Whispers of the Past

Chapter Thirty Three - A Name

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

Anya stood alone on the porch, the warmth of the afternoon sun failing to penetrate the chill that had settled in her heart. Timothee's words echoed in her mind, each one a shard of truth piercing the carefully constructed narrative of her past.

The man she kissed with such passion, the man she clung to as a beacon of hope, loved another. The sister she had embraced, the woman who filled the missing piece of her identity, held that love in her heart.

Betrayal stung, sharp and unrelenting. Yet, beneath the hurt, a flicker of understanding flickered. She remembered Timothee's confusion, his hesitant touch. Perhaps, in her desperate search for her past, she hadn't seen the truth clearly.

Taking a deep breath, Anya made a decision. Anger and resentment wouldn't mend the fractured relationships. She needed answers, not to condemn, but to understand. With newfound resolve, she packed a bag and headed back to her parents' house.

Anya at her parents' house:

"Mom, Dad," Anya began, her voice tight with emotion, "I need to know everything. About the accident, about Atiye…"

Her parents exchanged uneasy glances, their faces etched with guilt. Her father cleared his throat. "Anya, we… we were just trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Anya demanded, her voice rising. "From the truth? From my own sister?"

Tears welled up in her mother's eyes. "It was all so sudden, the accident. You were in critical condition, and we…"

"You lied to me, You lied about everything. Because of you I lost my love, I lost Timothee." Anya choked out, her words heavy with accusation. "You built my entire life on a lie. You knew I liked him back then. Didn’t you???"

The silence in the room was suffocating. Finally, her father spoke, his voice low and remorseful. "We did what we thought was best at the time. We were scared of losing you too. Her dad.. You know her father... We were afraid of him hurting you. We love you baby."

"And hated Atiye? Left her there for die? Do you guys even have any idead what she has been gone through?" Anya shouted with tears in her eyes.

Anya closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. The anger was slowly giving way to a deep well of sadness. How could she have lived a life based on a fabricated reality?

Atiye and Timothee at the Hotel room:

"I have to go," Timothee said, his voice thick with emotion. "The interviews, they can't wait."

Atiye nodded, understanding etched on her face. "I know. "

He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze searching hers. "This isn't goodbye, Atiye. It's a see you later."

"I know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But the distance…"

"It's not like you're living here forever. Right? You'll come back to our littke yellow heaven soon. Just few days. Anya needs you too here. Her world is also shattered with unknown and unwanted bitter truthts babe" he said, leaning in and kissing her softly. " Just like we found out about your parents and sister, We'll find your father too, I promise."

They held each other close, the bittersweet taste of goodbyes lingering on their lips. As Timothee pulled away, his eyes held a silent plea. "Take care of yourself, Atiye. And let me know what happened there as soon as you talks with Anya"

Atiye watched him go, a lump forming in her throat. Timothee was right. It was time to reach out to Anya, to bridge the gap that had formed between them.

...

Later that evening, Anya stood outside of Atiye's hotel room, her hand hovering over the doorbell. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button.

The door creaked open, revealing Atiye's surprised face.

"Anya?" she said, her voice hesitant.

Anya nodded, her emotions churning within her. "Can we talk?"

Atiye stepped aside, ushering her in. They sat facing each other in the warm glow of the lamplight, a tense silence hanging in the air.

I know everything now," Anya finally said, her voice trembling slightly. "About the accident, about who you are."

Atiye met her gaze, her heart pounding. "And how do you feel?"

Anya hesitated, then forced a smile. "Confused, hurt… but also relieved. In a way, I finally understand the missing pieces of my life."

Relief washed over Atiye. But there was more to say. "I know your parents made a terrible mistake," she began, her voice cracked. "But please, Anya, they love you."

A tear rolled down Anya's cheek. "I know," she whispered. "And I love them too. But I also need to find my own path now, separate from their lies."

Anya stood by the window, watching a photo of Timothee carrying Atiye on his arms at the bedside.  A bittersweet smile played on her lips. She no longer harbored resentment. She understood his love for Atiye, and she wished them both happiness.

They talked for hours, sharing their pain, their confusion, and their hopes for the future. Neither offered easy answers or forced forgiveness. But as the dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, a fragile understanding had blossomed between them.

As the night deepened, a flicker of curiosity sparked in Anya's eyes. "There's one thing I remember from before the accident," she began hesitantly. "A name… Mehmet. A man who used to visit our home after few months in search of his daugher. My mom used to tell him that she's dead but he never truly  believed. After my accident, I didn’t remember this along with many other things you know.. So I've no idea whether he still visits our parent's or not! I.. I feel that, the daughter he was searching for is probably... "

Atiye's breath hitched, "Me?"  A name, a possible lead towards her birth father, the missing piece she never dared dream of finding. "Mehmet?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Tell me everything. How'd he look like?"

Anya recounted the fragmented memory, a blurry scene of her eyes meeting a man with kind eyes, at their doorsteps.

With each detail, Atiye's heart pounded faster, hope battling against skepticism.

"He spoke Turkish," Anya finished, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Tears welled up in Atiye's eyes. The possibility, even faint, ignited a fire within her. All these years, she had accepted the narrative of being an orphan, a lost soul with no roots. But this name, this memory, offered a glimmer of connection, a chance to rewrite her story. She whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "But where do we even begin?"

Anya, fueled by a newfound purpose, pulled out her phone, "I'm sure my parents do not wish to loose their daughter Atiye. They will not hide anything from me anymore. Let me help you, I'm askingbthem for his information. "

A gasp escaped Atiye's lips. Istanbul, a city far away yet suddenly so close. Could this be real? Could this be the missing piece she had yearned for all her life?