Giti Mahmood | گیتی محمود

Hikâyeyi buraya kadar okudum. Belki sosyal medyada sıkça rastlanan ağır ve cüretkâr sahneler yok ama bu hikâye kalıcı ve etkileyici.
          Karakterler çok sevilesi, yazara teşekkür ederim. Devamını ve yeni sezonu sabırsızlıkla bekliyorum.

Sevgili Okurlarım,
          Bu hikâyede güçlü, bağımsız, duygulu ve sorumluluk sahibi bir Türk kadınının sessiz ama derin yolculuğunu okuyacaksınız.
          
          Maral’ın hikâyesi, sadece bir aşk hikâyesi değil—aynı zamanda bir saygı duruşu.
          Bu satırlar, kalbimdeki tüm hayranlıkla, cesur ve ilham verici Türk kadınlarına bir teşekkürdür.
          
          Eğer siz de bu hikâyeye dokunduysanız, lütfen bir yorum bırakın, arkadaşlarınızla paylaşın ve bu yolculuğu birlikte büyütelim.
          
          Sevgiyle,
          Yazarınız

Life is full of moments no one ever expects.
          Full of sudden turns,
          and goodbyes that come with no warning,
          no explanation.
          
          No one ever says,
          “This is where my road ends.”
          No one tells you that today’s smile
          might be the last image you’ll ever see.
          
          And on such a road,
          we can’t hold on too tightly.
          We can’t turn bitter.
          We can’t let anger take the place of tears.
          
          Because people don’t always stay
          not forever,
          not the way we want them to.
          Some aren’t meant to remain.
          They pass through,
          leave a trace,
          and quietly move on.
          
          And we…
          we must learn to let them go.
          With open hearts,
          with soft smiles,
          and with a quiet faith
          that roads—
          though they may silently part us—
          sometimes, somewhere,
          will bring us back together again.

“You spoke about love… and you spoke for me.
          Yes, I do despise what love has become these days—
          All those fake displays, all those shallow gestures that drag the word through the mud.
          All those thrill-driven relationships that have no roots.
          Love that smells of convenience,
          dressed up in filters and hashtags.” 
          **“Poor love…
          But the kind of love I believe in—
          It has gravity.
          It has grace.
          It has dignity.
          
          And if I ever feel that kind of love…
          it will stay hidden,
          in the most private chambers of my heart—
          forever.
          
          Not because I’m afraid,
          but because I believe that some loves…
          die the moment they are exposed.
          
          And you should know—
          if you ever found your way into that part of me…
          that love would be my most sacred investment.
          Not for display.
          But for keeping.”**
          
          A deep silence fell between them.
          Not the kind born of awkwardness—
          but the kind born of understanding.

Honestly...
          The road?
          It's the only medicine that works.
          I step onto the highway—
          and suddenly,
          the ache in my chest...
          doesn’t hurt as much.
          
          Sadness?
          It falls behind,
          like raindrops slipping off the side mirror.
          
          Wind in my hair,
          music in my ears,
          and the hum of tires on wet asphalt—
          that’s when my mind clears.
          That’s when I breathe.
          
          Honestly...
          If no one had ever built the road,
          if cars hadn’t come into our lives—
          how would we have run
          from the weight of it all?
          
          If music didn’t exist,
          if rain didn’t kiss the windshield,
          if streets weren’t there
          to carry the tired parts of us away...
          What would be left of us?
          Just ghosts made of pain.

My email address is this. giti.mahmood@gmail.com