The Trace That Remains
That morning, sunlight streamed through the wide apartment window, but somehow, Fatih felt as though there was a thin fog in the air—one he couldn't see, only feel. Silence. Too much silence.
He had just finished arranging a stack of books on the shelf when his eyes caught sight of an old wooden chair in the corner of the room. The chair wasn't special—just something left behind by the previous tenant. But something about it made Fatih stare longer than he should have.
He touched its backrest.
A flash. A fragment.
Shards of memory struck like lightning:
> A woman's scream. "Help!"
Ragged breathing. Rushed footsteps. Thick fear.
A hand clutching a pendant… no, not his mother's pendant.
Then everything vanished.
Fatih jerked back. He fell to the floor, breath racing. His hand trembled—this wasn't the first time he'd sensed a memory imprint, but it had been a while since the ability surfaced on its own.
And this time, it felt stronger. More real.
The doorbell rang. Just once, softly.
Keyla appeared in her gray hoodie, her expression more solemn than usual.
"I… don't know why I came," she said hesitantly. "But since last night, I've felt uneasy. I woke up feeling… really sad. Like I just lost someone."
Fatih said nothing.
"I know it's weird," she continued, gently sitting down on the floor. "But it's like… a dream that hasn't ended. But not a dream. More like… I'm feeling something that doesn't belong to me."
Her gaze landed on the old wooden chair in the corner.
"Can I sit there?"
Fatih nodded.
As she sat down, Keyla lowered her head in silence. Then she looked up, her eyes glistening with tears, though she didn't understand why.
"This place… is holding onto something, isn't it?"
Fatih looked at her. "Do you feel things like that often?"
Keyla hesitated. "I don't know. Sometimes I walk into a new place, and my chest tightens. Or I touch an old object and suddenly feel… sad, angry, or scared. But it's not my feeling. It's strange, right?"
Fatih replied softly, "It's not strange. Maybe… you're more sensitive than you realize."
Keyla hugged her knees. "Or maybe I'm just tired. Typical overthinking student."
Fatih didn't respond. He recognized the signs. He'd experienced them himself. But he also knew it wasn't time for Keyla to understand everything.
Not yet.
One thing was certain though:
That chair was more than old wood.
And Keyla—though she didn't know it yet—might be opening a door that had long been locked shut.
---
That day, they didn't say much more. But in the silence, one thing became increasingly clear to Fatih:
This place was more than a place to live.
It was a space that held traces. Emotions. Scars.
And maybe, Keyla wasn't just the girl next door.
She was part of a deeper puzzle—one that was only beginning to unfold.