Nurin POV
Romantic Café & Restaurant (Fatih,Istanbul)
I’m sitting on a blue floral single-seater couch, next to a small coffee vending machine resting on a side table.
It’s nearly lunchtime, and my meal is almost finished—Spaghetti Bolognese for the main course, a slice of cheesecake for dessert, and a cup of Turkish tea to top it all off. Honestly, the flavors work so well together—the rich, savory taste of the Bolognese, the creamy sweetness of the cheesecake, and the distinct warmth of the Turkish tea all complement one another perfectly.
Everything about this café feels harmonious—the cozy atmosphere, the vibrant furniture, the friendly staff, and the delicious food. It all ties together beautifully.
I really love this place. I can’t seem to get enough of it. It’s not that the food at my hotel isn’t good—it’s just a bit more expensive. And since I’m a foodie, I’ve made it a goal to explore and try different dishes around Istanbul for my blog.
After finishing my lunch, I asked for the bill. A pretty waitress came over to collect my card, and a minute or two later, she returned and handed it back to me.
I felt a little shy about starting a conversation, but I went for it anyway. “Um, miss, do you speak English fluently? I need to ask you something.”
She smiled warmly and replied, “Yes, I do. By the way, I’m Mia Louis. I’m not Turkish—I’m Spanish. I’m working here, and if all goes well, I’m hoping to become a Turkish citizen.”
That caught me by surprise. “Oh? That’s great! Are you free to chat for a bit? I’m Nurin Imad, by the way.”
We shook hands, and she said, “Yes, I’m free. There aren’t many outside customers here at the moment—most people prefer the food from the bigger hotels.”
I clasped my hands together and nodded, inviting her to take a seat for a while.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Mia—I love the cheesecake here! I’m actually staying at the Elysium Hotel,” I said, laughing. She joined in the laughter, but then cut in and asked, “So, what did you want to ask me?”
“Oh, it’s nothing serious,” I replied. “I was just going to ask if you could take a picture of me. But since you’re already here and we’re talking, why don’t we just take a selfie instead? I’ll post it on my Instagram.”
We posed and snapped a few selfies—about three or four—so I’d have some options to choose from. I showed Mia the photos and handed her my phone, letting her pick which one I should post.
She scrolled back and forth through the pictures, frowning slightly as she tried to decide. After a few moments, she finally picked one—the shot where we were both making wacky faces. I liked it too; it was fun and real, and it showed a different, more playful side of me to my followers.
I don’t usually post pictures of myself—my feed is mostly filled with food and nature shots. As Mia handed my phone back, she glanced at the screen while I was typing the caption: “It’s never too late to make new friends, even if it’s the last days of your amazing life.”
She tilted her head and asked, “Wait… what’s with that caption? It sounds a bit off.”
I paused, thinking of how to explain it in a lighter way. “Oh, it’s nothing dramatic. I just meant that I won’t be staying in Turkey for long. But we can still be friends. I’ll add you on Instagram so we can keep in touch.”
I passed her my phone so she could add herself to my contacts.
We continued chatting for a bit until I noticed the time—it was already past 1:00 P.M. “Mia, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. I’ve got a few places to check out. Message me if you’re ever free so we can hang out outside the café.”
We both stood up. She rushed back into the kitchen, and I headed out, quickly making my way from the café.
While rushing to catch the next bus, I noticed a guy blocking my path—he was kneeling down, tying his shoelace right in the middle of the walkway. I had to adjust my stride to avoid tripping over him. To make things worse, he was also on the phone, casually talking as if he wasn’t in anyone’s way. I could even hear him saying, “Dude, I’m just out somewhere. I need to unwind before I go back to work,” followed by a light chuckle.
As I ran past him, I didn’t realize that the handkerchief tied to the strap of my backpack had fallen off. My mind was too focused on not missing the bus, and with my earphones in, I couldn’t hear anything—or anyone—calling out from the street.
Losing that handkerchief would really upset me. It holds a lot of sentimental value. My mom and sister once spent a day together decorating it—taking a plain store-bought handkerchief and adding our own hand-stitched designs. It’s something we do together, turning something simple into something meaningful and personal.