Selin
The sunlight hit my face before the alarm did.
I blinked up at the ceiling, half-tempted to hide under the sheets. But when I turned to my side, there it was—the calendar. Nilay had taped it to the wall right across from my bed. Every other box was marked in red: odd days, circled and underlined like they were divine commandments.
Today's box had a big red "3" on it.
Of course.
I groaned, sat up, and rubbed my face. The morning air felt unusually still, like the house was holding its breath too.
I opened my door just as another did—and bumped right into Alekos.
He stepped back first. I winced, awkwardly stepping to the side like a cartoon character caught sneaking out of a classroom.
"Morning," I mumbled, brushing hair from my face.
He just lifted a hand in a tired wave, eyes barely open. Still half-asleep.
Right. I forgot how moody he was in the mornings.
We didn't say anything else. Just padded down the stairs side by side in a silence that wasn't unfriendly—just foggy. Neither of us were ready to acknowledge what day it was out loud. Not yet.
Nilay was already in the kitchen. Of course she was.
"Look who's finally alive," she grinned, placing two plates on the counter without looking up. "Come. Sit. Eat. We've got an odd day ahead."
I shot her a glare.
Alekos sank into the nearest chair. I went to the sink to pour water, but she was already handing me a small pill packet.
I stared at it for a second before taking it from her palm.
My cancer meds. A daily ritual now. I popped the pill in, swallowed, and chased it with water.
And then I felt it — his eyes.
Alekos wasn't looking at me exactly, but I could tell he noticed. Noticed the pill. The way my hands trembled for half a second. The way I never mentioned it out loud.
I didn't look back. I didn't want to read his face.
Breakfast was quick. Quiet. We pretended the air wasn't thick with all the things we weren't saying.
Once he was done, Alekos stood up, grabbed his headphones from the counter, and muttered, "I'm going for a run."
"Around the neighborhood?" Nilay asked, sipping her tea like a mother hen dressed in sarcasm.
He nodded. "Yeah. Just a few laps."
Then he was gone.
I watched the door swing closed behind him and let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
Around the neighborhood. Our neighborhood, I guess. I still didn't know how to call it that. Not yet.
Nilay finally looked at me over the rim of her mug.
"Tonight," she said calmly, "you start trying."
I looked down at my plate, no longer hungry.
Yeah.
I knew.
Spent most of the afternoon pretending to clean.
I wiped down the counters twice. Rearranged the spice rack alphabetically and then back again by color. I even folded towels that were already folded. Anything to keep my hands busy. Anything to keep my mind from spiraling.
Every time I passed by the bedroom, I felt a tug in my chest. Like the room itself knew. Like the sheets were whispering, Tonight. Tonight. Tonight.
I checked the calendar again.
Still July 3rd. Still an odd day. Still circled in red like blood.
Nilay had gone grocery shopping—thank God—and the house was blessedly quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made your own heartbeat sound like thunder.
I sat by the window and stared at the pavement where Alekos had vanished hours ago.
Would he come back the same?
Would I?
I hated that it felt like a countdown. I hated that I was scared—not of him. But of how much this mattered. Of how easily it could fail. Or worse… what if it didn't? What if this changed everything?
What if this made things real?
My fingers curled around the edge of my sleeves. I leaned my head against the glass and let my eyes close for a second.
God, just let me get through today without breaking apart.
Alekos
The sweat clung to my shirt like regret.
I'd already done four laps around the neighborhood and didn't feel even a little less restless. The sun was starting to dip, and the sky had gone that strange, pale orange that always reminded me of Istanbul summers—of things that came and went too fast.
I paused at the corner of the street, hands on my knees, chest heaving.
I couldn't go home yet.
I wasn't ready to see her.
Selin.
I'd seen the way she took that pill this morning. Like it was nothing. Like it didn't matter. But I'd felt it in my chest. Like a punch wrapped in silence. She never talked about it unless she had to. She never asked for help. Not even now.
And maybe that's what scared me most. That I loved her for it.
Or maybe I always had and just didn't know it until the weight of this decision dropped between us like glass.
I stood straight, wiped the sweat from my face, and started walking again. Not running. Just walking.
Because I wasn't sure what was going to happen tonight.
But I knew I had to show up.
Even if my heart felt like it was caught in my throat.
Even if she didn't know it yet—
I was already hers.
Nilay
I walked through the door like I was carrying state secrets.
Technically, I was.
The bag in my hand was sleek and glossy, and the cashier had given me a look—as if a middle-aged woman can't buy red lingerie for her son's wife without judgment. I ignored her, naturally.
I found Selin in the living room, curled up in a blanket like a burrito of shame and nerves.
"Selin," I called, sing-song.
She didn't even look up. "I'm not ready for a lecture."
"Perfect. I didn't bring one." I held up the bag. "I brought reinforcements."
Her eyes flicked up—and when she saw the crimson lace peeking out, she blanched like she'd seen a ghost.
