"Say something," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the low hum of a radio playing in the kitchen.
"I'm not," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm just asking for a little more time before the lights go out."
Selim stayed. He listened to the song end and the next one begin. He took the blister pack out, looked at the small white tablet, and then put it back in his pocket. For the first time in months, he didn't want the numbness. He wanted to feel the hole she left behind, because at least that hole was real. Gitme Burdan | Mabel Matiz Antidepresan
Leyla reached across the table, her fingers brushing his cold knuckles. "You have to find a reason to stay that isn't me, Selim. You can't turn a person into a pill."
"Selim, we talked about this," she said, her voice trembling. "The sadness here... it’s swallowing you. I can’t stay underwater just to hold your hand." "Say something," she whispered, her voice barely rising
The radio in the back transitioned to a rhythmic, pulsing beat—Mabel Matiz’s voice drifting through the steam of the espresso machine. “Gitme burdan, sen olmadan ben asla yaşayamam...”
In his pocket, the foil of a half-empty blister pack crinkled. Antidepresan. He hadn’t taken one today. He wanted to feel the sharp edges of the goodbye, even if it cut. He listened to the song end and the next one begin
She stood up. The chair scraped against the wood like a sob. She didn't look back as she pushed through the heavy door.