hometown: born in istanbul, turkey. raised in many cities — cairo, marseille, vancouver, and thessaloniki among them. currently rooted in coyote valley.
length of time in roseton: three years ( though it feels, to some, like she’s always been there ).
occupation(s): cultural archivist – documenting and preserving local histories, oral traditions, and endangered languages. memory worker – her self - given title for the more intimate, less tangible side of her work: collecting the emotional residue of people’s lives — lullabies, rituals, objects with stories stitched into them.
gender & sexuality: woman & demisexual.
❛ ⸻ AT A GLANCE .
FIELD RECORDER WRAPPED IN VELVET. PERFUME THAT SMELLS LIKE CEDAR, ROSEWATER, AND OLD PAPER — FADING INTO MEMORY BY DUSK. TALES PASSED DOWN IN MURMURS AND SCRAWLED ON THE BACK OF POSTCARDS. A LACE HANDKERCHIEF IN HER COAT POCKET, MONOGRAMMED BY A WOMAN SHE NEVER MET. A MOTH - EATEN COAT THAT ONCE BELONGED TO HER MOTHER’S MOTHER, STILL HOLDING THE SCENT OF HOME. BRASS DESK LAMPS GLOWING AT MIDNIGHT OVER STACKS OF HANDWRITTEN LETTERS. A NOTEBOOK THAT SMELLS FAINTLY OF LAVENDER AND DUST. SILHOUETTES OF STRANGERS IN OLD PHOTOS — CIRCLED IN RED, NEVER NAMED. A WORN PASSPORT HELD TOGETHER WITH A STAINED SILK RIBBON. A DIARY WRITTEN IN THREE LANGUAGES, NONE OF WHICH ARE CURRENTLY SPOKEN. THE GHOST OF A LIFE LEFT BEHIND, STILL SITTING QUIETLY IN THE CORNER OF HER ROOM.
❛ ⸻ THE STORY .
trigger warnings:
defne karaman moved through life like a woman stitched from stories — tales passed down in whispers, scrawled on the backs of postcards, pressed between the pages of old books. born in Istanbul and raised in the flickering glow of ancient city lights, she learned early on to listen to the silences between generations. her passion wasn’t just history — it was memory, the kind that lives in lace doilies, street names, and the weathered corners of photographs. she called herself a “ memory worker, ” someone who wandered through the archives of ordinary lives and called them sacred.
coyote valley was supposed to be just another stop. a charming town where gold rush grit met vineyard elegance, where she could finish a commissioned project documenting the shifting cultural identity of a once - rural enclave. but five years ago, something — or rather, someone — gave her a reason to stay longer. dante dahlin. a man with a mind as wide as the trail he loved to wander, and a heart that she had foolishly, fully, dared to keep.
their love was easy in the beginning. he loved her silences, her slowness, her habit of collecting rusted keys and keeping them in tea tins. she loved his belief in the future, in movement, in wide skies. for two years, they built something tender and strange, until it fell apart under the weight of a truth she hadn’t known how to name.
she was still married — technically, legally — to a man she had left behind in another life. the wedding day became the reckoning. she had not meant to lie. not exactly. but omission has its own gravity, and eventually, even the softest secrets make noise. it was a letter that did it. not even from him — from a government office back in istanbul, a routine reminder about a visa renewal, bearing both her names: defne karaman. defne demirci.
dante found it on the counter, unopened. she returned home that day to find him sitting at the edge of the counter, his expression unreadable. and in the rupture, defne didn’t run. she stayed. not out of guilt, but out of love for the land and the people who had quietly accepted her.
now, she records the unseen: lullabies sung in endangered tongues, names carved into barn doors, love stories never written down. her work is not flashy, but it is essential. and though some say she never quite returned from that heartbreak, others believe she simply stepped into a deeper version of herself — quiet, watchful, rooted.
and dante? he’s still around. they hardly even pass each other like ghost ships on a foggy lake. no words, just the weight of what almost was, and the quiet knowing that some stories aren’t meant to be finished — only remembered.
