Tell me the truth

And somewhere in the distance, behind the veil of night, the lights of the Bosphorus flickered – witnesses to countless human dramas and revelations.

Chapter 4

The Night Bosphorus Reveals Its Secrets

Night in Istanbul spread its velvet canopy, strewn with myriads of twinkling stars. The air, recently filled with the thick aromas of raki, fried mussels, and oriental spices, gradually cleared and filled with the freshness of the night sea. Somewhere in the distance, on the Asian shore, the lights of Kadikoy twinkled, reflecting in the dark waters of the Bosphorus like thousands of golden snakes dancing on the gentle ripples. The narrow streets of Beyoglu gradually emptied, with only occasional late-night passers-by and purring street cats warming themselves against the warm walls of bakeries, from which the aroma of fresh bread and simit still wafted.

They walked in silence along the pavement, paved with age-old stone, and this silence was special – not awkward, but filled with unspoken thoughts and feelings that hung between them like an almost palpable haze. Selin felt how each word spoken that evening in the meyhane echoed within her, like a stone thrown into calm water. She glanced furtively at Demir: his usually sarcastic, confident face was now thoughtful and somehow defenseless, illuminated by the soft glow of the old lanterns.

“Where to now?” Demir finally broke the silence, his voice sounding particularly loud in the night quiet. “Back to our perfect, sterile apartments with panoramic views of the Bosphorus? Into those beautiful cages where even the air seems canned?”

A bitter, ironic note sounded in his voice, and Selin involuntarily smiled, catching herself realizing that this smile was completely natural, unpracticed:

“What, the great preacher of chaos and spontaneity is afraid to be alone with his thoughts after everything that’s been said? Afraid that the truth won’t be as attractive as beautiful lies?”

“I won’t hide it,” he sighed, his breath forming a light cloud in the cool night air. “Truth has an unpleasant tendency to change the established order of things. Like an earthquake in Marmaris – first a small tremor, seeming like nothing, and then suddenly everything collapses, and you’re left amidst the ruins of what you so meticulously built for years.”

They walked out onto the Ortakoy embankment, where the night air was imbued with the scent of the sea, fresh fish, cotton candy, and corn, still sold by enticing vendors at the pier. The lights of the Bosphorus Bridge reflected in the black water, creating the illusion of an endless celebration, a magical carnival that would never end. Somewhere, live music played, people laughed, snippets of conversations in Turkish, English, and Arabic drifted by, but here, by the water, it was relatively quiet, with only occasional lovers and pensive fishermen passing by.

“You know what I’m feeling right now?” Demir stopped, leaning against the cool stone parapet. “A strange sensation… as if I’ve removed the casing from some important mechanism inside me, which has been hidden for years under layers of dust and cobwebs. It hurts, it’s unfamiliar, raw nerves are exposed… but… it’s freeing. As if I can finally breathe deeply, instead of those sips of air I’ve been dosing myself with.”

Selin leaned against the cold stone next to him, feeling the wind play with her loosened hair, tearing the last vestiges of the mask she had worn for so long, she had almost become one with it, from her face.

“I always thought truth was supposed to liberate,” she said thoughtfully, looking at the dark waters of the strait. “But for some reason, I feel more vulnerable now than ever. Like a snail pulled from its shell and left under the scorching sun.”

“Maybe because true freedom always requires the courage to be vulnerable?” He turned to her, and the city lights reflected in his eyes, creating a bizarre play of light and shadow. “We’ve spent our entire lives building fortresses around our hearts, erecting walls, digging moats, hiring guards… and now we ourselves are taking up picks and breaking down these fortifications. It’s scary. Scary enough to make your knees tremble.”

They watched the water in silence, listening as a luxurious yacht sailed by in the distance, its lights twinkling like fireflies in the night, leaving a silvery trail on the water behind it.

“I leave a light on at night too,” Demir suddenly confessed, and his voice sounded quieter, more heartfelt. “Not in the hallway… but in the bathroom. Since childhood. After my parents…” He fell silent, as if catching himself on too deep, too personal a revelation, and reached for a cigarette to occupy his hands.

