We are sitting at the table, finishing dinner. Serkan is staring at me in total silence, likely measuring his words with a ruler.
"What? Is there something on my face?"
"Nothing." Serkan rests his chin on his hand, a curious glint in his eyes. "I'm just trying to understand who Hande Yildiz really is. I honestly don't know."
"I imagine that must be quite frustrating for a robot."
"You have no idea. It's as if every time I think I've figured you out, every time I'm certain I know your next move, you do something entirely different and shatter my logic."
"Sorry to disappoint your expectations. What exactly had you concluded about me?" I lean my elbow on the table, resting my face in my hand to look at him. He gives a shy, rare smile.
"From what I've gathered... you are impulsive and strong, yet incredibly sensitive—though you only show that to a few. You're decisive, cheerful, but sometimes... I just can't read you. You are a mystery, Hande."
I turn serious. He's reading me too well. "Two weeks of crossing paths isn't enough to know a person, Serkan Bolat."
"I used to think one day was enough. I thought I was an expert at reading people, but you are my greatest uncertainty."
"Again—in a day, you learn superficial attitudes and thoughts. You don't learn my heart, my past, or my dreams."
"I suppose you're right."
"I'll give you one question. One thing you get to know about me." I want to see what frustrates his logical brain the most.
"Why is your motorcycle named Serendip?"
"Out of everything that happened today, you want to know about the bike?"
"You'll tell me your life story on your own terms one day, not because I forced it. But the name... I'm curious."
I stare at him with a mix of admiration and surprise. I didn't expect him to be this patient or to accept my boundaries so naturally. He usually needs to be in control of everything.
"It's based on a book: The Three Princes of Serendip. Long ago, the King of Serendip wanted his sons to be perfectly educated, to attain all the culture and knowledge in the world."
Serkan looks genuinely interested.
"To test them, the King sent them away from the kingdom. On their journey, they see a camel—sick, lame, and blind. They conclude it became that way from the exhaustion of carrying a pregnant woman. A merchant, shocked, accuses the princes of stealing and hurting the animal. He takes them to an Emperor to demand punishment. The princes are put through various tests of observation to prove how they knew the camel was lame, sick, and carrying a woman just by looking at the tracks."
"And did they succeed?"
"Through sharp observation, they proved it. The Emperor was so impressed he offered them roles as his advisors. Hence, serendipity."
"I still don't quite get the meaning."
"Accidents or happy coincidences, essentially. You can try to control your life through science, dreams, and effort, but there will always be accidents. Sometimes, those accidents lead to something happier than you ever planned. The princes didn't expect to become advisors to an Emperor. They were just traveling."
"And why name your motorcycle after that?"
"To keep my path open to a happy accident," I smile, imagining my bike on the roads of Italy, soaking in the landscapes I've always dreamed of seeing.
"That sounds far too optimistic for me. I prefer reality and facts."
I look at him, exasperated. "You take the fun out of everything. Come here." I pull him outside to look at the night sky. "Do you see this view?"
"I see it every day. I appreciate it through my telescope."
"Then you aren't appreciating it correctly. Normally, you'd be here alone, right?"
"Yes."
"And yet, a series of factors, choices, and impulses brought us here, right now, sharing this view. It's an accident that was statistically improbable. And yet, it happened."
"Are you saying I'm your 'happy accident'?" Serkan smirks confidently.
"No," I try to backtrack. "It's an example. An example that you can't control everything. Because if I could go back in time, I never would have handcuffed myself to you. I would have stayed as far away from you as possible."
Serkan's expression immediately hardens. "The feeling is mutual, madam." He takes a deep breath.
"Well, it's getting late. I expected to meet your mother, but maybe another day is better."
"She knows about the contract," he says suddenly, catching me off guard.
"What? No! No one can know, remember?" I snap.
"Your life would be a living hell if she didn't know the truth."
"I doubt it could be any worse than pretending to be your fiancée."
"That's a risk you're choosing to take."
"I can handle it. Goodnight, Serkan Bolat." I extend my hand formally.
"Goodnight, Hande Yildiz." He shakes it, and for a few seconds, the contact lingers.
I didn't want to be so blunt with him, but he's so conceited, thinking I'm melting at his feet. "Who does he think he is? Allah, Allah! I must be going crazy to have found comfort in him during a moment of weakness. Hande, what is happening to you?"
I'm looking for the exit when a voice cuts through the shadows. "I don't know what you're doing here either."
A woman steps into the light. She's about 45, blonde with piercing green eyes, just like Serkan.
"I... I thought I was alone. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bolat. I'm Hande Yildiz."
I reach out my hand, trying to be polite, but she ignores it. Even my father, as much as he hates Serkan, had more manners than her.
"I know who you are. I just don't know what you want with my son."
"Excuse me?"
"Money? Fame? Perhaps. You have a pretty enough face; I'm sure you have your ambitions."
"I don't want anything from your son. And thank you for the compliment on my face, I guess."
"I don't understand what he's doing, getting engaged to you. So fast that I have to read about it in gossip rags. It's an outrage." She crosses her arms, looking me up and down with disdain.
"Madam, please—"
"I know you don't live with your father, so you must be after a payout. Your brother is engaged to dear Selim, so clearly your family is always circling ours like vultures ready to strike. And now, my little son..." she dramatizes.
My jaw drops. How dare she compare me to my brother? I don't even like the man, and I'm certainly not his biggest fan, but to be called a vulture?
"Mother?" Serkan appears, looking almost amused. He's been listening the whole time. I am livid.
"You know what, Mrs. Bolat? This is all just a little game your dear son is playing to get Selim back. I would never—and I mean never—be interested in your son. We have a contract, so you can rest easy. When it's over, you'll never see me again. Have a good night."
I storm out, fueled by pure fury. That despicable robot was enjoying the situation just to prove he was right. How could he? And to think, minutes ago, I was actually having a nice time with him... I felt a 'vibe' between us that was clearly just the wine talking.
"Hande! I'm sorry about my mother, but I warned you."
"Yes, you warned me. You did it on purpose! Seriously, Serkan, every time I think—" I stop myself. I don't know what I was going to say. That I'm starting to like him? That he's human? That he's someone who actually brings me peace?
"Finish the sentence," Serkan demands, stepping into my space. We stare at each other, a war of opposites. Fire and water. Day and night. "I hate it when people don't finish a sentence."
"Every time I think you're a little bit human, you act like a total robot."
Serkan looks shocked for a split second. "Fine. It's for the best that we never see each other once the contract is over."
"I'm counting the days. Goodnight, Serkan Bolat."
"Goodnight, Hande Yildiz."