The story was special. The legend was powerful.
There were moments or story lines I desperately wished for, and moments that at times seemed small but were so important to discover and delve into. This is a book of these moments that I wanted to ex...
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Sanem drifted awake to the gentle weight of Can's arm tightening around her. She kept her eyes shut, savoring the way he reached for her, even in sleep. She lay still, eyes closed, letting her other senses enjoy the warmth of Can enveloping her. The steady pressure of his arm anchored her; his breathing deepened with a tiny sigh so soft she felt it more than heard it. She reveled in knowing it was instinct now.
The faint trace of the cologne she had made for him hung in the air. The memory softened her features, her body recalling the heady grip of his hands and the claim in his whisper: "Your scent is only mine. Do you understand?"
She had crafted that cologne soon after, needing his scent to belong to her too. Heat spread across her skin as she bit her lip, basking in the way Can always made her feel wanted, desired, and cherished — like a mythical creature he tried so hard to hold on to and protect.
Sanem kissed Can's forehead, wishing this could be her life forever. None of the heartache, pressure, or judgment of the outside world. Just her and Can in their isolated cottage, holding one another close.
In these blissful mornings Can was her morning routine. Hearing his heartbeat was her coffee, its rhythm coaxing her into the day. Stroking his back was her morning exercise. Tracing the curve of his lashes, the slope of his nose, the proud cut of his jaw, and brushing his unruly hair from his forehead was her morning drawing.
She smiled faintly at the thought: so much accomplished before sunrise.
The shrill cry of her alarm shattered the stillness. Can jerked awake. Their bodies were still tangled, and as soon as he recognized where he was, his tension dissolved into a soft grin.
Sanem couldn't help but beam up at him, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "Günaydın," she whispered.
His grin widened. For a breathless moment neither of them moved. The alarm continued to blare, but the world seemed untouched by it. He hovered above her, suspended in their heady silence.
His gaze deepened, dropping to her lips. Her pulse leapt, her throat tightened with anticipation. He leaned in closer. Sanem's heart raced as his lips neared. She wanted to close the gap, but the old panic stirred in her chest, threatening to unravel the moment. "I should probably turn that off," Sanem blurted, wriggling out of his hold.
She turned off the alarm, frustration burning through her. She had broken the moment, leaving behind the sting of embarrassment.
"You're so childish," Sanem snapped at the voice in her head, the one that mocked her, scolded her, pulled her back whenever she reached for him. It sounded young and petty, yet it carried the weight of her parents' judgment. She longed to silence it, to strip it from her mind, but it clung to her like a shadow.
Sanem fumbled for her phone while Can's eyes stayed on her. She could feel them, warm as fingertips trailing down her spine, a kiss pressed between her shoulder blades.
