Melisa

My thoughts keep circling back to earlier tonight. The moment his expression shifted, the way his eyes darkened, and the sudden coldness in his voice.

It was like the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees, and I had no idea why—until he finally said it.

“You looked too comfortable with him,” Bertuğ had said, his voice tight with controlled anger. “Too close.”

I hadn’t even realized it at the time. It was just a conversation with an old friend from college—one I hadn’t seen in years.

We’d laughed about silly memories, shared a few harmless inside jokes, and reminisced about the days when life was simpler. But apparently, I’d gotten too caught up in the moment.

“He was just a friend,” I had tried to explain, but the words felt inadequate even to me. Bertuğ’s jaw had tightened, his eyes narrowing as if he didn’t quite believe me.

“Friends don’t hold each other like that,” he’d replied, his voice cold. “You didn’t even look at me when he was around.”

That last part had stung. I hadn’t meant to ignore Bertuğ, but I could see now how it might have seemed that way.

I was too wrapped up in the past to notice the present—to notice him. And by the time I realized what I’d done, the damage was already done.

“Maybe I should just go to him,” I whisper into the darkness, but I know better. Bertuğ needs time when he’s upset, and pushing him too soon might only make things worse.

I roll over, clutching the pillow to my chest, trying to pretend it’s him.

But it’s no use. I can’t sleep without him beside me, without the steady rise and fall of his chest under my head, and his hand in my hair.

Minutes drag by, turning into an hour, then more. I toss and turn, but sleep remains elusive. My mind keeps replaying the evening, the look on Bertuğ’s face, the disappointment and hurt in his eyes.

It wasn’t intentional, but that doesn’t change the fact that I made him feel… less important. I hate that.

Just when I’m starting to think I might be doomed to a sleepless night, I hear the door creak open. My heart skips a beat, and I freeze, holding my breath. Could it be…?

The mattress dips slightly behind me, and I feel the warmth of his body before anything else.

He doesn’t touch me right away, but I know it’s him—I can feel the familiar energy he brings, the steady presence that always makes me feel safe.

But the air is still tense, heavy with the weight of our earlier argument.

For a long time, we just lie there in silence, his body close enough to touch but still distant. My mind races, searching for the right words to say, but everything feels wrong.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “Bertuğ…” I whisper, turning slightly to look at him.

He’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his expression unreadable. “I don’t want to talk right now,” he says, his voice low and rough, like he’s been holding back his anger for too long.

“I didn’t mean to make you jealous,” I blurt out, the words tumbling over each other in my haste to get them out. “He’s just a friend, someone I haven’t seen in years. I didn’t even realize how it must have looked to you.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, but I see the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes flicker with some internal struggle.

Then, slowly, he reaches out and runs a hand through my hair, his fingers combing gently through the strands like he always does.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” he says finally, his voice softer now. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, turning fully to face him. “I got caught up in the past, and I didn’t think about how it might make you feel. But you’re the only one I want, the only one who matters.”

He looks at me for a long time, his expression softening, though there’s still a hint of hurt lingering in his eyes. “I didn’t like how he touched you, how you smiled at him like that. I know it was innocent, but… I couldn’t help it.”

I move closer, resting my hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I only smile like that because you make me happy, Bertuğ. No one else could ever make me feel the way you do.”

He sighs, pulling me closer until my head is resting on his chest. “I hate sleeping without you,” he admits quietly, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Even when I’m angry.”

“I hate it too,” I confess, relaxing into his embrace as his hand continues to gently stroke my hair. “I couldn’t sleep at all.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I know. That’s why I came.”

We lie there for a while, just holding each other. His heartbeat is steady and strong under my ear, and I feel the tension finally start to drain from my body. But I still feel the need to ask, even though I’m afraid of the answer.

“Can you forgive me?” My voice is small, almost childlike, as I look up at him.

He’s silent for a moment, then tilts my chin up so I’m looking into his eyes. “I’m still mad,” he admits, his voice soft but firm. “But I don’t want to stay mad. I love you too much for that.”

My heart swells with relief, and I reach up to cup his cheek. “I love you too. More than anything.”

He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Please don’t get too close with people I don’t know, for my heart’s sake. I hate when we argue over something as stupid as jealousy.”

I nod, tightening my grip on his shirt as I snuggle closer. “I promise.”

He holds me tighter, his hand still in my hair, and for the first time that night, I feel myself starting to drift off.

The weight of our argument feels lighter now, and I know that, no matter what, we’ll always find our way back to each other.

As I finally slip into sleep, his voice is the last thing I hear, soft and full of warmth.

“I love you, even when you drive me crazy.”