"Absolutely not."
"Oh, come on," I groaned, tossing the bag onto the couch beside her. "It's tasteful. It's red. He likes red, doesn't he?"
"Nilay," she hissed, yanking the blanket tighter around her. "I'm not wearing that. I'm not even sure what that is!"
I smirked. "It's a one-piece. Strategically tied. Very breathable. Not too much lace. Just enough."
She looked like she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole. "I'm not seducing him. That's not what this is."
"No," I said, sitting beside her. "But it might make the process easier. Men are simple. Visual. Weak at the knees for red. I know my son."
She flushed crimson.
Good. The theme of the night was already working.
"Just try it," I said softly, nudging the bag toward her. "I'm not asking you to be someone you're not. I'm just asking you to remind him—gently—that you're still the woman he married. The woman he agreed to try for a future with. That you're not afraid."
She looked down at her lap. "But I am."
"I know, sweetheart," I whispered. "So is he. But sometimes you fake the confidence until your heart catches up."
She didn't answer.
But she took the bag.
And that was enough.
Selin
I stared at the lingerie like it was trying to attack me.
It sat on the bed in a tangled mess of red straps and suspicious knots. I had no idea where the top began or the bottom ended. It looked like something that belonged in a spy movie—or a crime scene.
"Nilay," I called, helpless.
She peeked her head in with terrifying speed. "Yes?"
"I think I just summoned Satan," I muttered, holding up what I thought was the waistband.
"Oh for God's sake—give it here." She marched in like a battlefield medic and snatched the fabric from my hands. "This is the front. These go over your hips. And this little loop here—this is the part that makes men lose their minds."
I choked. "I can't wear this. I'll combust."
"Good," she said. "That's the idea."
With a sigh that sounded like a prayer for mercy, I stripped and let her help me into the thing. We tugged, adjusted, re-tied. Nilay turned me around at least five times like a malfunctioning mannequin.
When we were done, I stared at my reflection in horror.
It was... a lot. The red hugged my waist, dipped dangerously low in the front, and the back—well, there wasn't much of a back.
"I look like a very expensive accident," I whispered.
Nilay beamed. "Exactly. Now cover it."
She handed me a robe. A soft, long, modest one. I clutched it like it was armor.
"This is his favorite color?" I asked, still dazed.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, brushing my hair off my shoulder. "Red is every man's favorite when it's on the right woman."
I flushed so hard I thought I might faint.
As the sun dipped outside and the air in the house shifted, I tied the robe around me and stood still in front of the mirror one last time.
On the outside: calm. Covered. Controlled.
But beneath the silk...
I was hiding the key to paradise according to Nilay.
And I had no idea what was about to happen when Alekos walked through that door.
Alekos
I came home knowing what tonight was.
Not because I was counting —but because everyone else was.
I took a long shower. Let the steam blur the mirror and the thoughts racing behind my eyes. I dried off slower than usual. Changed into a clean black t-shirt and loose gray pants. Nothing tight. Nothing dramatic.
It wasn't a date. It wasn't a joke. It wasn't… normal.
It was the third day. An odd day.
And I was walking straight into it.
I padded barefoot down the hall, the floor cool against my skin. The door to Selin's room was open, the lamplight spilling out into the hallway like an invitation—or a warning.
I stepped in.
She was standing by the window, wearing a robe that looked soft enough to sleep in, but suspiciously intentional.
Her back was turned, but she didn't jump when she heard me.
That's what made me pause.
"Hey," I said gently. "You okay?"
She turned slowly. Her hair was brushed. Her cheeks flushed. And her mouth—slightly parted—looked like it had practiced something and forgotten it.
"I—I'm fine," she said too fast.
I frowned. "You sure?"
She nodded, then blinked like she was trying to reset her face. "Yeah, um. I just—Nilay left. She went home. To check on your father."
That gave me pause.
My mother rarely left without an announcement, a lecture, or at least a sarcastic farewell. And my father? He barely noticed when she did.
I tilted my head. "She went to see my dad?"
Selin gave a tight nod. "Yes. Yes, she said he needed... soup."
"Soup?"
"Yeah. He's got a cold."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
And in that split second of silence, we both knew it was a lie.
We both knew why Ma really left.
Not because my father had a cold.
But because she was giving us the space to stop dancing around what we'd agreed to do.
Selin's fingers twisted the edge of her robe.
I took a step forward. Not fast. Not demanding. Just… steady.
"I can leave," I said quietly, "if this feels too forced."
Her head shot up. "No. No, I want to try. I just—" She paused. Swallowed. "I didn't expect to feel this nervous."
I nodded once.
"Me neither."
We stood there in the soft light. Two people bound by choice, fear, friendship, and something still unnamed between us.
She kept clinging to the robe like it was armor.
Standing there in the middle of the room, her fists curled at her sides, her breathing shallow. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the folds of silk.
I stepped closer.
"Selin," I said gently, "are you sure you're okay?"
