Selin
My heart skipped.
Once.
Then again.
And again—until it was thudding loud enough to drown out the silence between us.
"I love you."
No teasing.
No sarcasm.
No grin hiding behind the words.
Just Alekos, voice raw, lips parted, still trying to catch his breath—and saying the one thing I thought we were both too afraid to admit.
I blinked at him. My body still wrapped around his. His arms still around me.
And I just stayed quiet.
Alekos
She didn't say anything.
Not right away.
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened slightly.
And that silence?
It wasn't rejection.
It wasn't disgust.
But it was heavy.
She didn't move. Not an inch. But something in her gaze changed.
Like she was searching me.
Not for the words.
But for why I'd said them.
And yeah, maybe part of me wanted to take it back.
Not because I didn't mean it.
But because now that it was out there—it could break us.
Selin
"Say something," I whispered, barely audible.
That was all I gave him.
Not because I didn't feel something.
But because feeling it wasn't the same as being ready to say it.
His fingers curled around my spine like he was grounding himself.
But I couldn't stay.
I slowly pulled back, peeled myself away from him, climbed off his lap with shaking legs and no goodbye.
His arms dropped.
Alekos
"Selin."
My voice barely made it out.
She stopped halfway to the door.
Just stood there—naked in the half-light, skin marked from everything we just did, and still looking like she didn't belong to any of it.
"Don't—" I started, then stopped.
She turned her head just enough to meet my eyes. Just enough for me to see it.
That look.
That fracture in her gaze.
And then she walked out.
Selin
I didn't even look back.
I couldn't.
My throat was closing. My hands were shaking.
And the second the door clicked shut behind me, I pressed my back to the wall of the hallway and let out a silent, broken breath.
Because I wanted to stay.
I wanted to say it back.
But wanting wasn't enough.
Not yet.
Alekos
The room felt colder the second she left.
Her warmth, gone. Her voice. Her weight in my lap.
All gone.
I sat there for a moment—numb, still bare, her scent still clinging to me like the ghost of a moment I couldn't hold onto.
Then I stood.
I walked to the mirror above the dresser.
And stared at the idiot staring back at me.
Eyes wide. Lips red. Skin covered in her marks.
I hated him.
I hated that he thought love was enough.
That saying it out loud would fix everything.
That wanting her would make her stay.
So I pulled my arm back—
And punched the mirror.
Crack.
Glass split clean down the middle.
Pain shot up my knuckles. Blood bloomed instantly across the skin.
But it didn't matter.
Because I didn't need to see my reflection.
I already knew exactly what I looked like:
A man in love with a woman who saw him as a friend, nothing more.
Selin
I didn't leave because I didn't love him.
I left because I do.
And loving Alekos might be the cruelest thing I've ever done.
The hallway was too quiet. Too clean. Too bright for what I felt crawling beneath my skin.
I didn't even make it to the end before my knees gave out.
I slid down the wall. Curled into myself.
And tried not to choke on the sound of his voice in my head.
"I love you."
He said it like it was easy.
Like it was safe.
Like he didn't know he just lit a fuse under everything I've been trying to keep from burning down.
I should've said it back.
God, I wanted to.
It was right there—on the tip of my tongue, trembling between my ribs, swelling in my throat.
But I didn't.
Because I know Alekos.
And Alekos doesn't let go.
Once he loves, he loves all the way.
No exit plan.
No conditions.
If I told him I love him, I wouldn't just be giving him my heart.
I'd be handing him grief.
And I'm dying.
I've tried everything—treatments, diets, prayers whispered into my pillow.
Every clinical trial, every "maybe," every desperate stab at time.
But the truth has settled in my bones now.
The kind of truth that doesn't flinch under hope.
I'm not going to survive this.
The scans didn't lie.
The numbers didn't improve.
And Vanessa's silence told me everything.
I'm running out of time.
And Alekos?
He won't survive me.
Not if I love him out loud.
Not if he lets himself believe I'm his forever.
Because I'm not.
And he doesn't know how to love halfway.
He'll hold onto the ruins long after I'm gone.
He'll ruin himself remembering me.
And I can't let that happen.
That's why I didn't say it.
That's why I walked out.
And that's why I asked for a child.
At first, I wanted it for me.
Because I wanted to be a mother.
Even if just for a moment.