Selin felt something clench inside her – warm, compassionate, almost maternal. She silently placed her hand on his – a light, almost weightless touch, but one that meant more than any words right now.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and her fingers gently squeezed his palm. “For the trust. It… means a lot.”

He looked at her hand – elegant, with slender fingers, now devoid of its usual defensive crossing over her chest – then at her face. In his eyes flickered something warm, almost tender, something real, un-rehearsed for the cameras.

“You know what’s strangest?” his voice sounded deeper than usual, without its usual bravado. “I’m more nervous now than before any broadcast, than before the most demanding audience. As if something very important depends on these few hours, on these few revelations. Something that will change everything.”

“Because on air, we play roles,” Selin whispered, her voice almost drowned out by the sound of the surf. “Like those actors in the traditional Turkish shadow theater, Karagöz – we put on masks, speak memorized lines, hide behind characters. But here… here we are trying to be ourselves. And that is far scarier, because the stakes are higher – not ratings, not popularity, but our souls.”

They fell silent again, but this time the silence was different – filled with understanding and a new, fragile trust that was being born between them, like the first sprout after a long winter. Somewhere in the distance, the horn of a night ferry sounded, carrying late passengers from one shore to the other. The night wind brought the scent of magnolias and jasmine blooming somewhere, mixed with the salty breath of the sea.

“I don’t want this evening to end,” Demir said unexpectedly, and an almost childish note sounded in his voice. “I’m afraid that in the morning it will all seem like a dream, a mirage, and we’ll put on our masks again, hide behind our roles… and pretend that none of this happened.”

Selin looked at him – at this man whom she had considered a superficial playboy, flighty and incapable of deep feelings, only to discover that beneath the mask of bravado and feigned confidence lay a vulnerable, deep soul, wounded and lonely.

“Masks…” she smiled thoughtfully, and her eyes softened. “You know, in the Ottoman Empire, there were special craftsmen who made masks for shadow theater. They said that each mask is not just a piece of leather or paper; it’s a frozen emotion embodied in material. And by putting it on, the actor doesn’t hide themselves, but rather shows some part of their soul, some facet of their character.”

Demir looked at her intently, and a genuine, sincere interest ignited in his eyes, not feigned:

“Perhaps our masks are also a part of us? Only frozen, petrified, turned into armor? It’s not that we put them on – we simply allowed them to grow onto our skin, to become our second nature.”

“Perhaps,” Selin nodded, and the wind played with her hair, creating a halo of dark strands around her head. “And now we are simply trying to revive them, to warm them with our own warmth, to make them express real, living feelings again, rather than hiding them like treasures in a chest at the bottom of the sea.”

They walked along the embankment again, their steps echoing in the night silence. The night grew deeper, the city lights gradually dimmed, giving way to silence and stars that blazed brighter in the sky, like diamonds on velvet.

“You know what else I realized today?” Demir said as they approached her building, sparkling with lights among the older structures. “That being sincere is like learning to walk again after a long illness. At first, it’s unfamiliar, painful; every step is difficult, it seems you’ll never be able to run and jump as before… but with each step – it becomes more natural, freer, and at some point, you realize you can go anywhere without looking back at crutches.”

Selin stopped at the entrance, and the golden light of an old lantern fell on her face, making it softer, younger, washing away the traces of fatigue and tension that usually lay on it like a mask.

“Thank you for this evening,” she said, her eyes serious, deep. “For… the truth. For the courage. For showing me that behind the mask of Demir the playboy hides a person who knows how to fear and to feel.”

He smiled – truly, without his usual smirk, and this smile transformed his face, made him younger and kinder:

“This is just the beginning, Selin Hanim. Tomorrow… will be more interesting. Prepare yourself – tomorrow I will be even more frank.”

She nodded and turned towards the door, feeling his gaze on her back. And strangely – today, that gaze didn’t seem heavy or judgmental, it didn’t make her tense up and choose a mask. It was… warm, almost tender, like an embrace.

And Demir stood on the deserted embankment for a long time, looking at her window, where a light came on – yellow, warm, alive. And for the first time in many years, he didn’t want to rush anywhere, didn’t want noise, fun, people, attention. He simply wanted to stand here, in the cool night air, inhaling the scent of the sea and blooming plants, and feel – feel this strange, new, frightening, and beautiful truth that was being born somewhere deep inside, like a sprout through asphalt.

