Tell me the truth

© Madina Fedosova, 2025

ISBN 978-5-0068-0639-9

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Author’s Foreword

Dear Reader,

Before you lies not just a love story. It is a story about truth. About the truth we are so afraid to tell each other, and the truth we are afraid to admit to ourselves.

I have always been captivated by Turkish series – not only for their passion and beauty but also for their astonishing emotional depth. They possess something that is often so lacking in life: the courage to feel without hesitation, to speak without concealment, to love against all odds. It is this very inspiration that I wanted to preserve within the pages of this book.

My characters, Selin and Demir, are successful, intelligent, attractive. They have everything associated with an ideal life: careers, recognition, views of the Bosphorus from their windows. But behind their flawless facade lie loneliness, fear, and a quiet longing for something real. They must strike a dangerous bargain with themselves – 30 days without lies.

What happens when all filters disappear? When you can no longer hide behind professional jargon, elegant dresses, and witty jokes? When all that remains is you – vulnerable, alive, authentic – and another person, looking at you without pretense?

This novel is that very experiment. For me. For you. For everyone who has ever feared getting burned by the truth, but feared even more living a life in comfortable, beautiful deception.

I believe that it is in sincerity – even if bitter, even if inconvenient – that true, genuine love is born. The kind of love that withstands any “I know you” and any “I see you.”

Speak the truth. To yourself. To those you love. Even if it’s scary.

And may this book become for you that quiet, honest conversation with yourself – the one after which it is no longer possible to live the same way.

With love and faith in your stories,

Madina Fedosova

P.S. And yes… if after reading this book, you feel the urge to call a loved one and say what has been put off for years – consider my mission accomplished.

Introduction

In an era of total digitalization and the eternal pursuit of an ideal, where genuine feelings have become hostages to flawless social profiles, and sincerity a rare currency in the world of social approvals, we have unlearned how to be real. We sacrifice our true essence to virtual perfectionism, hide vulnerability behind filtered selfies, and the quiet tragedies of everyday life behind glossy success stories. This burden is especially hard to bear for those whose lives have become public domain, whose smiles have become commodities, and whose personal dramas – subjects for discussion by a multimillion-strong audience.

Istanbul – a city of paradox, a city of mystery, an eternal bridge between Europe and Asia, past and future, tradition and modernity. Here, in the shadow of majestic Byzantine walls and Ottoman minarets, to the incessant accompaniment of the Bosphorus waves and the piercing cries of seagulls, countless human dramas unfold. The air of this city is saturated with the aromas of strong coffee, Eastern spices, and unfulfilled hopes. Its heart beats with a rhythm woven from the sounds of the adhan, ferry horns, and the ticking clocks of luxurious hotels, behind whose closed doors lie the most intimate secrets.

It is here, in the shining skyscrapers of the Levent business district and on the chic promenades of Bebek, that those who have reached the pinnacles of professional success live, but have paid a high price for it – the price of their inner peace. Their lives are an endless race for recognition, an eternal celebration with empty eyes, and perfect photographs concealing a chilling void of loneliness.

At the epicenter of this maelstrom of passions and ambitions, two find themselves – Selin Yilmaz and Demir Arslan. Two brilliant minds, two experts in human relationships, two idols for thousands of followers. Their joint podcast, “The Psychology of Love,” has become a true life raft for many desperate hearts in the turbulent sea of modern life. From the outside, their duo appears to be the embodiment of harmony – they look great together, their intellectual battles are captivating, and their apparent romantic connection makes audiences freeze at their screens, believing in the existence of ideal relationships.

But behind the flawless facade lies a bitter truth. Their “romance” is nothing more than an artfully staged performance, a PR move in a grand game for ratings and popularity. After filming concludes, they part ways to their sterile apartments with panoramic views of the strait, where luxury and comfort cannot drown out the oppressive feeling of existential loneliness. Each is trapped in their own gilded cage, each plays a role, long forgetting where the stage ends and real life begins.

