His phone buzzed. Leyla had sent a message containing just four words that bridged the thousands of miles between them: "Mənim üçün də həmçinin." (For me too.)
Minutes felt like hours. He watched the view count tick up. Friends, colleagues, acquaintances. And then, his heart skipped a beat. A notification popped up at the top of his screen. Leyla viewed your story.
As the sorrowful strain of the Balaban mixed with modern synth beats, the lyrics pierced through his stoic defense. Life is empty without you. Sensiz Bosdu Heyat YГјkle
Every word felt like a mirror reflecting his reality. His career in architecture was thriving, his social circle was active, and on paper, his life was perfect. Yet, a hollow void sat right in the center of it all. He walked through the bustling streets of the city, through the historic walls of Icherisheher, feeling like a ghost among the living. He realized that success meant nothing when the person you wanted to share it with wasn't there.
He held his breath, staring at the green dot next to her name indicating she was online. Five seconds passed. Ten. Then, the typing indicator appeared at the bottom of their dead chat thread. His phone buzzed
It had been exactly one year since she walked out of his life to pursue her dreams across the ocean. They both thought long distance would be a breeze, fueled by the fiery optimism of young love. But time and distance are thieves of intimacy. Slowly, the daily calls turned into weekly texts, and the texts eventually faded into absolute silence.
The rain beat a relentless rhythm against the window of the small Baku cafe, matching the heavy thumping in Elvin’s chest. He stared at his phone, the screen glowing brightly in the dim light. On it was a draft of a message he hadn’t found the courage to send to Leyla. Friends, colleagues, acquaintances
He looked at his phone again. He opened Instagram to post a story. He selected a bleak, beautiful picture he had taken of the Caspian Sea at dusk—grey, vast, and lonely.