Chapter 37 —He's Not Here

Narrator:

The nights were longer without him. Aylin hadn't seen him since that time. She wasn't looking for him, nor was she avoiding him. Or maybe she was.

The mansion was big enough that they didn't run into each other. And he, apparently, wasn't trying to meet up with her either.

But some nights, when she lay in bed, her chest tight and her mind racing, she would look out the window.

And there he was. The orange glow of a cigarette lighting up in the darkness. In his corner, his refuge, his hiding place. The bench in the garden that, for a time, belonged to both of them.

Aylin rested her forehead against the glass, feeling the cold bite her skin, but without looking away.

She could barely see him. A shadow among shadows. Smoking, his body leaning against the back of the bench, one leg resting on the other, his arm hanging with a languor that was not carelessness, but repressed fatigue.

“Is he thinking about me?” she wondered. The idea was absurd. Illogical.