The terminal buzzed with routine energy, families with suitcases, businessn speaking on Bluetooth headsets, and airport staff moving about like background noise. She blended in seamlessly.
Approaching the airline desk, she used the na Aylin Monroe Alston, a Turkish national. The agent smiled and greeted her, asking, "What is your final destination, ma’am?"
With a smile, she replied, "Istanbul."
The agent inquired again, "One-way or return?"
After a brief pause, she answered, "One way."
As the ticket printed, she clenched her jaw.
After receiving her ticket, she sat down alone by Gate 6, staring blankly at the runway. Her fingers tightened around a locket as mories of her mom ca rushing back. Sibel Aydin was born in Istanbul and grew up wandering the twisty cobbled streets near Beyoğlu. She was a poet and a fighter, always saying, "When life burns you, go back to where your roots took hold. That’s where everything can grow again."
She’d often remind her, "Whenever you feel lost, the moon will find you again. No matter how far apart we are, I’ll always be looking for you. I’ll know you, even in the dark."
Her mom had passed away when she was just twelve, and her dad died just two years ago. Now, her little sister was all that was left. Istanbul had always felt like ho, the only city where Lunel beca Aylin, and the shadows respected her silence.
Caught up in her thoughts, she snapped back to reality when she heard the announcent: "Final boarding call for Turkish Airlines Flight TK12 to Istanbul..."
She grabbed her bag and stood, feeling neither panicked nor scared. She had no idea if Alpha would ever find her again or if Hazard King even rembered who she was. But one thing was clear: she wasn’t finished yet.
She sat down in a seat by the window, her face turned slightly toward the glass as she took in the view of fluffy clouds drifting by. Row 17A. Alone. Just about blending into the background.
Out of the blue, a guy sitting next to her broke the silence with a warm voice. He looked like he was in his fiftees and wore a friendly smile that made him seem approachable. "Are you going ho, or are you running away from sothing?"
She glanced over at him. He seed nice, not nosy, just soone who was used to chatting with random people. She managed a light smile and said, "Maybe both."
He chuckled softly, a comforting sound in the cramped space. "Istanbul’s great for that. People can just disappear there and reinvent themselves."
She didn’t respond, but she tightened her grip on her cup of coffee just a little. She had asked the air hostess for it after they entered the airplane, because she needed sothing to drink since she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything.
The stranger kept talking, his voice laced with nostalgia. "I grew up in Kadıköy, a lively part of Istanbul. I moved to Boston 15 years ago. After my wife passed away, I’m heading back now. Maybe I’ll restart my old bookstore, where the sll of worn pages filled the air."
Lunel’s eyes shot to him at the ntion of Kadıköy, her mom’s old neighborhood, packed with mories. She said, "My mom was born there."
His smile grew wider, a mix of recognition and kindness. "Then Istanbul will welco you back like a daughter. That city has a funny way of rembering its own blood."
She swallowed hard, feeling a mix of emotions. It had been ages since she felt like anyone’s daughter, her sense of belonging shattered by loss and distance.
After a mont, he continued, pulling her back into their conversation. "You remind of a good friend from back in the day. She was stunning, just like you, when we were your age. We did everything together, school, college, you na it."
She smiled and asked, "What happened to her?"
He sighed, a shadow passing over his face. "She died a long ti ago. She was looking into sothing risky, and one day, we got the news she’d been killed. I wasn’t in Turkey then; I was in Boston, and I really missed her. She was my first real friend."
"That’s really sad," she said, her heart aching for the loss he carried.
He added, a touch of wisdom in his voice, "She taught that the most dangerous truths are often buried in beautiful words."
That line stuck with her, striking a chord as if she had seen it sowhere or heard it whispered in a dream before.
After that, both fell quiet; the old man dozed off. He stirred awake when the flight attendant cheerfully announced, "Welco to Istanbul! It’s 6:30 AM local ti. Please stay in your seats with your seatbelts fastened until the sign goes off." The cozy atmosphere of the cabin made it feel like a new adventure was just beginning.
*****
At Istanbul Airport, the air felt different, warm and full of the lively scents of spices, chatter, and the ocean breeze. She slipped past immigration, clutching her Aylin Monroe Alston passport with the Turkish flag stamped across her na. Her coat was draped over her arm, and she quickly stashed the passport in her pocket. Making her way to the baggage carousel, she kept an eye out for her bag. When it finally rolled around, she grabbed it and headed out of the airport.
Outside, a line of taxis waited, engines idling. She walked over to one and told the driver where to take her. The ride lasted about 30 minutes, with the city whizzing by. When they arrived, she paid the driver, including a little extra tip; she always appreciated those who worked hard, especially compared to the people she saw sitting on the streets, asking for help. He flashed her a smile, and she smiled back before the cab pulled away.
As she stood in front of the door, she knew exactly where the keys were and that her sister would be asleep; it was Sunday, and her Uni was off, so she skipped ringing the doorbell. After finding the pot where the keys were hidden, she took one out and opened the door. Once she was inside, she locked it behind her, feeling a rush of comfort in her familiar surroundings.
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