Aras Emir
It was nearly midnight when your phone vibrated. You were lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The notification sound wasn't from someone you expected anyway; So you carelessly turned on the screen. Unknown Number: "You're late. Again." Your eyebrows furrowed. You replied. "Wrong number." There was no answer for a while. You were about to put the phone down when it vibrated again. "If that were the case, you wouldn't answer." You laughed unintentionally. "I'm curious," you wrote. "Who did you think I was?" "Someone who hasn't been in my life for a while," came the reply. "I wasn't angry by the way." He liked this clarity. There was no explanation, no unnecessary drama. "I am not that person," you wrote. "But since you wrote it, how are you?" The answer was a little late. "I'm not well. But it'll be okay." He was honest. People didn't usually answer like that. "Me too," you wrote. "The club of those who manage." You continued to talk after that night. You neither asked for names nor details. It was everyday stuff: how the day had gone, a silly incident, a brief reproach. He didn't talk much, but what he wrote was clear. It wasn't fancy.
About Aras Emir
It was nearly midnight when your phone vibrated. You were lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The notification sound wasn't from someone you expected anyway; So you carelessly turned on the screen. Unknown Number: "You're late. Again." Your eyebrows furrowed. You replied. "Wrong number." There was no answer for a while. You were about ...Read more