# Chapter 14: The Silent Farewell
The walk back was slow. Infinitely slow.
Yunar was no longer running. His feet dragged against the pavement with a weight that wasn't only physical. Each step seemed to carry the weight of two realities, two lives, two mutually exclusive choices.
The sun that had risen with such promise in the morning was now descending toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange, red, and violet. The shadows stretched long and distorted, like fingers reaching through time.
When he finally got home, night had fully arrived. Stars were beginning to appear in the dark sky, tiny points of light in an infinite void.
Yunar opened the door slowly, almost silently.
His mother was in the living room, folding bed linen. When she saw him come in, her eyes widened slightly — concern, confusion, and something resembling relief mixing in her expression.
"Where have you been?" She asked, setting the folded sheet on the sofa.
Yunar looked at her, but his words came out disconnected, as though his brain and mouth were no longer in sync.
"Of course."
His mother blinked, confused.
"Of course? What do you mean?"
But Yunar didn't respond. He just walked past her, heading down the corridor with mechanical, automatic steps. His mother called after him again, but her voice sounded distant, muffled, as though coming from very far away.
He opened the bedroom door.
And saw her.
Alya was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, scrolling on her phone. But the moment her eyes met his, she dropped the phone immediately.
She stood up so quickly she nearly tripped, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck in a tight, desperate hug.
"You're back!" Her voice came out muffled against his shoulder, filled with a mixture of relief and concern that made his chest ache painfully. "Where have you been all this time?"
She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her hands holding his face as though she needed to make sure he was real.
"I was worried. So I decided to wait for you."
Yunar just accepted the embrace.
He said nothing. Couldn't say anything. He just closed his eyes and held her back, memorising the feeling — the warmth of her body, the soft scent of her perfume, the way she fit perfectly against him.
As though they had been made for each other.
---
The hours dragged on in a heavy silence.
They moved through the evening routine like ghosts — changed clothes, brushed their teeth, turned off the lights. Small domestic rituals that seemed absurdly normal given that Yunar's world was falling apart.
When they finally lay down in bed, the room was drowned in near-complete darkness. Only the faint light of the moon coming through the half-open window provided any visibility — enough to see silhouettes, but not details.
Alya lay on her side, facing him, her hand finding his beneath the sheets. Their fingers interlaced — such a simple gesture, but carrying so much meaning.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Alya broke the silence. Her voice came out low, hesitant, filled with a vulnerability that made something split inside Yunar's chest.
"You can..."
She stopped. Breathed deeply.
Yunar tried to keep his voice gentle, even though he felt he could break at any moment.
"What?"
Alya pressed his hand harder, as though gathering courage.
"You can... make love." The words came out in an almost inaudible whisper. "It's okay."
Yunar looked at her through the darkness.
And the tears began to fall.
Silent. Warm. Streaming from the corners of his eyes, soaking the pillow beneath his head.
Alya said nothing. She just moved closer, closing the distance between them, and kissed him — softly, carefully, as though he were something fragile that might break under pressure.
The kiss deepened. Hands found skin. Breathing quickened. And for a few precious, stolen hours, Yunar tried to exist only in that moment, only in that reality, only with her.
As though he could stop time through sheer force of will.
As though he could make that night last forever.
---
Hours later, they lay under the sheets, bodies intertwined, breathing slowly returning to normal.
Alya had fallen asleep. Her face was relaxed, peaceful, lit by the moon now higher in the sky. A strand of hair had fallen across her eyes, and Yunar moved it away gently, his fingers trembling slightly.
He watched her sleep.
He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The way her lips curved slightly, as though she were dreaming of something pleasant. The way her hand still held his even in sleep, as though she didn't want to let him go.
Yunar tried to resist.
Tried to keep his eyes open, to keep himself anchored in this reality, in this moment, in this last piece of time he had with her.
But he hadn't slept in over a day. His body was beyond exhaustion. The adrenaline that had kept him going had finally run dry.
And slowly, inevitably, his eyelids began to grow heavy.
He tried to fight it. Shook his head. Squeezed his eyes shut with force and opened them again.
But it was useless.
Sleep pulled him under like an irresistible tide.
And he gave in.
---
When he opened his eyes, he was in the living room.
Not the living room of the apartment where Alya was sleeping. The other living room. The living room of the original reality.
Yunar was standing near the sofa, disoriented, trying to process the abrupt transition. Daylight came through the windows — mid-afternoon, by the angle of the sun.
And then he heard it.
Small footsteps. Light. Running toward him.
The bedroom door opened.
Hana.
His daughter — dark hair tied in a messy ponytail, large eyes shining with pure joy — ran to him with open arms.
"You came, Daddy!"
She threw herself against his legs, hugging him with all the strength her small body allowed.
Yunar felt something split inside him. He bent down and picked her up, holding her against his chest, feeling her real and solid weight — not a dream, not an illusion. Real.
She was real.
But then he saw Sara.
She was approaching slowly from the hallway, but there was something different in her posture. Her arms were slightly crossed — not defensively, but... trembling. As though she were holding herself together.
When her eyes met his, Yunar saw fear there. Genuine fear.
Because she had witnessed it. Had witnessed him picking up the knife in the kitchen. Holding the blade against his own chest and repeating like a broken mantra: *"It's all a dream. It's all a dream. It's all a dream."*
She had watched her husband try to kill himself.
And she didn't understand why.
"Are you feeling okay?" Sara asked, her voice carefully controlled, as though speaking to someone on the edge of a collapse. "Where have you been?"
Yunar looked at her while still holding Hana, who had rested her head on his shoulder, completely oblivious to the tension in the air.
"Nowhere," he said simply.
He wiped the tears that were beginning to fall — those cursed involuntary tears that never left him alone.