❛ ⸻ HEADCANONS.
she never finishes a journal. she always leaves the last few pages blank — not out of forgetfulness, but out of reverence. some stories don’t want to be concluded.
she remembers everyone’s grandmother’s name, even if she forgets their own. elders hold the center of every story for her.
she folds her laundry by candlelight while playing old turkish records, believing that even chores deserve a little ceremony.
she keeps a small stone in her coat pocket that she picked up during a storm in marseille. she rubs it with her thumb when she’s unsure of what to say.
she has dreams in multiple languages, sometimes waking up disoriented by which version of herself she was in.
she speaks softly at graves, even if she doesn’t know the person. especially if she doesn’t.
she believes the heart is a kind of archive, and that love, when lost, becomes part of the record.
she’s most herself when barefoot, surrounded by papers, with a mug of tea going cold. that’s when the ghosts come to speak.
she doesn’t believe in soulmates, but she believes in soul echoes — people who feel familiar even if you’ve never met.
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Without meaning to be obtuse or to throw a counter into whatever she'd said, Dante had somewhat done that. Haunt lingered and the more it collected the golden dust particles between them the more he'd come to an agreeable mindset. While he didn't fully know her feelings and experiences in his absence, Dante could fill a book of poetry in the way she was still somehow there.
The casualties of loving and losing someone still laid bleeding in every part of his life.
Early on, how many times had he turned to her in the kitchen to share a thought while he started on his morning coffee and Defne wasn't there? Or what about all those times he'd roll over in bed to cuddle into her and have her talk about what she was reading only to find her side of the bed cold? It was unsettling how quiet the house was when she'd gone from his life. Dante had taken for granted those sounds of someone sharing your living space. God, how he'd loved just hearing her move about the rooms, often talking aloud of the many things in her brilliant head.
Yeah. Haunt was correct. Despite his mind severing the connect at the discovery of betrayal, his heart, his body, his spirit — they hadn't caught up. The didn't understand why they were suddenly empty of the one thing that had made him feel so full. His life had been complete when Defne had been in it.
Since their wedding day he'd been mourning her, because losing her truly had felt like death. Hadn't he gone or been going through the stages of grief?
"Wanna share some of the load?" It was an olive branch. They needed to talk, to open up, to pull all the skeletons out of the closet. Dante wasn't naïve he didn't expect her to share every little secret she had, life didn't work that way, and he understood people were entitled to them. No one fully knew anyone anyway. It was the buried bodies that needed some digging up in the desert. "What's followed?"
The moment she answered, he knew his reaction showed on his face. Disappointment couldn't be masked, the grimace either as he felt a familiar ache in his chest. "What's complicated about it, D? There's a part of me that really wants to understand how that happened, how it was possible... but it's been a year."
With the bustling sounds of the festival going on around them, something that was a little too easily zoned out with his ex in front of him, Dante was reminded that this wasn't necessarily the place for them to delve into this conversation. It was a safe spot to break the ice, crack through that silence that had frozen between them. But a dive into why they fell apart? Perhaps not.
As her apology rang through his ears he nodded his head, blue eyes looked away to something in the distance — maybe it was where they could've been. "I know you are," he said quietly, but his gaze turned to the space between them. There was so much he didn't know how to make sense of, and he couldn't without a clear conversation. "I don't think you could've faked that love. I know I couldn't... and I love you enough to say yeah you should've told me. You should've trusted me and our connection that I wouldn't have run had you just told me."
In spite of himself, Dante reached for her hand and grazed his finger over where the wedding band should be, the one they'd picked out together. His eyes locked with hers. "I deserved you. All of you, though. Not just the pretty fragments and pieces. And I thought we were there." With her hand released he took a step back and canted his head toward the festival. "Lets get a glass of wine, yeah?"
his words hung heavy between them, as if the air had thickened with the kind of truth that bruises rather than soothes. defne didn’t interrupt. she let him speak, let him trace the fracture lines with such deliberate care it nearly undid her. when he touched the space on her finger where the band used to rest, a chill ran through her spine like the ghost of a kiss. there’d been so much almost with them — almost forever, almost truth, almost the kind of life people spend their whole damn existence trying to find. they almost had that. and defne ruined it for both of them.