Everything changes in an instant when, during a live broadcast, an uncomfortable, provocative question is asked, a question that, like lightning, tears through the veil of lies that has surrounded our heroes for years. This question threatens everything they have so carefully built – their reputation, their career, the future of the project. And in a desperate attempt to save the situation, driven by a mixture of fear, ambition, and a hidden desire for change, they make a crazy bet.

Thirty days. Thirty days of total, absolute, uncompromising honesty. No masks. No unspoken words. No saving, false conventions. Only the naked truth – unfiltered, frightening in its frankness. They agree to this dangerous experiment, not understanding that they are playing with fire, capable of incinerating everything around them.

What will happen when all protective barriers crumble?

Will they be able to bear the weight of mutual revelations? What will remain of their carefully crafted images when all fears, complexes, and disappointments are laid bare? And can something real be born in this crucible of mutual destruction – a fragile, vulnerable, but genuine feeling, unafraid of the light of truth?

This book is not just a love story. It is a deep psychological exploration of the nature of human relationships. It is a journey into the most hidden corners of the soul, where our darkest fears and brightest hopes lie concealed. It is the confession of a generation that has become too engrossed in perfectionism and has forgotten simple human sincerity.

It is an invitation to a conversation. To a dialogue with yourself. To a brave look in the mirror without pretense or filters. Perhaps, after turning the last page of this story, you will find the courage to utter the most important words of your life – those that have remained unspoken for years.

Tell Me the Truth. Are you ready to hear it?

Part One

The Lie Upon Which We Built Paradise

Chapter 1

An Artificial Paradise Under the Spotlights

The “Psycho-Love” studio was drowning in an unnatural semi-darkness, broken only by the blinding beams of the spotlights. The air, thick and cool from the air conditioners, smelled of ozone from expensive equipment and the sweetish aroma of Turkish coffee, untouched on a small table between the armchairs. Beyond the vast soundproof windows, the evening Istanbul was slowly fading: the lights of the Bosphorus shimmered like scattered diamonds, and the silhouettes of ferries glided across the black water like phantoms.

“Dear viewers,” Mehmet’s voice sounded honey-sweet, “today we once again dive into the endless universe of human relationships. And with us, as always, are our stars – the incomparable Selin Yilmaz and Demir Arslan!”

The cameras smoothly zoomed in on them. Selin felt their cold, glassy eyes on her. She sat with a perfectly straight back, dressed in a beige tweed jacket that cost as much as a month’s rent for a small apartment in the Besiktas district. Her fingers nervously fiddled with the edge of the jacket, but her face remained calm, almost detached.

“Ms. Yilmaz,” Mehmet addressed her, “your new book, ‘How to Manage Love with Reason,’ has become a bestseller. You claim that love is primarily a rational choice. Doesn’t such an approach kill the very essence of passion?”

Selin smiled softly, adjusting a non-existent strand of hair with a practiced gesture. “Love without reason is a ship without a rudder in a stormy sea, dear Mehmet. Yes, passion is beautiful, but it is reason that helps us not to crash against the rocks of disappointment. Control is not the absence of feelings, but a manifestation of respect for them.”

“Complete nonsense!” Demir leaned back in his armchair with feigned nonchalance. His dark eyes sparkled with excitement. “Love is born from chaos, from that divine, uncontrollable element! Your ‘control’ is simply fear. Fear of getting lost in another person, fear of being vulnerable.”

“Vulnerability is not a synonym for strength, Demir Bey,” Selin retorted, feeling the familiar irritation rising somewhere deep inside. “Throwing yourself into the abyss of emotions without thinking about the consequences is not bravery, but irresponsibility.”

“And living in the sterile room of your fears, afraid even to take a full breath?” He leaned towards her across the table, his voice dropping, but becoming only more intense. “Is that living? Your ideal relationships, the ones you describe in your books – they are dead, Selin Hanim. They have no soul, no breath!”

Outside the window, a seagull cried piercingly, and that sound momentarily broke the tense silence in the studio. Selin felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. She hated him in such moments. Hated him for being able to throw her off balance so easily.

“You confuse passion with hysteria, Demir Bey,” her voice rang out like thin glass. “Your ‘chaos’ is often simply an unwillingness to grow up and take responsibility.”

