The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the quiet garden. Ferhunde sat on the wooden bench, her hands folded in her lap. Suzi stood beside her, her eyes misty.
"Is it really time?" Suzi's voice trembled. "After all these years?"
Ferhunde nodded, her gaze fixed on the blooming roses. "Yes," she whispered. "Life has its seasons, my dear friend."
They'd been through it all—the laughter, tears, and secrets shared over countless cups of tea. Ferhunde, the post-middle-aged housewife, and Suzi, her closest confidante. Their bond transcended mere friendship; it was woven into the fabric of their lives.
Suzi wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "I'll miss our morning walks," she said. "And your stories about the past."
Ferhunde chuckled. "Ah, the past—the tapestry of our memories. Remember when we danced in the rain during that summer storm?"
Suzi's eyes sparkled. "And the time we baked baklava together? Flour everywhere!"
They fell silent, the weight of impending separation heavy in the air. Ferhunde reached for Suzi's hand, their fingers entwined.
"You've been my anchor," Ferhunde murmured. "When my daughters married, when Behzat passed away—I leaned on you."
Suzi squeezed her hand. "And you've been my compass," she replied. "Guiding me through storms, celebrating my victories."
The door creaked open, and Ferhunde's daughter peeked out. "Mother, it's time."
Suzi kissed Ferhunde's cheek. "Go," she said. "Embrace this new chapter."
Ferhunde stood, her knees protesting. She hugged Suzi tightly, their tears mingling. "Promise me," she whispered, "that we'll meet again."
Suzi smiled through her tears. "In another garden, under a different sky."
And so, Ferhunde walked away, her heart heavy but grateful. Suzi watched her go, knowing that their friendship would endure—even across the vast expanse of time.