Somewhere in the night, the muezzin’s call to the night prayer echoed – his voice floated over the sleeping city, pure, sad, sublime, as if reminding of something eternal, important, often forgotten in the hustle of days, in the pursuit of illusory ideals.

And in Demir’s heart, a new melody was being born – a melody of something real, something alive, that was just beginning, something fragile, like the first ice on the Bosphorus, but already changing everything around.

Chapter 5

The Mirror of the Soul in the Abyss of Night

Returning to her sterile white living room with panoramic windows, Selin felt as if she had returned from a battlefield – not wounded, but forever changed. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing in the absolute silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The air in the apartment, usually filled with the scent of expensive candles with notes of bergamot and sandalwood, seemed suffocatingly sterile today, smelling not of life, but of its complete absence – like in a museum or a high-end real estate exhibition, where everything is perfect, but no one lives there.

She slowly walked to the window, looking at the lights of the Bosphorus, which twinkled in the night like scattered jewels on black velvet. Somewhere out there, in that mysterious night, he remained – the man who had seen not the flawless TV presenter Selin Yilmaz, but the one hiding behind her perfect facade. And that gaze burned her from within more than any public condemnation or criticism.

“The truth of love is hidden in your eyes…” she whispered involuntarily, recalling a line from a song that unexpectedly came to mind. Why now? Why did these words resonate within her with such a poignant, almost physical pain? She ran her fingers over the cold glass, feeling a slight tremor run through her body. For her entire conscious life, she had built impenetrable fortresses around her heart, created the image of an ideal, unflustered woman, untouched by fear and doubt – a woman who taught others how to manage love with reason. And today, in a few hours, this meticulously crafted image had collapsed, crumbled like a sandcastle under the onslaught of the sea surf.

“We cannot wash away our love with lies…” the thought flashed through her mind again. What bitter irony! Their entire “love” until this moment had been one big, beautiful, packaged lie – a product meant for sale to a trusting audience yearning for a fairy tale.

Selin closed her eyes, feeling tears welling up – the first truly sincere tears in years. They flowed down her cheeks slowly and solemnly, leaving bitter, salty traces, and she didn’t try to stop them, finally allowing herself this weakness here, within the four walls of her perfect prison.

Demir was still standing on the embankment, leaning against the cool stone parapet, which carried the scent of night moisture and the distant sea. The night wind ruffled his unruly black curls, bringing with it an intoxicating mix of aromas – the salty breeze from the Bosphorus, the sweetish scent of magnolias blooming somewhere nearby, spicy notes from restaurants closed for the night, and something else, elusive, smelling of memories and longing.

He mechanically reached for his phone, intending to call one of his girlfriends – a habitual gesture, honed to an automaton, of escaping loneliness, of avoiding the need to be alone with his thoughts. But his fingers froze above the bright screen, unable to find the right name. For the first time in many years, he didn’t want empty, non-committal conversations, didn’t need light, superficial relationships that left only a bitter aftertaste of emptiness.

“Do you love me?” a line from an old song flashed through his mind, one he had once written in a fit of despair after another breakup, but had never shown anyone, hiding it deep within himself, like many other of his true feelings.

He stared intently at the golden light in her twenty-second-floor window, trying to guess what she was doing now in that shining cage. Undressing, shedding her impeccable tweed armor? Drinking herbal tea, trying to calm her nerves? Or, like him, standing by the window, gazing into the night and replaying every word, every glance, every second of this strange, frightening, and beautiful night? Something – perhaps a barely perceptible thread stretched between them – suggested that she was not asleep. That she, just like him, was overwhelmed with emotions that found no outlet.

Demir took a deep breath, pulling out a pack of cigarettes – another of his weaknesses, carefully hidden from the public, creating the image of an ideal healthy person. The flame of the lighter illuminated his face for a moment – tired, suddenly softened, stripped of the usual mask of bravado and self-confidence.