Their argument continued for several more minutes, flowing like a polished dance. The viewers on social media must have been going crazy – this perpetual dispute of theirs was one of the show’s highest-rated moments.

And then, that very call came.

A quiet, trembling female voice filled the studio:

“Excuse me for asking… I respect both of you immensely. You seem like such… ideal partners. But…” the voice faltered, and only nervous breathing could be heard. “Tell me honestly. Do you yourselves believe in what you say? Have you ever been truly honest with each other? Have you, even once, told each other the truth, without all your beautiful TV phrases?”

The studio froze. Even the perpetually flustered producer was motionless behind the glass. Mehmet opened his mouth to break the silence, but couldn’t utter a sound.

Selin felt the ground disappear from beneath her feet. She looked at Demir and saw in his eyes the same stunned disbelief she felt herself. This simple question, asked in a trembling voice, had shattered their meticulously constructed façade to pieces.

And then, Demir did something no one expected. He didn’t laugh, didn’t make a joke. He leaned towards the microphone, and his voice sounded unusually serious:

“No. We are not always honest. Sometimes the truth is too… dangerous.”

A deathly silence fell over the studio, broken only by the quiet hum of the equipment. The red “Live” light went out, but no one moved.

The producer was the first to snap out of it, his voice sharp as a shot: “What do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

But Demir didn’t listen. He was looking at Selin, and a strange fire burned in his eyes – a mix of fury and admiration.

“Enough,” he said quietly, but so that it could be heard even in the farthest corner of the studio. “Enough of this lie.”

He stood up, walked over to her, and extended his hand: “Thirty days. Thirty days of absolute truth. No masks, no fake smiles. Only pure, naked truth. Agreed?”

Selin looked at his outstretched hand. Her entire mind screamed: “No! This is madness!” But something else, something deep and long dormant within her, was already awakening.

“I am not afraid of the truth,” she said softly, feeling her fingers tremble. “I agree.”

And at the moment their hands touched, the world around them changed. The lights of Istanbul outside the window suddenly shone brighter, and the cries of the seagulls sounded like harbingers of a storm.

The game had begun.

Chapter 2

The First Bites of Truth

The luxurious car glided smoothly along the night streets of Istanbul, leaving behind the shimmering lights of the embankment. The interior smelled of expensive leather, sweetish tobacco, and the faint aroma of men’s cologne with notes of sandalwood and bergamot – tart and intrusive, like Demir himself. Selin silently watched the window, where the silhouettes of minarets and modern skyscrapers created a bizarre symbiosis of centuries. The bright signs of Turkish restaurants, ceramic shops, and jewelry stores flashed by like frames from a silent film.

The silence between them was tense, almost palpable. Demir broke the silence first, his voice sounding muffled in the confined space:

“Do you really think one can live an entire life controlling every movement, every emotion? Like a chess game, where you have to calculate moves decades in advance?”

Selin slowly turned to him. Her fingers nervously fiddled with a strand of hair that had escaped her perfect hairstyle.

“And do you really believe one can throw themselves into the abyss of passion without thinking about the consequences? Like a moth to a flame – beautiful, but senseless?”

“Ah, a moth…” he chuckled, deftly maneuvering around a suddenly stopped tram. “But isn’t that the beauty of life? Its spontaneity? Those moments when your breath catches and your heart beats as if it wants to escape your chest?”

“And shatter against the first stones?” Her voice sounded sharper than she intended. “No, thank you. I prefer to watch the fire from a safe distance, admiring its beauty, but not getting burned.”

The car smoothly stopped at the entrance to her building – an ultra-modern skyscraper with golden lighting, reflecting in the dark waters of the Bosphorus. Demir turned off the engine, and silence fell in the cabin, broken only by the distant honking of ferries and the cries of seagulls.

“You know…” he turned to her, his dark eyes appearing almost black in the dim light. “I’ve always been curious: what lies behind that flawless facade? Behind your perfectly chosen suits, impeccable manners, and textbook phrases about love? A living person? Or just a beautiful doll, afraid to make a wrong move lest she disturb the dust on her pedestal?”

