the door behind him, Meyra felt something she could not explain. Had she seen this man before?
No. If she had, surely she would remember him.
Wouldn’t she?
By the time they reached the terrace, the scent of fresh vegetables drifting from inside made her eyes brighten faintly.
Yeda placed the plates onto the table before opening her arms.
“Daiki! You finally came back.”
Without meaning to, Meyra repeated the name silently in her mind.
Daiki.
As the young man handed a bag to his aunt, his gaze shifted once more toward Meyra. Her own attention remained fixed on the dishes laid across the table as she spoke in one breath.
“I thought Uncle Altuğ would be home.”
Yeda touched Meyra lightly on the shoulder.
“He’ll be out of town for a few days. But he left this for you.”
She pulled a small box from the drawer beside the wall and handed it to her.
Meyra sat down as she accepted it. Carefully, she placed the box on her lap and opened it. A smile appeared on her lips.
“He didn’t forget.”
Inside rested an antique necklace adorned with sakura and tulip motifs. She held it tightly in her palm.
Daiki glanced toward his aunt. Yeda answered with a quiet nod, attempting to conceal the sadness crossing her face before moving toward the chair opposite them.
“You’re our daughter too, Meyra. If Altuğ made you a promise, he would never break it.”
Meyra met Yeda’s eyes. They resembled clouds on the verge of releasing rain. Peaceful. Hopeful.
“You made another wonderful meal, she said softly while fastening the necklace around her neck.”
“I love cooking and gardening.”
“Just like my mother, Meyra murmured while reaching for her glass.”
Yeda smiled and stroked her hair gently.
After several moments of silence, Yeda turned toward Daiki.
“We’re holding an award ceremony this weekend. Meyra will be performing on stage. This girl brightens every place she enters.”
Not only her voice, but her gaze as well, overflowed with pride.
Daiki swallowed. Then whispered quietly—
“She does.”
No one heard him. When he had heard the piano the night before, the realization that he would no longer be forced to listen only to old recordings had unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. He had momentarily forgotten they were sitting at a dinner table.
His aunt’s voice pulled him back.
“She’s incredibly talented. She works harder than anyone.”
Meyra’s shoulders stiffened slightly. She smiled while avoiding eye contact.
People’s expressions always changed whenever topics like this arose. Daiki continued watching her carefully.
“She’s continuing her master’s degree too. Last week, the conservatory in Tokyo emailed her again,” Yeda added, while placing some of Meyra’s favorite pickles onto her plate.
“Congratulations, Daiki said.”
Meyra inclined her head slightly.
“Thank you.”
For some reason, the chaos inside her mind seemed to quiet for a few seconds whenever he was near. That was not normal.
As Daiki lifted his glass of water, his gaze briefly dropped toward her fingers. Some were injured. Poorly bandaged, as though she had wrapped them carelessly herself.
Dinner eventually ended. When Yeda disappeared into the kitchen, they remained alone on the terrace for a short while. The surrounding lights were bright enough to drown out the stars overhead.
“The piece you played…”
Meyra turned toward him.
“It was sad.”
She stayed silent for several seconds. His honesty did not disturb her. Most people called her music beautiful. Some called it impressive. But this was the first time someone had described it exactly as it was. Sad. And he was right. She had carried the weight inside her chest through that composition.
“It was, she admitted softly.”
Thin golden streaks slipped through the darkness inside her mind like falling meteors. And impossibly—They felt familiar. The feeling brushed against a memory buried deep inside her.
A shadow beneath the rain. A man’s voice emerging from the dark. And a hand reaching toward her through the storm.
Her fingers tightened instinctively around the edge of the seat. Daiki noticed immediately.
“Are you okay?”
His voice sounded closer this time. Deeper. Meyra blinked several times. The vision disappeared. As always.
“I’m fine, she answered quickly.”
But she had felt it.
No encounter was ever truly accidental. Memories sharpened when an unfinished past began returning to life.