" i wanted to be there, " she said softly, her voice just above the noise of the festival around them. “ with you. i thought i could bury the worst parts and just … be good. be enough. and maybe i was scared that if i told you the truth, i wouldn’t be. ”
defne's eyes dropped for a moment, lashes brushing against her cheekbones as she pulled in a slow breath. “ selim wasn’t a marriage. it was survival. a decision i made when i was twenty - three and desperate. there was no love there. there never was ... " defne hadn't planned on telling all of this to dante. at least, not yet. not here. but in the moment she couldn't bring herself to stop. " but untangling from him hasn’t been easy. he won’t sign. keeps saying he just wants to talk. but every time i see his name in my inbox or see a call from a blocked number, i … i freeze. ”
she blinked up at dante, letting him see it — all of it — the fear, the weight, the exhaustion, and the quiet hope stitched somewhere inside it all. “ it wasn’t about choosing him over you. it never was. it was about running so hard from the past that i didn’t stop to think about what it might cost. ”
when dante motioned toward the festival, toward something as simple and human as a glass of wine, defne felt the prickle of tears she refused to let fall. her lips curved into something faint, warm and uncertain. “ yeah, ” she said, brushing her thumb gently over the back of his hand one last time before letting him slip away. “ i’d like that. ”
it wasn’t absolution. but, it was a start.
"To be fair, I'm probably in debt at this point with my own coffee intake. I think that might be my main diet these days." James admitted with a laugh, guilty to having more than what was considered a normal amount of coffee in a day. Always using it to make up for the lack of sleep that he often got from restless nights. Nodding his head in agreement. "You might have a point there, walking distracted over walking around numb." The sentiment hitting a bit closer to home. "Ah- better mark this down as probably one of the few and rare moments of a good collision then." When asked about what song he had been listening too, James let out a laugh. "Lovely Rita, which I will forever stand by is one of their best songs. Oddly enough a very good jam." Stopping himself before he went on, knowing that once someone got him talking about the Beatles and music, he would ramble on forever about them. Because if there was one thing James was passionate about, well, it was exactly that. He paused for a moment, his eyes bright as he looked over at her. "James by the way, nice to meet you." Holding out his hand to shake hers. "Figured I should probably introduce myself properly since I almost took you out."
defne let out a quiet, amused breath — a laugh that curled at the corners of her mouth like the very start of a sunrise. “ well, james, ” she said, sliding her hand into his, her grip confident but not stiff, “ if you’re going to almost take someone out, at least you’ve got good taste in beatles songs. makes it easier to forgive. ” her head tilted slightly as she added, “ lovely rita’s an underrated gem. most people default to the classics, but you picked something cheeky. i like that. ” she offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach all the way into her eyes — not because she was insincere, but because there were just … pieces of her still under construction. “ i’m defne. and i promise i don’t always come with spilled pens and near - death coffee experiences. ” her gaze flicked playfully to her cup. “ though it sounds like caffeine may be your love language. ” she gives another soft and genuine this time. “ nice to meet you too, james. i think you might’ve just given me my first good moment today. ”
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It was both a blessing and a curse the way the world quieted in her presence. Maybe even dangerous that peace seemed improbable without her. Before he'd spotted Defne and transported himself into her orbit, drawn in by that uncanny gravitation pull, the world around him seemed to rage. It was loud, fast, disconcerting with laughter and joy...
But standing behind her shoulder, her signature scent teasing his heart, Dante felt something like a high vibrational hum. The woman was magic. Especially in the way the wind had danced her hair across his face... she walked, talked, breathed, and ached like a poem.
"Haunt is a negative," he commented, crystal blue eyes holding her cat-like gaze, "anguish or torment." Which, the memory of her and the feeling of her absence was exactly that feeling. Dante just hadn't known how to broach a conversation he never should've had to prepare for. It was uncharted territory.
