Since I had just confirmed once again that I had truly made a fool of myself, I was definitely going to leave now. "I honestly don't know what I should say, believe me."
I was tugging at the hem of my navy blue t-shirt in my palm. Something incredibly strange was happening, but I couldn't understand why it felt so strange.
Talking to someone was difficult for me, of course, but shouldn't there be another reason for it to be this difficult?
"You could say your name, for example."
As her cheeks turned pink, she bit her lower lip and turned her eyes toward her feet. She was likely waiting for me to say something, but I had reached a state where I couldn't do anything. My mind scattered; my thoughts were shattered to pieces.
The moment I thought I had even forgotten my own name, my voice spilled faintly from my lips.
"Bulut."
"If you'd like to continue... I mean, you can state if you are pleased, and if not... well, I suppose you might not need to say that. Anyway, you might have been pleased—I mean, I hope you were," I stammered.
Finally, my lips curled upward like hers; a small smile escaped me.
"I was... I was, but... if you ask why I'm waiting... I forgot that too. If you wait a bit—if you want to wait, of course—it'll come back to me." I felt as if I couldn't fit within my own walls.
"I'll wait, but I'm already here anyway... tomorrow, too, even for a while. You can ask whenever you want."
My eyes widened in surprise. "No," I blurted out vehemently.
You can't even imagine what kind of trouble it causes in my bed when I don't speak my mind the moment thoughts occur. I immediately imagined myself lying miserably in bed.
Yes, she was willing to wait, but I simply couldn't remember the thing I was going to ask.
"I don't remember..." I said, exhaling sharply into the air that consoles human sorrow. I was only just realizing the rain was dripping onto my face, though I was already soaked anyway.
She looked at me, appearing to bite her lip slightly.
"It's okay; then may I ask you something?"
As one of my eyebrows arched in curiosity, her eyelids closed and opened heavily. The swirl in her green eyes felt as if it were pulling me in with force. I felt like I was walking inside a magical mirror.
"As long as it's not about living, it's fine." After I uttered that sentence, I waited for her answer, feeling embarrassed.
It was the first time I was observing someone to hear what they had to say.
"If a person were to go on a journey, would they inform those close to them?"
Feeling crushed under the weight of her question, I shrugged to myself.
"If asking me would benefit you, I would like to answer..."
"It will benefit me, you can be sure of that," she insisted politely.
One could tell from her tone that this question was important.
"You should ask your question to someone ordinary," I smiled nervously. Before she could interrupt, the expression on my face grew still. She became a bit more serious and took a step forward; I instinctively drew back.
"I want to ask you. Would you answer if it were like that?" Faced with the words she spoke and the mastery with which she used them, I felt helpless. She seemed to have sensed the distance between us. Then, I moved closer to her.
"I suppose they would."
"And the tree in front of their house, the chair they sit on, their balcony, their books... or the gardener in front of the house? Should they be informed too?"
"They should. I would if it were me. It would be nice... but if the news you're giving is bad, what importance does it hold whom you tell?"
"If I were to give bad news and just say it to a random person... for example, to someone I met for the first time... would that be very strange?"
"I don't know," I interjected immediately in a voice dominated by stillness.
I waited.
Then I saw her shake her head negatively. She definitely seemed to want an answer, and it felt as if every second I didn't speak or answer was hurting her. At least, that's what I thought.
After tapping her cane once on the ground, she moved as if she were about to leave. She looked more regretful than anything. Pushing myself forward in that moment, I let her stir slightly in front of me.
"Wait."
My voice was lifeless.
"I want to answer."
As if she had been easily won over by these words I spoke involuntarily, she gave up on leaving. It was as if she had been waiting for this anyway. Realizing once again that I was taking everything upon myself, I fell silent—but then I grew afraid, thinking she would continue to walk away.
It turns out my words could leave an impact on a human being.
"I think, before that person, they should tell the gardener of their house, the cleaner, and even before that, they should tell their desk."
While she nodded to herself, I pulled myself together and continued.
"I see," she murmured, looking lost in thought. A single tear appeared on the threshold of her long black lashes.
I felt a pang, a fracture inside me; it settled over me like a physical pain. My heart truly ached.
"If they fled from telling them and told someone they didn't know at all... would that be very bad?"
This time, since her question required thought, I remained silent so as not to say the wrong thing.
"Will they return from where they're going?"
Everything depended on that.
With my question, that tiny droplet rolled down her cheek. And I rolled down the abyss in my heart. It was no longer clear whether the wetness on her face was tears or from the rain.
"One doesn't need to know that; only God knows. Tell me, please, would it be bad?"
"It would be bad. Going without telling anyone is simply not right," I said, a smile forming on my face again. Perhaps I had smiled so boldly because she couldn't see me. I felt as if I were striving to stop someone who wanted to go on a journey. Yet I knew... it wasn't possible to stop a person who had truly decided to go.
"What if the gardener has died, the cats have gone to another house, the family has fallen apart, and everyone has scattered into their own lives? Should they still search for them and find them?"
In that moment, I found the real answer.
"Why go to all that trouble! Let them just not go, and that'll be the end of it."
She let out a graceful laugh and looked at me; the successive giggles almost made me laugh too. Just as one smile was ending, another was showing its face. She looked at me with a pleased expression until the sharp traces of the smile on her face faded, then she tilted her head in thanks and moved to leave.
Without even saying "see you," she simply turned her back.
When I turned my back in shame, I was met with the nurse's watchful eyes. She signaled for me to come with her hand.
"Boya," I muttered through my lips.
She hadn't even said "see you."
This was a farewell-less coincidence.
End Of Chapter