Selin felt blood rush to her face. She proudly raised her chin: “And don’t you think your ostentatious emotionality is just the same mask? A mask of someone afraid of appearing boring, ordinary? Someone who is ready to talk about lofty matters but runs from real responsibility like the devil from holy water?”

He looked at her intently, and something akin to respect flickered in his gaze.

“Want to play a game? Right here, right now?” His voice became quieter, almost intimate. “Let’s tell each other only the truth. Without pretense, without masks. For five minutes, at least.”

Selin felt a slight dizziness. Somewhere deep inside, a small voice screamed that it was dangerous, that she shouldn’t risk it. But something else, long dormant within her, was waking up and reaching for this challenge.

“I’m listening,” she said softly, feeling her heart pound faster.

“I hate your perfume,” he exhaled. “Those cloying floral notes… They don’t smell of a woman, but of a perfume shop display. As if you’re trying to hide your real ‘you’ behind them.”

Selin froze. No one had ever spoken to her so directly. Somewhere deep inside, something ached painfully, but at the same time, she felt a strange sense of relief.

“And I…” her voice trembled, but she continued, “I’ve always thought your ostentatious charisma was just a cheap trick. Like a street magician who distracts attention with flashy gestures to hide the primitiveness of his trick.”

Demir smiled slowly – for the first time that evening, genuinely, without his usual sarcasm.

“See?” his fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. “It’s already easier, isn’t it? Like shedding a heavy cloak you’ve worn for years.”

They looked at each other in the dim light of the cabin, and the first spark of something real flashed between them – awkward, prickly, but alive.

“Tomorrow,” Demir said, breaking the prolonged pause. “At seven in the evening. The Melek restaurant in Beyoglu. Our first… experimental date. Will you come?”

Selin nodded, already opening the door: “I will. But I warn you – I won’t hold back.”

“I’m not asking you to,” his smile widened. “See you tomorrow, Selin Hanim. Good night.”

She got out of the car, not looking back, but feeling his gaze on her back. The cold night air smelled of the sea, roasted chestnuts, and the distant city lights.

It was only upon reaching her impeccably clean, lifeless apartment with panoramic windows that Selin allowed herself to tremble. She stood in the middle of the living room, gazing at the lights of Istanbul, and thought that she had just made a deal with the devil.

And below, on the empty embankment, Demir was still sitting in the car, looking at the light in her window. He took out his phone and dialed a number.

“Cancel all plans for tomorrow,” he said, without taking his eyes off the illuminated window. “Yes, I know. No, this is more important.” He falls silent, watching her silhouette flicker in the window. “Tomorrow, the most interesting part begins.”

He hung up and glanced up again. Somewhere up there, behind the glass, was the woman who had just called his charisma a cheap trick. For the first time in many years, he felt truly alive.

The truth game had just begun.

Evening Istanbul enveloped them in a warm breath, imbued with the aromas of the sea, roasted chestnuts, and sweet baklava. The narrow streets of Beyoglu wound in a whimsical labyrinth, where new scenes of life unfolded around every corner: here, they are selling fresh simit bagels, scattering golden sesame crumbs on the counter; there, the rich aroma of freshly ground beans wafts from a coffee shop; and here, an old fisherman cleans freshly caught fish, throwing silvery scales right onto the pavement. The bright signs of shops selling ceramics and carpets were adorned with enticing inscriptions, and the sounds of folk songs wafted from open windows, mingling with the cries of seagulls and the honking of ferries.

Demir was waiting for her at the entrance to a small meyhane, hidden deep in an alley. The inconspicuous door led to a realm of authentic Istanbul life – a place where time flowed slower and conversations were more sincere. He leaned against an old stone countertop covered in centuries-old patina, and a slight nervousness could be read in his usually confident pose.

“I was beginning to think you had changed your mind,” he said, noticing her approach on the pavement. “That you’d prefer some fashionable restaurant overlooking the Bosphorus to this… little place.”

Selin stopped in front of him, her eyes assessing the simple sign with gilding that had peeled slightly at the edges. “I said I’d come. Although, I must admit, I expected something more befitting your image as a flamboyant playboy.”