"Not untrue, though," in a too familiar, reflexive move, he brushed her hair back behind her shoulder. "Are there more? Ghosts you thought you'd buried following after you?" The secret that she'd hidden from him hadn't been something small, it would've actually made their nuptials illegal had he shown up that day. Had he remained ignorant.
As he thought of the time since they'd last seen each other or spoken, Dante's gaze shifted off of her and didn't truly refocus on anything in particular. The box of mementos she'd left for him had come to mind, along with the knowledge that they'd been living amongst each other for a while. "Did you get a divorce, Defne?"
the wind carried his words like smoke — curling, lingering, impossible to ignore. defne stood still, her fingers resting gently on the edge of the book table, as if grounding herself through wood grain and ink. as if that was the only thing keeping her from shattering wide open in the middle of the damn festival. does she deserve to break?
' haunt is a negative, ' he’d said. and maybe he was right. maybe the word was too heavy, too cold for what had existed between them. but his absence had felt like a ghost, hadn’t it? the space he left in her bed, her mornings, her breath — she’d been haunted whether or not he meant to do it. as she has done to him.
defne didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed her hair back. she should have. but it was muscle memory — the way he touched her, the way she stilled under it. defne simply looked at him — and there was no upset in her expression. at least not yet. just tired honesty, and a terrible, endless kind of ache. she let out a slow, rueful exhale — not quite a laugh, but it was something dry and almost bitter, if it weren't for the fact that defne felt even a sliver of elatedness that dante was now willing to exchange words with her.
“ a few. ” her lips quirked, but there was no real humour in it. “ some i buried. some i just walked away from and hoped they wouldn’t follow. ” her eyes drifted past dante’s shoulder, tracing the silhouettes of strangers beneath festival lights. the world had gotten good at pretending it was gentle. and defne had fell for it. defne didn't turn back toward him as she answered. instead, her gaze lowered. his question hung in the air, sharp as a blade but honest. and if anything else, dante deserved honesty now. “ no, ” she said, softly — not evasive. just tired. defeated. heartsick. “ i haven’t. not yet. ” the wind teased the silence between them. “ i’ve been working on it. ” she didn’t offer it as an excuse, only as truth. defne also doesn't want to admit that she doesn't have the strength to go through the process. “ it’s … complicated. ”
she swallowed hard, her throat tightening with the weight of everything that never got said when they had time. " i'm sorry. i am. for everything i've put you through. i know it isn't enough, never will be. but i'm so, so sorry. i should have told you. i know that, and you deserved better. " she added, her voice like dusk — warm, but laced with shadow. defne doesn't know what to say other than that. she doesn't know how much she should say.
at this point, her words likely mean nothing all at to dante.
⸻ She was walking aimlessly, her mind half on the moon and half on Earth, when she found herself in front of Bloom Wellness. The scent of the products was what first caught her attention, especially the soaps and candles.
She wandered in to take a closer look, quickly picking out the soaps she wanted. Now she stood stuck in front of the candle display, holding two different ones and smelling each, unsure which to choose. She glanced at the person nearby. ❛ Hey! Could you help me? I’m looking for a candle that’s not too sweet — which one of these smells sweeter? ❜
" oh — yeah, sure! " pulled from her own head by the question, defne nods quickly, and turned with an easy, curious smile, truly happy to help. her eyes dropped to the two candles in the stranger’s hands. " i’m no candle sommelier or anything, but i’ve definitely sniffed my fair share of them. " she jokes before reaching for one, holding it carefully as if it were something delicate, and gave it a thoughtful sniff. " mmm, okay — this one smells like dessert. like, if a cupcake got turned into a spa day. " she passed it back and took the second, nodding slowly as she inhaled. " this one’s softer. a little musky, maybe some cinnamon and cedar in there? it’s got that ' curled up in a sweater reading a book ' kind of vibe ... " she looked back at the woman then, a small shrug, gentle and light: " the first one smells like a sugar rush. if that isn't something you want, i'd suggest the second candle. " defne gives the woman a playful grin, and can't help but ask, " what's the special occasion? have someone coming over for the night? "
closed starter: defne karaman / @softglws
location: booktown books booth / art & wine festival
Mentally, emotionally, maybe even spiritually, Dante had been in a strange place ever since he'd discovered his former fiancée's secret. It wasn't all on Defne and what he'd uncovered, he'd also been devastated by a business partner's betrayal, and then there was also his missing uncle.
