PROLOGUE
His perspective:
"I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now—it’s like a sharp pain is piercing through my chest. It’s hard to breathe. Two years ago, I stood in this exact same place... with her. She was gazing out at the lake, silent and still, and I stood just behind her, waiting for the moment she’d turn around and see me.
I’ve missed her so much.
Without thinking, I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her. She didn’t say a word, but I could hear her soft sobs. I held her tighter, not wanting to let go. I couldn't tell if I was dreaming… or if she was just a ghost from my past."
Her perspective:
"I felt someone embrace me from behind. His arms were trembling. He was crying.
Every time I gently tapped his hands, hoping he’d loosen his grip, he only held me tighter.
My heart was racing.
Was it really him?"
Chapter 1
Nurin POV
Istanbul Sabiha Gokcen Airport- Immigration
I found myself standing behind an elderly Caucasian man, eyeing him from head to toe. I couldn’t help but be impressed by his quirky fashion sense. I mean, it’s definitely not summer—so why was he wearing a red floral polo shirt paired with black silk pants instead of summer shorts? And to top it off, he had on an old pair of red Chuck Taylor Converse shoes. I wasn’t mocking him; in fact, I genuinely appreciated the bold choice. Perhaps he dressed that way because he was here in Istanbul for a summer vacation. It even reminded me of something my grandmother might have worn. But just as I was getting amused by his outfit, he stepped out of the queue, and it was suddenly my turn.
I approached the immigration officer and greeted him with a warm, “Günaydın.” I smiled as he took my Malaysian passport. He had intense, tiger-brown eyes that could freeze you with a stare—I felt like he was scrutinizing me. Maybe he was surprised because I didn’t look like a typical Malaysian girl. In my mind, I was shouting, Yes! I am Malaysian!
I could tell he still wasn’t convinced, so he asked, “So, you’re Malaysian?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“And you’re here for a vacation? You don’t look Malaysian. Are you sick?”
I started to panic, worried I might be detained. Swallowing hard, I quickly responded, “I’m Malaysian, I’m just… pale, as you can see.”
Then the officer broke into a slow smile. “I’m just joking. What I meant is, you’re too pretty to be just an Asian girl. Türkiye’ye hoş geldiniz!”
I paused for a moment, trying to place the Turkish words. They sounded familiar—I’d seen them in my English-Turkish phrasebook. It meant Welcome to Turkey, so I quickly replied, “Teşekkür ederim!” (Thank you).
Dragging my navy blue Samsonite trolley bag behind me, I made my way to the baggage conveyor belt. On the way, I accidentally bumped into a tall, well-built guy. He was probably good-looking, but I didn’t really stop to notice—I was too focused on scanning the conveyor for my luggage. I didn’t even get to say sorry, but it didn’t seem like a big deal to him either.
It looked like I’d be waiting a while for my baggage, so I sat on my suitcase, earphones in, listening to Charlie Puth and Selena Gomez’s We Don’t Talk Anymore.
“Booyah!” I said to myself when I finally spotted my  luggage on the belt.
I grabbed it and sped off toward the arrivals area, my mind racing with excitement. I couldn’t believe I was finally here in Turkey—a two-month journey I hoped this would help me find myself.
This was something I had dreamed of for so long—getting away from everything: the pressure, the toxic mindset, the overprotective family, and even my best friend—my sister. I know she understands me more than anyone, even more than our parents. I had wished she could join me, to relax and unwind. I know, even if she doesn’t say it, she feels lonely and scared.
I want to apologize to her because I know she’s now carrying the weight of my absence. She already carried the burden of my presence—now it's even heavier without me around.
We used to be inseparable as kids, and I always considered her my best friend. But as we grew older, she slowly began to distance herself. I blamed myself for that—partly her decision to study medicine, but mostly me.
Even now, I still think of her as my best buddy. But I’m not sure she feels the same. We’ve grown together, yet somehow grown apart. That’s why this trip isn’t just for me—it’s also for us.
I know she has so much on her plate—her studies and the responsibility of keeping our parents grounded while I’m away. This is my first solo trip abroad, and even though I’m excited, I carry a piece of her with me.
I know deep down that I could buy all the souvenirs here and give them to her just to lift her mood when I return. I'm not sure if I have many stories to share, but I’ll save them for her.