“You see,” he opened the door slightly, releasing a wave of sounds and aromas, “it is in places like this that true truth is born. There is no room for ostentatious luxury, behind which one can hide. Only simple emotions and honest words.”

They were greeted by a thick cocktail of smells: anise-flavored raki, fried seafood, fragrant herbs, and old wood. The small room with low vaulted ceilings was filled with noisy companies sitting at simple wooden tables. In the corner, a gray-haired musician with closed eyes plucked the strings of a saz, extracting piercingly sad melodies. The walls, decorated with old photographs and copper utensils, held memories of countless confessions and revelations.

The owner of the establishment – a portly man with generous mustaches and hospitable eyes – nodded to Demir as an old acquaintance and led them to a table in the far corner, hidden from prying eyes by a carved wooden screen.

“Why here?” Selin asked, looking with slight bewilderment at the simple earthenware and faded napkins. “I thought you’d choose something more… befitting our television image.”

“Precisely because of that,” he poured her raki, diluting it with ice water from a clay pitcher. “Here, we are not Selin Yilmaz and Demir Arslan – stars of the screen. Here, we are just a man and a woman trying to understand whether the game is worth the candle. In places like this, the walls absorb so much truth that any lie here sounds like sacrilege.”

They watched in silence as the transparent liquid in the glasses slowly clouded, acquiring a mysterious milky-pearlescent hue. Somewhere in the kitchen, dishes clattered, the shouts of cooks could be heard, and the saz continued its mournful song about love and loss.

“Let’s start small?” Demir suggested, raising his glass. “Three truths for the evening. About ourselves. About each other. And about what is happening between us right now.”

Selin felt goosebumps run down her spine. The game was really beginning, and the stakes were higher than ever.

“I…” she took a sip, feeling the burning liquid spread warmth through her body, “have been afraid of the dark since childhood. Not of fairy-tale monsters, but precisely of this absolute, impenetrable darkness. And even now,” her voice trembled, “when I’m alone, I leave the light on in the hallway.”

Demir looked at her intently, and there was no usual mockery or condescension in his eyes – only understanding.

“And I…” he took a sip of raki, thoughtfully swirling the glass in his hands, “have a panic fear of loneliness. That’s why I’m always surrounded by people, noise, bustle. Even if I’m deeply indifferent to these people. Any company is better than the silence of my own thoughts.”

They fell silent, listening to the strange lightness that had come after these simple, yet so frank confessions. The saz music became quieter, as if giving them space to speak.

“Now, about each other,” Demir put down his glass. “I always felt that your apparent coldness was just a shield. Like those crabs we saw at the market – with a hard shell outside and tender flesh inside. You hide behind your books, your theories, your perfect suits… because you’re afraid someone will see the real you and… leave.”

Selin felt her heart clench. She took another sip, giving herself time to gather her thoughts.

“And you…” she looked him straight in the eyes, “use your charm as a weapon. Like those street performers in Sultanahmet Square – you distract attention with flashy gestures and smiles so that no one can see how vulnerable you really are. You’re afraid that if you show your true face, people will be disappointed and turn away.”

Tension hung in the air, thick and sweet as Turkish kunefe dessert. The musician began to play a new melody – passionate and mournful, telling of love that burns hearts.

“And now… about what’s between us,” Demir’s voice became quieter, almost a whisper. “I feel something between us… real. Something frightening and beautiful at the same time. As if we are standing on the edge of an abyss, and the next step could change everything. And that scares me more than anything else.”

Selin lowered her eyes, watching the light tremble in her glass. Somewhere inside, everything screamed at her to run away, preserve her safety, return to her usual world of controlled emotions. But something else, warm and alive, which had long slept in the depths of her soul, was now breaking free.

“I feel it too,” she whispered, not raising her eyes. “This… connection. This spark. And I am afraid too. Afraid of what will happen next. Afraid that I won’t cope. Afraid that it will destroy everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

They sat in silence, listening to the evening Istanbul murmur outside the window. Somewhere seagulls cried, trams rang, people laughed, and life went on its way. And in a small meyhane, at a humble table, two people, for the first time in many years, were speaking the truth – without pretense, without masks, without protective shells.