Tell me the truth

The truth had been set in motion. Like a snowball that could no longer be stopped, it would grow, gain strength, sweeping everything in its path. And it was terrifying. And beautiful. And inevitable.

Chapter 9

The Morning After the Storm

The first rays of the morning sun timidly pierced through the heavy silk curtains in Selin’s bedroom, painting the sterile white walls in soft peach and golden tones. The air in the room, usually filled with the scent of expensive candles with notes of bergamot and sandalwood, smelled different today – it carried echoes of the night’s coolness, the sea’s freshness, and something new, unfamiliar, as if the scents of real life, not its perfect copy, had entered the house.

Selin lay with her eyes open, listening to the familiar morning sounds of Istanbul – the piercing cries of seagulls, the low horns of ferries, the distant hum of the city awakening from sleep. But today, these sounds were perceived differently – sharper, deeper, as if someone had removed the usual filter from her hearing, and now she heard every shade, every note of this urban symphony orchestra.

She slowly got out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the soft natural wool carpet. Approaching the panoramic window, she pulled back the curtain – and froze, struck by the scene before her. The Bosphorus, usually so majestic and distant, today seemed close, almost intimate. The waters of the strait reflected the morning sun, scattering thousands of golden glints, and on the Asian shore, the lights of Kadikoy were slowly waking up, like scattered amber beads.

Her thoughts returned to yesterday evening – to that broadcast that turned everything upside down, to that conversation in the small coffee house, to his eyes, so serious and real… To the feeling that they were on the verge of something important, something that would change their lives forever.

A sudden phone call made her jump. “Mahir” flashed on the screen.

“Selin, did you see the news?” his voice sounded agitated, almost hysterical. “We’re everywhere! Our broadcast from yesterday is being discussed on all the morning shows! Can you imagine? Even the main channel did a special report!”

She silently walked over to the large, wall-mounted television and turned it on. Familiar TV presenters’ faces flashed across the screen, and screaming headlines ran at the bottom: “Sensational Confessions of the Psychology Show Stars!”, “The Truth That Shocked Istanbul!”, “Love Without Masks: The Revelations of Selin and Demir.”

“Mahir,” she said softly, looking at her own image on the screen, where a close-up showed her face at the moment of revelation, “what have we done?”

“What have we done?” he laughed nervously. “We’ve made a revolution! Ratings are through the roof! Everyone is talking about our show! Advertisers are besieging my office! I’ve already received five partnership offers!”

Selin slowly sank onto the snow-white sofa, feeling her legs give way. Her face on the screen seemed alien – vulnerable, open, real. The way no one had ever seen her before.

“They… they’re showing the most personal moments,” she whispered, watching as the TV screen replayed clips where Demir spoke of his fear of loneliness, and her eyes filled with tears.

“These are golden shots!” Mahir exclaimed enthusiastically. “People are crying at their screens! They’re writing that they’ve never seen such sincerity on television! That it breathes real life!”

The doorbell rang. Selin flinched, goosebumps prickling her skin. Who could it be at this early hour?

“Mahir, hold on,” she said and went to the front door, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Demir was standing outside. In his hands were two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and a paper bag, from which wafted the tempting aroma of fresh pastries – simit with sesame seeds, and it seemed, poppy seed buns.

“I thought you might need some support on this difficult morning,” he said quietly, handing her one of the glasses. “The morning after a storm is always difficult, and after such a storm – especially so.”

She silently stepped aside, letting him in. His presence in her sterile, perfect apartment felt both strange and incredibly right. He brought with him the scent of the morning air, the sea, and something else she couldn’t quite identify.

“Did you see the news?” she asked, closing the door and feeling goosebumps prickle her skin.

He nodded, his face serious but calm. “I saw it. It’s… unexpected, but logical.”

“Unexpected?” she laughed nervously, and the laugh sounded sharp in the silence of the spacious living room. “Demir, they’ve quoted our broadcast everywhere! They’ve put our most intimate thoughts and feelings on display! This is…”

He placed the juice and pastries on the glass coffee table and turned to her. His eyes were calm, confident, like a ship’s captain during a storm.

“And what did you expect? We told the truth. The real truth. People are starving for the real. They’re tired of falsehood, of masks, of those perfect pictures that have nothing behind them.”

“But they have no right!” Her voice trembled, and she was surprised to feel tears welling up in her eyes. “That was between us! That was… personal! Sacred!”

He gently took her hands. His fingers were warm, firm, steady.

“Selin, we said it live. In front of all of Istanbul, in front of the whole country. We can’t regret it now. We opened the door, and now it can’t be closed.”

She took a deep breath, feeling the anxiety gradually recede under the influence of his calm, his confidence.

“I know,” she whispered, looking at their joined hands. “It’s just… I wasn’t ready for such a reaction. For such… attention.”

He smiled, and the familiar sparks appeared in his eyes, but this time they shone differently – warmer, deeper.

“No one can be ready for the truth. It always comes unexpectedly. Like an earthquake – first a small tremor, and then everything collapses, and you have to build anew. But on a solid foundation.”

They moved to the kitchen – spacious, gleaming with chrome and glass. Selin automatically reached for the copper cezve, starting to make coffee. The familiar movements were calming, restoring a sense of control.

“What are we going to do?” she asked, pouring the fragrant ground beans with hints of cardamom into the cezve.

“What we agreed to do,” he leaned against the light marble kitchen counter, watching her movements. “Tell the truth. Go to the end. Don’t deviate from the path, no matter how difficult it may be.”