She nodded too quickly. "Yeah. I'm fine."
But she wouldn't look at me.
I took another step. "You don't have to pretend. If you want to wait—"
"I don't," she said. "I'm just—nervous. That's all."
But her knuckles were white from how tightly she held onto the robe's belt.
I reached for her hand.
Slowly. Carefully.
"Hey," I murmured, brushing my fingers against hers. "We're not strangers."
Her hand twitched, like she wanted to pull away. But she didn't. She let me hold it.
For a second, we just stood there, holding hands in the soft silence.
Then I shifted to bring her closer—and my fingers accidentally tugged at the loose edge of her sleeve.
And it fell.
The silk slipped from her shoulder, revealing the delicate red strap beneath it.
The one I hadn't been supposed to see yet.
The one she'd been hiding.
Her breath caught.
My chest tightened.
And I laughed.
Selin
He laughed.
Not a chuckle. A full-bodied laugh that shook his shoulders and made me instantly regret everything.
"Are you—are you seriously wearing that right now?" he said, grinning like an idiot.
My face burned.
I slapped his arm. "Shut up! Your mother bought it."
He kept laughing. "Of course she did."
"I didn't even want to wear it!" I hit him again. "Stop laughing!"
"Ow—Selin!"
I kept slapping his arm and shoulder, half-hiding behind my robe while he backed away, still grinning. "You're the worst."
"You look like a sexy… Santa's assistant," he said between breaths. "Like if Christmas got rated R."
"I hate you," I whispered, smacking him again with the back of my hand.
And then—because the universe had zero chill—I tripped.
He reached to catch me, but momentum won.
I landed on him, hard, knocking the breath out of both of us as we fell onto the bed.
His hands immediately went to my waist, steadying me.
We froze.
His laugh faded.
And in the stillness that followed, he looked up at me—his voice suddenly lower, rougher.
"You're making it really hard to control myself."
My heart jumped.
I was about to say something—maybe tease him back, maybe ruin the moment with a nervous joke—but then I smelled it.
The sharp, faint bite of alcohol.
It was subtle, almost hidden under his clean skin and the scent of soap. But it was there.
"Were you drinking?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
The words floated between us, suspended in the warm, quiet air.
He hesitated, just for a second.
Then: "Yeah."
I stiffened.
But before I could move, before I could slip away from him, he spoke again.
"It made it easier."
I stared at him.
Not in anger. Not even in disappointment.
Just... understanding.
Because he'd said it plainly. No excuses. No mask. No clever cover-up.
Just truth.
And I knew that truth.
I knew the weight of needing something to slow the noise in your own head. To make fear less sharp. To make uncertainty feel less personal.
So I stayed.
Right there—still on top of him, robe clutched at my sides, knees on either side of his waist. The moment should've shattered. But it didn't.
He looked up at me, breathing a little heavier now, like the room had tilted and he wasn't sure where to land.
I was about to say something—anything—to ease the air between us again.
But that's when I felt it.
Him.
Reacting.
His body pressing up, just slightly, involuntarily, against mine.
Heat flooded my cheeks like fire.
His eyes widened, and his jaw tensed—like he realized at the exact same time I did.
I froze. He didn't move.
"Sorry," he murmured, voice rough.
I swallowed. "Don't be."
I didn't get up.
He didn't push me away.
His hands were still resting at my waist, light and unmoving, but steady. Like he was afraid to hold me tighter. Like he was trying so hard to behave.
I looked down at him, at his eyes—clear, open, embarrassed.
"You're not drunk," I said, quietly.
He shook his head. "Just... nervous. Like you."
And that's when I knew we weren't broken.
We were just here —fumbling, clumsy, terrified, and trying.
I took a breath.
I was about to say something—maybe a joke, maybe something soft—but before the words could even form on my lips, he whispered it:
"I'm sorry."
And then he kissed me.
Not tentative. Not questioning.
It was rough. Needy. Like something inside him had finally snapped loose.
I gasped against his mouth, completely caught off guard—but I didn't stop him.
I let him kiss me. I let myself kiss him back.
Because somewhere between the nervous laughter, the robe, the stuttering, and the truth… this was what it had always been building toward.
His hand slipped to the back of my thigh, and in one movement—one solid, seamless movement—he stood, lifting me like I weighed nothing.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, my breath catching as he carried me across the room.
But then, he paused.
With one hand, he reached out—flicked the bedroom light switch off—and the room was immediately swallowed in shadow.
Only the faint glow of the bathroom light remained, casting soft gold into the space between us. Enough to see, but not enough to be seen completely.
That's when I understood.
He wasn't hiding me.
He was trying to make it easier.
For both of us.
Less exposed. Less sharp. Less scary.
My chest ached with something warm.
Something grateful.
I pressed my forehead into the side of his neck and whispered, "Thank you."
He didn't answer.
But the way he laid me down—slow, careful, reverent—
Told me he heard.