Can Divit's boots clicked against the weathered oak platform as he emerged from his yacht to Istanbul's marina. The air was a thick tapestry of street-side seafood vendors, the fishy scent of the Bosphorus, and car exhaust—a symphony of chaos that was so uniquely Istanbul. It struck him, an ambivalent punch to the gut. He inhaled deeply, attempting to reconcile the yearning that pulled at his heartstrings with the leaden weight of guilt that shackled his feet to the ground.
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"Ah, Can! You've returned!" Akif's voice boomed across the square, warm and rich like the Turkish tea they used to share.
"Indeed, my friend," Can replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The prodigal son has come back."
"Looks like Istanbul has missed you as much as you've missed it," Akif observed, clapping him on the shoulder with a familiarity that made Can's chest tighten.
"Missed and dreaded in equal measure," Can muttered under his breath, the sights and sounds around him stirring memories like restless ghosts.
He watched as a couple meandered by, hands entwined, the woman's laughter pealing through the air like a bell. A pang of heartbreak twisted inside him, the image too close to the memories of Sanem—her laughter, her dreams sketched in the air between them, now hanging like unfinished sentences.
"Come, let's walk," Metin suggested, sensing the shift in Can's demeanour. His legal mind always caught the nuances others missed.
"Every corner is a reminder, isn't it?" Metin prodded gently while they strolled past the grandeur of the Blue Mosque, its minarets piercing the skyline.
"Reminders of what I had, what I lost...and what I pushed away," Can confessed, his voice a blend of sorrow and self-reproach.
"Love is a complex creature, Can," Metin said, his words deliberate. "It doesn't disappear even when burdened with guilt or tainted by regret."
"Nor does it make the return any less painful," Can countered, staring at the seagulls gliding above, their freedom mocking his inner turmoil.
"Remember why you're here," Metin reminded him. "For closure, for healing...perhaps for a new beginning."
"Maybe," Can nodded, but his thoughts dwelled on Sanem—their last embrace, the silent promises in their eyes, and the subsequent shattering of all they had built.
"Time doesn't stand still, Can. Neither should you," Metin urged, before excusing himself, leaving Can to grapple with the labyrinth of his own emotions.
Standing alone now, amidst the teeming life of the city, Can felt both a stranger and a native son. Istanbul held his history, his love, and his deepest wounds. As he closed his eyes, the cacophony around him faded into a soft hush, and for a fleeting moment, he was back there—in the throes of passion, in the grip of despair, within the tender cocoon of Sanem's gaze.
