Back home, the silence pressed in on Ahce like a living thing, thick, suffocating, almost watchful. The walls seemed to breathe with her unease, every creak of the wooden floor echoing louder than it should. She needed answers. Her thoughts refused to rest, circling back again and again to his face, his words, those impossible certificates.
So she did what anyone would do when the past refused to stay buried. She opened her old social media accounts. Ahce had too many of them, fragments of her past scattered like shards across the digital landscape.
Fassein had been her refuge once, the world's biggest platform since 2012, a place where her laughter and late-night musings had once lived. Memories, friendships, and inside jokes all preserved in pixels. Or so she thought.
When she logged in, the emptiness hit her like a physical blow. No photos. No messages. No old posts. Even the names of people she once blocked or unfriended were gone. It was as if her existence had been scrubbed clean, erased, not forgotten.
She opened another account. Then another. Each one was the same. Blank. Devoid of history. A digital wasteland where her past should have been. It was as if she had walked through her entire life and quietly deleted herself.
But why would she?
Her pulse quickened as dread began to curl around her ribs. Then, something. A flicker of life was buried deep in her mother's old posts. A photo. Not of Ahce, but of her mother's class: Academic Year 2023–2024. They were smiling by a pool, sunlight caught in the water's surface.
And there he was.
The younger version of the man who had called himself her husband.
Ahce's breath caught. Her fingers trembled as she zoomed in, the screen blurring slightly from the shake of her hands. That face. That same disarming smile. She could almost hear his voice again, low and steady, echoing in her head.
She checked the tags. His name was there, plain and unassuming. Her hesitation lasted only a moment before she clicked. And then her stomach lurched.
They were friends. On Fassein.
Her pulse raced as she scrolled through his profile. And then she froze.
A picture. Not just of him, but of them. Together. In a group photo. Laughing. Standing close. Their shoulders nearly touching, as if the space between them had once been filled with something familiar, something real.
But she remembered none of it. Not the people. Not the place. Not even the feeling of belonging that the photo suggested. Her fists clenched. Beneath the image was a date.
Before December 2025.
The month everything in her mind had gone dark. The month her memories had turned into ghosts. A chill spread through her chest. What had really happened back then? And why had she erased everything, even him, from her life?
She scrolled further down his feed. There weren't many posts. A few memes. Family photos. Random song links. But the songs… they were hers. Her favorite artists, her favorite lines, the ones she used to post when she couldn't say what she felt. Her breath caught in her throat. Was it a coincidence? Or another thread in the web her mind refused to untangle?
Down to 2025. The posts grew vaguer. Captions that read like confessions wrapped in riddles. Blurred photos, familiar angles, but no names. Just fragments, like whispers from another life. Each one tugged at her, soft and relentless, the ache of déjà vu pressing behind her eyes.
She didn't know why she was trembling. Only that something deep within her knew. Something had happened. Something she had forced herself to forget. She thought of asking her mother, but she already knew that look, the careful, fragile one her mother gave whenever the past was mentioned. The one that said, Don't open that door.
So she didn't. Instead, Ahce began deleting her accounts, one by one.
The one she was currently using was old, created back in 2023. Yet, from 2025 onward, every post was about her, smiling, posing, existing in places she half-recognized. The captions were strange, intimate, and foreign. It was like looking at a stranger wearing her face, living a life she couldn't remember.
She shut the laptop with a snap, the sound too loud in the quiet room. Her heart hammered painfully. Something terrible must have happened. And somehow, he was part of it.
A sudden knock jolted her upright. She blinked. Evening already. The day had slipped through her fingers like smoke. Had she forgotten to lock the gate again?
She hesitated, then walked toward the door. The knock came again, measured, not urgent, but sure. She opened it.
He was there.
The man from the café. The man who claimed to be her husband.
"Why are you here?" The sharpness in her tone startled even her.
"I wanted to make sure you got home safe," he said softly.
Her brow furrowed. "What makes you think I wouldn't be?"
His gaze darkened slightly. "I saw your ex at the main road."
Ahce froze. "His family has a house in District 4."
"But I saw him here. In District 1."
Her heartbeat quickened. She stepped aside without thinking. "Come in. Let's talk inside."
He entered quietly, carrying the faint scent of rain and something else, gentleness and warmth. His presence filled the space, not suffocating, but grounding. She poured him a drink, offered snacks out of reflex.
They sat across from each other in the soft hum of the house. Strangely, despite everything, Ahce felt… calm. There was no awkwardness, no unfamiliar tension. Just the quiet steadiness of someone who felt safe to be near.
"Where do you live?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.
"Next door," he said flatly.
Her eyes widened. "What?"
He chuckled, the sound low, almost boyish. "Kidding. I live nearby, Phase 1."
Her house was in Phase 2. Close enough that their paths could cross without her ever noticing. They held each other's gaze for a long moment. His eyes weren't invasive. They were steady, watching her the way someone might watch a fragile secret they were afraid to break.
"Why are you really here?" she asked at last, her voice barely a whisper.
He hesitated, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his face. "Because, Boss…"
Her heart stuttered at the word.
"…you used to trust me more than anyone."
That word again, Boss. It rippled through her, stirring something she couldn't name. Her pulse quickened, her throat tightened. And for the first time, Ahce didn't know what she feared more, the truth… or the memories that might come with it.
"I can't force you to remember," he said gently, his gaze unwavering. "But I want to start again. I want to ask for a chance… to be with you again."
Her breath caught.
"What do you mean by again?" she whispered. "Have we… been together before?"
He smiled faintly, but his eyes carried something heavier. Pain and longing intertwined. He stood slowly, closing the small distance between them. Ahce didn't move. She rarely backed away from anything, but now, she couldn't even breathe.
"I'll take good care of you this time, Boss," he murmured, voice low, intimate. A vow wrapped in regret.
He parted his lips to say more, but before he could, the sharp chime of the gate's doorbell sliced through the stillness. They both turned toward the sound.
Ahce's heart thudded. The bell echoed, too loud, too persistent.
"Who… who could that be?" she whispered.
A flicker of tension crossed his face.
"Stay here," he said, softly but firmly.
But her body refused to obey. Her feet were rooted, her palms slick with sweat. The bell rang again, louder and insistent. The sound carried through the walls like a warning. And for a fleeting second, Ahce felt it, the weight of something waiting on the other side of that door.
Something that wanted to be remembered.
Something her mind had buried for a reason.