I wanted to feel life growing inside me when mine was slowly slipping away.
To look at something and know: I gave you a beginning.
Even if I never got to see the ending.
But now?
Now I want it for him.
Because I know what Alekos is like.
He doesn't know how to move on.
He'll stay stuck in the grief.
He'll talk to my ghost.
He'll rot in memories.
And I can't let him.
So I thought—maybe—just maybe, if I left behind something of me…
A heartbeat.
A laugh.
A stubborn little thing with his eyes and my fire—
Maybe he'd survive losing me.
Maybe he'd have a reason to wake up.
To smile again.
To live.
That was my wish.
Not love.
Not forever.
Just a child.
A goodbye he could hold.
A piece of me that wouldn't leave him when I do.
But now, I've ruined even that.
Because he said it.
And I couldn't say it back.
And now I've left him in the dark—bleeding love, confused and hurting.
Because I love him.
So much it's killing me faster than the cancer.
And the cruelest part?
He'll never know that I walked away because I love him too much to make him stay
I broke down right then and there—just crying, shaking, not knowing what to do. Praying for a miracle to save me. Begging for something—anything—to pull me out of it. Until...
Alekos
I heard her before I saw her.
A broken sound—raw, ragged—echoing down the hallway.
At first, I froze.
I was still in the room. Still sitting in the same spot she left me in. Still half-naked, still bleeding from my knuckles, still tasting her name in my mouth.
And then I heard it again.
A soft, shuddering sob.
Her.
Selin.
Crying just outside my reach.
I stood without thinking, took a step toward the door, then stopped.
She needed space.
She walked out.
She didn't say it back.
And maybe that was her way of telling me not to follow.
But her cry—God, it was the kind of sound that undid you from the inside out.
Like something inside her cracked and wouldn't stop spilling.
I told myself to leave her alone.
Give her time.
But every second I hesitated felt like I was abandoning her.
And I couldn't.
I never could.
So I opened the door.
And there she was.
Curled up on the floor, back against the hallway wall, knees drawn into her chest, face buried in her arms.
Her shoulders trembled with every breath.
She didn't see me.
Didn't hear me.
Didn't flinch when I crouched beside her and gently touched her arm.
"Hey," I whispered. "Come here."
No resistance.
She didn't speak. Didn't look at me.
She just let me lift her.
Like she was too tired to pretend she didn't want to be held.
Her body was warm and trembling in my arms as I carried her through the quiet house, past her room, and into her bathroom.
I turned on the shower. Warm. Gentle. Let the steam rise.
Then I set her down inside, fully clothed, the water soaking her slowly.
She didn't move. Just sat there on the tiled floor, knees still drawn to her chest, water running down her hair and cheeks, blending with tears.
I wanted to join her.
Hold her.
Ask her what she was so afraid of.
But I didn't.
Because I knew her.
If she wanted me there, she'd ask.
So I knelt at the edge, hand resting briefly on the frame of the glass door, heart splitting.
"If you want anything," I said softly, "just call me."
She didn't answer.
I waited a beat longer. Just in case.
And then I left.
Closed the door behind me.
Went to my room.
And waited.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
Then night.
And she never called.
Selin
The shower tiles were cold against my back.
Warm water rained down, soaking through my clothes, but I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe the right way.
I just sat there.
On the floor.
Knees pulled to my chest.
Fists pressed to my mouth.
And I cried.
Quietly.
Endlessly.
My body was shaking, but I didn't feel it.
The tears ran with the water, and after a while I couldn't tell which was which.
I wasn't sure how I'd gotten here.
One second I was curled in the hallway, breaking open silently, and the next—
His arms.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't demand or question or beg.
He just lifted me like I weighed nothing, like I wasn't full of everything I'd never said.
Carried me like I was still his.
Still safe.
And now I was here.
Soaking.
Wearing his hoodie.
Wearing him.
The scent of him clung to me even as the water tried to rinse it away. His warmth still lingered in my bones. And I hated it.
Because it felt like love.
Real, devastating, forever kind of love.
And I didn't deserve it.
I pressed my forehead to my knees, heart pounding painfully inside my chest.
He said:
"If you want anything… call me."
But how do you call someone you're trying to protect from yourself?
How do you reach out when every second spent in his arms is another cut you're carving into him?
I wanted to scream.
To break something.
