The Unnamed... — Part II

School ended. 

For everyone, this was the end of a stage. For me, nothing changed. We were still together.

Same city, same university — even the same house. Our families called it "good friendship," and they were even happy about it. In their eyes, we were just two close girlfriends. No one asked questions. It didn't even occur to anyone to ask.

During the day, we were like that too — two close girlfriends. We woke up together. Went to class. Drank tea. Laughed. She told me about the boys at university. Who looked at whom, who texted her, who talked to her. I listened. Sometimes something squeezed inside me, but I hid it.

Because I didn't want to lose the night.

Nights were completely different. Same house, same room, same bed — but there, we became someone completely different. When she came close to me, touched me, kissed me, all those boys she talked about during the day seemed to disappear. I disappeared too. All that remained was that moment.

Once, between kisses, she whispered: "I can't get enough of kissing you…"

That sentence was everything to me. It was the reward for everything I endured during the day, for all those names, for all those conversations.

But this balance didn't last long.

One day, she said she had a crush on a boy at university. "It's nothing," she said. "I'm just talking." I wanted to believe. I really wanted to.

But as time passed, this "nothing" took shape. The calls increased. The messages increased. The meetings began. The hardest part was that all of this was happening right in front of me. The phone never left her hand, and when she laughed, I stayed silent. Something inside me was slowly fading out. The nights still continued, but those moments no longer felt as "belonging only to us" as before.

Then that day came.

The door opened. She brought him inside.

I was in the room. I didn't go anywhere — leaving didn't even cross my mind. I just sat and watched. The way she stood next to him. The way she laughed. The way she looked at him.

That look. She had never looked at me that way.

In that moment, everything became clear: I was the unseen side of her life. The hidden part, the nameless part. The boy, on the other hand, was real, open, accepted, normal. It was as if someone was showing me directly: look, this is what you don't have.

I couldn't sleep that night. In that house, the house we held together, I now felt like a guest.

The hardest part was that we still hadn't talked about anything. Not about what we were living. Not about what we felt. It was as if if we spoke, everything would fall apart — this unspoken agreement between us, and something inside me.

I didn't speak. I stayed silent. As always.

But this time, instead of protecting me, staying silent was breaking something inside me a little more every night.

A night came when I began to think about myself. First with fear. And then… I'll tell you about what came next, next time.

You can read Part I of "The Unnamed" here.

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