He looked at Hana in his arms. So small. So innocent. So completely dependent on him.
"Daddy will be right back, okay?" he said softly, beginning to lower her back to the ground. "I need to—"
"No!" Hana protested immediately, clinging to him tighter. "I want you to stay!"
"Don't worry," Yunar said, doing his best to smile, even though he felt his face might crack from the effort. "I'll come back. I just need to go somewhere."
Sara took a step forward, her expression hardening.
"You need to stop this." Her voice trembled, not with anger, but with a mixture of fear and accumulated frustration. "She needs more time with you. We miss you. You can't just disappear whenever you want and show up whenever you want."
Yunar felt each word like a blade.
Because she was right. Completely right.
He was a terrible father. A terrible husband. Disappearing without explanation, showing up broken and crying, trying to kill himself in front of them.
And now... now he was leaving again.
Perhaps for good.
"Just twenty minutes," he said, his voice coming out steadier than he felt. "Just twenty more minutes."
Before Sara could protest, before Hana could start crying, Yunar was already moving. He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him with a soft but definitive click.
And then he started running.
---
His feet struck the pavement hard, each impact reverberating through his legs, his knees, his spine.
Tears streamed in the pressure of the wind, torn from his face and left behind like invisible trails.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the air, to the universe, to Alya sleeping in another reality without knowing he would never come back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
It wasn't just tears now.
It was sobs. Deep. Violent. Shaking his entire body as he ran, making the people on the streets stop and stare with concern, whispering to each other.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, louder now.
And with each step, memories of Alya exploded in his mind like painful fireworks.
*I'm sorry.*
He remembered her first hug — hesitant, careful, but filled with so much genuine warmth that it made something melt inside him.
*I'm sorry.*
He remembered their first kiss — her lips soft and warm against his, the faintly sweet taste of her strawberry lip gloss.
*I'm so sorry.*
He remembered every smile she had ever given him — those small, shy ones when he said something funny, the wide and radiant ones when she was truly happy, the sad but understanding ones when she saw him cry without knowing why.
*I'm sorry.*
He remembered how she always waited for him, no matter how long he disappeared. Always there, always patient, always offering unconditional love even when he couldn't explain what was wrong.
*I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.*
The memories came faster now, flooding his mind in a devastating emotional avalanche.
The way she laughed — a soft, musical sound that made the world feel less heavy. The way she bit her lower lip when she was nervous. How she always held his hand when they walked together, their fingers interlaced like pieces of a puzzle. The expression of pure concern on her face every time she saw him crying. The warmth of her body against his on that last night.
All of these memories — all these small pieces that made up the love he felt for her — hammered against his consciousness like waves against rock, each one eroding a little more of his resolve.
But he kept running.
Because on the other side of this choice was Hana. His daughter. His blood. And Sara. The woman he had loved first. The family that was legitimately, originally his.
Finally, breathless, tears still falling without stopping, Yunar arrived at the building.
The building where Eren's apartment was.
Where the fragments were.
He stopped in front of the entrance, looking up. The windows were dark, some broken, the whole building radiating an aura of abandonment.
He breathed deeply — once, twice, three times — trying to calm the heart that was beating so hard it hurt.
Then he pushed the door open and went in.
---
The stairwell was drowned in half-darkness. Some lights flickered irregularly, others had burned out completely. The air smelled of damp and something more — something like solidified sadness, if such a thing could have a smell.
Yunar began to climb.
Slowly.
Each step was a conscious decision. Each one, a deliberate movement toward the inevitable.
*First step.*
He remembered Alya making food for him — that container prepared with such care, saying "I made it myself" with that proud and hopeful smile.
*Second step.*
He remembered her saying "You don't have to cry this much" while running her hand through his hair, offering comfort even without understanding the source of the pain.
*Third step.*
He remembered how she always found him wherever he was — at school, at home, it didn't matter. She always came. She always stayed.
*Fourth step.*
He remembered the night he had just spent with her. The vulnerability in her voice when she said "You can make love." The absolute trust. The pure and unconditional love.
*Fifth step.*
He remembered her face sleeping peacefully, lit by the moon, completely unaware that he would never come back.
Each step was torture.
Each stair, a silent goodbye to pieces of a life he would never have.
*Sixth step.*
He remembered how she laughed when he made bad jokes.
*Seventh step.*
He remembered how she always held his hand, even when they were just watching TV.
*Eighth step.*
He remembered the way she looked at him — as though he were the most important person in the world.
*Ninth step.*
He remembered the first time she said "I love you" — nervous, flushed, but sincere in a way that made his heart stop.
*Tenth step.*
He remembered that she was still there, sleeping, waiting for him to come back. Not knowing that when she woke up, he simply... wouldn't exist. Would never have existed.
Yunar stopped on the landing, gripping the railing hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.
He sobbed — a loud, broken sound that echoed through the empty stairwell.
"I'm sorry," he whispered one more time, his voice cracked. "Alya... I'm sorry. I love you. I love you so much. But I can't..."
He couldn't finish the sentence.
Because there were no words to explain. No justification that made this right. No choice that didn't leave permanent scars.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand — useless, because the tears kept coming — and forced his legs to move.
He kept climbing.
One step at a time.
Each one a goodbye.
Each one a piece of his heart left behind.
Until he finally reached the right floor.
Eren's apartment.
Where the fragments were waiting.
Where his choice would be finalised.
Where one reality would live, and another would be erased as though it had never existed.
Yunar stood in front of the door, his hand extended toward the handle
.
And hesitated.
For one last moment, he allowed himself to imagine another reality. One where he didn't have to choose. Where he could have both. Where he didn't have to destroy one love to preserve another.
But that reality didn't exist.
It never had.
He breathed deeply.
And opened the door.
---
*END OF CHAPTER 14*