To collapse into him and say, I love you back.
But I didn't.
Because loving Alekos would never be soft.
He would never walk away.
He would stay and burn with me—watch me fade, piece by piece, day by day, and call it devotion.
And I couldn't let that happen.
So I sat in the shower.
Alone.
Naked.
Soaked.
Letting the water pour over me like it could drown all the things I didn't say.
But it didn't.
Nothing washed away.
Not the truth.
Not the fear.
Not the love.
Especially not the love.
It stayed rooted in my chest like something stubborn and beautiful.
Something I'll never get to keep.
Nilay
I wasn't supposed to be there.
I told myself I'd give them privacy—space to figure it out, to do what they needed to do.
But something in my chest twisted wrong that morning. A stillness. A pulse out of rhythm.
And when your body knows before your mind does, you listen.
So I packed my bag. Drove faster than I should've. And used the key I swore I wouldn't use.
The moment I stepped into the house—
Something was wrong.
The air was thick. Heavy.
Like sorrow had settled into the walls and wasn't planning to leave.
I stood still in the entryway, groceries in one hand, purse in the other, heart pounding.
"I'm here!" I called out, trying to sound light. Normal.
Only one voice answered.
"Hi, Nilay."
Selin.
Quiet. Croaky.
I looked toward the kitchen and found her standing there in an oversized hoodie—his, I think—her hair unbrushed, face pale.
But it was her eyes that stopped me.
Red. Puffy. Hollow.
"Oh my g.." I whispered before I could stop myself. "What happened to you?"
She didn't answer.
Didn't make up some quick joke.
Didn't say nothing the way girls her age usually do.
She just stood there.
Still.
And I forgot what I came to ask—whether they'd done the deed, whether she needed herbs or advice or embarrassing tips from an old woman who'd seen too much.
None of that mattered now.
"I'll make you breakfast," I said instead, stepping forward and wrapping her in my arms.
And that's when she asked, in a voice barely above a whisper—
"Can I have a hug?"
I held her tighter.
And that's when I knew.
Something was deeply wrong.
I made breakfast slowly, keeping my ears open for the sound of Alekos's footsteps, his sarcastic quips, his low groggy voice asking for coffee before questions.
Nothing.
So I set a plate down for Selin, kissed her temple, and walked toward the hallway.
"Alekos?" I called out. "Come eat before it gets cold."
No answer.
My stomach twisted.
I walked up the stairs and approached his bedroom door,
I opened his bedroom door.
And my world stopped.
He was sitting on the floor.
Back against the bed frame.
He was wearing sweatpants.
Shirtless.
His left hand was bleeding—knuckles torn open like he'd gone at something harder than himself.
And beside him…
A bottle of Absinthe.
The strongest one. Not even opened casually. The kind he used to swear he'd never touch unless something was really, really bad.
I dropped to my knees so fast I nearly slipped.
"Alekos," I gasped. "Alekos, look at me—what happened? What is this?"
He looked up slowly, eyes glassy, face sunken.
Still beautiful. Still my boy.
But something in him had broken overnight.
I cupped his face in both hands, blood staining my fingers. "Talk to me. What happened to you? Even if you're grown, you are still my son. Tell me what happened to you?"
And then, quietly—
"She doesn't love me, Ma"
It shattered me.
I blinked, confused. "What do you mean she doesn't love you? Don't say that—"
That's when Selin appeared in the doorway.
Breath caught.
Eyes wide.
All the sadness on her face was gone—replaced by pure fear.
She looked at him like he was the one slipping away.
She ran to us, dropped to her knees beside me, hands reaching for his, her voice trembling.
"Alekos, What have you done to yourself?"
But he wasn't looking at me anymore.
He was looking at her.
Like she was the only thing in the room.
Like she still held every answer in the world.
His eyes were full of love.
Wrecked, heart-shattered, puppy-eyed love.
And I, his mother, just sat there and watched.
Because I realized in that moment—
Oh, my poor boy.
You've really done it to yourself.
You loved her the way I feared you would.
And now she's the wound you won't stop bleeding
Selin
I was halfway through my tea when I heard it.
"Alekos!"
Not a call.
Not a question.
A shriek.
Sharp. Gut-punching. Terrified.
Nilay.
My body moved before my brain caught up.
The mug slipped through my fingers. I didn't even hear it hit the floor. I was already running.
