Emir sat alone at his desk, staring at a blank document.
The blinking cursor mocked him.He'd opened the file to write a resignation letter, but the words wouldn't come.
Not because he was scared.But because something inside him kept whispering:"Don't retreat. Observe."
He leaned back.His office was quiet, dimly lit, a few cracked tiles in the ceiling reminding him he worked in a place held together by tape and tired people.
— "I don't belong here anymore."
"Maybe you never did."
The voice was softer than usual tonight. Not instructive. Reflective.
— "Then where do I belong?"
"Among those who ask that question out loud."
He opened the internet browser.
He didn't know why.
His fingers typed "Who is Atatürk really?"He'd seen the face a million times. Schoolbooks. Coins. Statues.But none of those things had ever spoken to him.
Now the silence between facts and truth screamed louder than the headlines.
He scrolled past articles. Blog posts. Comment wars.Everyone had an opinion.No one had a memory.
"They see what's convenient. Not what cost blood.Not what kept them free to argue in the first place."
Emir closed the laptop.
The voice didn't come from Google.
It came from within.
At 2:17 a.m., he picked up a pen.
He didn't think.
He just wrote.
"I am not him. But I carry him."
Another line.
"His memories burn under my skin. His voice... fills the silence I used to call my own."
He dropped the pen.
Hands shaking now.
— "What's happening to me?"
"You're waking up. Not as me.As you—with clarity."
The next day, Emir walked into work.Same hallway. Same broken elevator.Same faces staring at screens like corpses pretending to type.
But everything felt... different.
He sat at his desk.Typed a sentence in an empty email.
"What is leadership if not remembering who we serve?"
He deleted it.
Too early. Too soon. Too loud.
"The right voice," the presence whispered,"doesn't shout. It aligns."
— "And if no one listens?"
"Then speak louder. Not with volume. With truth."
At lunch, someone asked him why he was so quiet lately.
He almost said nothing.
But then, softly—
— "Have you ever wondered what we've forgotten?Not as workers. Not as voters. As people?"
The guy laughed nervously and walked away.
But another, younger colleague across the table looked up. Eyes narrowed.Thinking.
That was enough.