“The heart speaks, you don’t listen…” he whispered, exhaling a stream of smoke that was immediately carried away by the night breeze. How often had he himself not listened to his heart! He had drowned out its insistent voice with the noise of endless parties, the squeal of tires on racing tracks, empty conversations with even emptier people, work that had long ceased to bring satisfaction.

But today… today it spoke so loudly and insistently that it drowned out everything around. It spoke of her. Of the one hiding behind that perfectly polished facade. Of the one who was afraid of the dark like a little girl, but who at the same time had the courage to look truth in the eye.

He threw the half-smoked cigarette into the dark waters of the Bosphorus and looked up at her window one last time, as if making some strange, unspoken vow.

“Tomorrow,” he promised himself and the night. “Tomorrow will be a new day. And a new truth. No matter the cost.”

Turning, he walked with firm steps towards his car, parked in the shadow of an old plane tree, feeling a strange, unfamiliar lightness throughout his body – as if he had shed an invisible burden he had carried on his shoulders for many years, without even realizing its weight.

And in his heart, a new melody was playing – quiet, tender, full of hope and a kind of childlike trust in the world. A melody of something real, something alive, that was just beginning, something that was fragile, like the first ice on the Bosphorus, but was already changing everything around.

Selin was still standing by the window, gazing entranced at the night city, when from the distance, on the Asian side, the voice of the muezzin reached her, calling believers to the night prayer. His pure, sad voice floated over the sleeping Istanbul, reminding of something eternal, important, of that spiritual component of life which she had so diligently ignored, immersed in the pursuit of success and recognition.

She listened to this ancient sound, feeling how a strange, unfamiliar peace gradually filled her from within, washing away the remnants of tension and fear. Yes, it was scary. Yes, it was painful to lay bare her soul to an almost unknown person. But in this pain and vulnerability, there was a strange, bitter truth – the truth of life, which she had so long and carefully avoided, preferring comfortable, beautiful illusions instead.

“Tell me the truth…” she whispered, looking at the flickering lights of the Galata Tower. “I am ready to hear. I am ready to accept.”

And for the first time in many years, these words did not evoke panic and a desire to hide within her. Only a quiet, timid, but persistent hope – like the first ray of sun after a long stormy night.

Hope that somewhere out there, in this warm Istanbul night, there is a person who also hears this call. A person who is also tired of lies – both others’ and their own. A person who also wants the truth, however bitter and inconvenient it may be.

Even if that truth is painful. Even if it forever changes everything to which they have become so accustomed.

Because only the truth, painfully earned and prayed for, could lead to something real. To something important. To that for which it was worth living and for which it was worth risking their perfectly constructed, but so empty world.

She finally tore herself away from the window and slowly walked to the bedroom, feeling a strange, pleasant weariness throughout her body – the fatigue of a traveler who has completed a long and difficult journey and knows that a new, even more difficult path lies ahead.

But now she knew – she was not alone on this road. Somewhere out there, in the night, walked the one who was also taking his first timid steps towards the truth. The one with whom she was destined to walk this path to the end – hand in hand, heart to heart, soul to soul.

No matter how frightening, complex, and unexplored it might be.

And this thought warmed her better than any blanket, promising a new morning – a morning filled with fear, doubt, but also with endless possibilities.

Chapter 6

The Morning After Honesty

The first rays of the rising sun timidly pierced through the panes of the panoramic windows, painting Selin’s sterile white interior in soft peach and golden hues. The air, which had seemed suffocating in its perfect purity just recently, was now filled with the freshness of the coming morning – a light breeze from the Bosphorus carried through the slightly open balcony door the scent of sea salt, blooming hibiscus somewhere nearby, and the sweetish, tantalizing aroma of fresh pastries from the bakery on the ground floor. Somewhere in the distance, the piercing cries of seagulls could be heard, the deafening horns of ferries, and the growing hum of the awakening city – Istanbul was waking up, filling with its usual Eastern bustle, so distant from the secluded silence of her luxurious apartment.