Up the stairs. Around the corner. Down the hall.
The walls blurred. My lungs tightened.
Something was wrong.
I reached the bedroom door, threw it open—
And my entire world tilted.
He was on the floor.
Back against the bed.
Shirtless. Pale.
His hand—bloody.
Split knuckles, dried streaks down his wrist, red on the floor like someone had wrung him out.
And next to him—
That green bottle.
Absinthe.
The strongest one.
My knees gave out. I dropped beside him, hands shaking, chest caving in.
"Alekos—" My voice cracked. "What did you do?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even flinch.
Nilay turned to me, wild-eyed and shaking. "I found him like this—I didn't know what to do—I thought—Selin, what do I do?"
I swallowed the rising scream in my throat and forced myself to move.
"I've got it," I said quickly. My voice sounded wrong. Foreign.
I stood, stumbled down the stairs, ran to the kitchen—pulled open drawers, knocked over a bowl, grabbed the first aid kit and nearly dropped it twice.
I didn't even realize I was crying until the tears started soaking through Alekos's hoodie on my collar.
I ran back upstairs, heart in my throat, hands still trembling.
He was still in the same place.
Limp. Silent. Unmoving.
I dropped beside him again and opened the kit. "Okay," I whispered, half to myself, half to him. "This is going to hurt."
He turned his head slightly.
His eyes met mine.
Dead.
"Nothing," he murmured, "could hurt more than what you did to me last night."
Something in my chest shattered clean.
I bit down on a sob and focused on cleaning the blood. On threading the needle. On pretending I could fix him with gauze and stitches and shaking hands.
Tears blurred my vision.
"I'm sorry," I choked. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't say a word.
Not even when the needle pierced his skin.
Not even when I stitched the wound closed.
He just sat there.
Bleeding on the inside.
And I kept crying as I tried to patch up the outside.
Alekos
She was crying while she stitched me.
That part almost hurt more than the wound.
Almost.
But not quite.
The sting of the needle?
The alcohol wiping across the split skin?
The tremble in her hands as she tried to steady the thread?
None of it reached me.
Not really.
I just sat there, back against my bed, staring through her like she wasn't the girl who undid me last night.
Like she wasn't the girl I'd have bled for willingly—except this time, I hadn't meant to make it literal.
She warned me it would hurt.
"This is going to hurt."
But all I could say was:
"Nothing could hurt more than what you did to me last night."
And I meant it.
Her silence.
Her leaving.
The way she didn't say it back.
I told her I loved her. Meant every goddamn syllable. Said it like it was a vow. And she walked out like it was a mistake.
So no.
A little stitching wasn't going to break me.
I was already broken.
And still, she cried. Quiet. Breathless. Barely holding it together.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
Her voice cracked.
Her hands were wet.
And she never looked away from the wound.
That was the part that got me.
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
Like if she did, she'd confess something she wasn't ready to say.
Something bigger than love.
Something worse than regret.
Nilay
I didn't say a word.
Just watched from the hallway.
I didn't want to intrude.
Didn't want to hover.
But mothers know things.
I knew this wasn't just heartbreak.
It wasn't just a fight.
Or a failed confession.
Or that sharp, painful thing you feel when love doesn't go the way you planned.
No.
This was deeper.
The air was heavy with things unsaid.
And Selin?
She was trembling too much for this to just be about him.
She stitched Alekos with shaking hands, crying like she wasn't allowed to stop. Like every pass of the needle was penance.
And he sat there—bleeding and quiet and too still for someone who always had something to say.
I watched the way she touched him.
The way she avoided his eyes.
The way she leaned in like she loved him, and stitched like she was leaving.
That's when I knew.
She was hiding something from him.
Something she thought would destroy him.
Something she thought he couldn't survive.
And I've seen that look before.
On a mother's face when she's told she might lose her baby.
On my own face in the mirror once, when I wrote a letter I never thought I'd get to read aloud.
Selin wasn't scared of him.
She was scared of what she was going to do to him.
And the moment she was done—bandage tight, hands soaked with antiseptic and grief—she whispered something I couldn't hear.
Then she stood and walked past me in the hallway, eyes glassy, shoulders heavy.
I didn't stop her.
But I knew:
The girl is breaking.
And she's trying to keep him whole at the cost of her own pieces.