Selin lay with her eyes open, listening to the familiar rhythm of the city outside the window. Her body responded with a pleasant heaviness – as if after a long journey or an intense workout. But her soul was filled with a strange, unfamiliar peace, mixed with trembling anticipation of something new. She recalled the previous evening – his words, her confessions, that incredible moment when the walls between them crumbled, revealing something real and fragile.

“Thirty days of truth…” she whispered, getting out of bed and walking barefoot to the window. “Day one.”

Approaching the panoramic glass, she saw that the city was living its usual life. The streets were filling with people – rushing to work, opening shops, delivering fresh simits with golden sesame. Everything was as usual, but for her, the world had irrevocably changed – the colors seemed brighter, the sounds more expressive, and the air more saturated.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the insistent ringing of her phone. “Demir” flashed on the screen. Her heart involuntarily skipped a beat – a mixture of fear and sweet anticipation.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded a little hoarse from sleep.

“Good morning, Selin Hanim,” his voice was calm, but a slight, almost imperceptible tension could be felt. “How are you? How did you greet this morning?”

“Alive,” she couldn’t help but smile, looking at her reflection in the glass. “Like I ran a marathon through the hills of Sultanahmet, but alive. And you?”

He gave a short laugh, and this laugh sounded somehow domestically warm: “I understand. I have a similar feeling. Listen, about yesterday…”

Selin froze, instinctively clutching the phone in her hand, preparing for the worst. Now he would say it was a mistake, that they should forget, return to their usual roles…

“I regret not a single word spoken,” he said firmly after a pause. “And I want to continue this journey. If you… if you haven’t changed your mind yet.”

A wave of relief washed over her body, making her tense shoulders relax: “I haven’t changed my mind. But…” she paused, choosing her words, “let’s set some rules. So we don’t go insane and destroy everything in a fit of frankness.”

“Alright,” he agreed immediately, and a slight smile could be heard in his voice. “I’m listening, Professor. What rules do you propose?”

“For example…” she pondered, looking at a ferry sailing across the Bosphorus, white and elegant as a swan. “We won’t pressure each other. Telling the truth doesn’t mean pouring everything out at once, without discrimination. Let’s be… cautious in our sincerity. Like with a precious antique carpet – you can’t pull on a single thread, or the whole thing will unravel.”

“I understand,” real respect sounded in his voice. “Like doctors who administer potent medicine in small doses, observing the body’s reaction.”

“Exactly,” she sighed with relief, feeling the tension gradually dissipate. “And one more thing… let’s not tell anyone about our experiment. Neither the producers, nor our friends, nor our families. This should remain between us – our personal space, inaccessible to outside eyes and opinions.”

“I agree one hundred percent,” he replied without the slightest hesitation. “Otherwise, our producers might decide it’s a great idea for a new show. ‘Truth or Survival’ or something like that. They’ll put our souls on display to the accompaniment of dramatic music.”

They fell silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, but this pause was no longer awkward – it was filled with understanding.

“What are we going to do today?” Selin finally asked, watching a sunbeam play on the surface of a crystal vase.

“How about… a completely ordinary day?” he suggested after a moment’s thought. “No grand gestures or theatrical confessions. Just… being honest in the small things. In how we drink coffee, how we look at each other, how we discuss our plans for the day. Let’s start with that. With the small things.”

“That sounds… reasonable and not so frightening,” she nodded, though he couldn’t see it.

“Then, see you at the studio,” he said, and a hint of tenderness could be heard in his voice. “And, Selin…”

“Yes?” she froze in anticipation.

“Thank you. For yesterday. For… the courage to be yourself.”

He hung up, leaving her with a warm, bright feeling somewhere deep inside. Perhaps everything would indeed be alright. Perhaps truth not only hurts but also heals.

Demir stood on the spacious balcony of his apartment, a traditional narrow cup of strong Turkish coffee in his hand. The view from here was truly stunning – the whole of Istanbul lay at his feet, from the old quarters of Fatih with their majestic minarets and mosque domes to the modern skyscrapers of Levent, sparkling with glass and metal. But today, he barely noticed the familiar, everyday beauty – his thoughts were occupied with her. Selin. The woman who turned out to be nothing like she had seemed all these months. Fragile, vulnerable, but incredibly strong inside – strong enough to admit her weaknesses.