It seemed his life had decided to crumble all at once and with one too many intense things shifting his worldview at once, Dante had nearly disconnected from reality. His vacation home had become a permanent refuge and he'd stepped away, or retreated was more like it, from just about everything he'd known. It was a recalibration of sorts, or had meant to be that, but all his time had been hunting down leads on Joshua Dahlin.
Since the day he'd let her show up to the altar alone, he'd been aware of Defne's presence in Coyote Valley. She was a force too magnetic and powerful to ignore. Though, the few times he'd seen her in the distance he'd turned like a coward and gone the other direction. Dante just hadn't been ready to deal and hear all the things he really didn't want to learn. She was married. What else was there to know?
Seeing her at the book table at the festival, however, something in him shifted. Perhaps it was the wine he'd sipped at several stops along his moseying. "Still chasing ghosts?" Dante had asked over her shoulder, voice low yet heavy just before he rounded behind her and appeared at the opposite side. His hands lifted a wrapped book from the table, Booktown was offering a date with a mystery book, but he wasn't reading the cryptic description meant to lure him. No, his heart was thudding at being so near the woman that had changed his life.
she doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her — not at first — but she feels them. that strange shift in air pressure, the static buzz that crawls up her spine, the gravity of a presence her body knows before her mind can catch up. the kind of silence that isn’t empty, but full. too full.
her fingers pause mid - reach toward a book with a frayed cloth cover. and then — “ still chasing ghosts? ” his voice breaks the world in half. low. familiar. too familiar. like someone had pulled a memory from the marrow of her bones and let it speak. her breath stutters, but she doesn’t turn. not yet. can’t. despite the fact she's been waiting for the moment dante was ready to talk to her. yet, she doesn't feel excited or relieved by this. instead, there's ache is already blooming somewhere deep and unkind beneath her ribs.
all at once, the festival’s hum carries on around them, distant and hazy, like the world’s trying to pretend this moment isn’t happening. but defne is rooted. stuck in the space between apology and heartbreak.
“ only the kind that stay with you even after you bury them. ” she murmurs, voice low and steady, but edged in something fragile. she doesn’t say anything else for a moment — the silence between them isn’t empty ; it’s the graveyard of every conversation they ever had. and then, finally, under skies that had once watched them fall in love — and later, fall apart — her eyes meet his. no hesitation. no shield.
she exhales slowly, barely a sound. “ ... the ones' that don’t haunt you to hurt you. ”
A huff of laughter, almost one of relief, made its way from James as she sad that it was okay. "Whew- though I think out of all of that, the coffee casualty would have been the worst." Pretty sure that there was nothing worse than dropping a coffee, especially one that you might not have made your way through just yet. Stepping out of her way as she grabbed the pen that had fell, holding a hand to his chest in mock relief as she mentioned that the coffee had lived the bump. "Oh thank goodness, believe me, had the coffee not made it through, I would have bought you all the coffee you could have needed." It would have been the least he could do had that in fact been the result of him running into her. "Probably would have thrown in a few bakes goods as well had that been the case, anything to grovel for ruining a good coffee." The corner of his eyes crinkling is amusement as he spoke, reaching into his pocket for his phone so he could pause the music that was still blaring from his headphones. "This should also probably be my sign to actually pay better attention to where I'm walking." He added once the music had stopped, flashing her a smile as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.
defne’s smile lingered, a quiet thing tucked into the corners of her mouth like a secret she wasn’t quite ready to let go of. there was something refreshing about someone who actually felt bad about the bump, instead of brushing it off with the usual small - town shrug and a muttered " my bad. " james had that kind of earnest charm you didn’t see often — or at least not lately. “ that, ” she said, pointing lightly at him, “ is a dangerously generous offer. do you know how much caffeine i can handle before noon? ” her brow arched playfully, a teasing sort of challenge in her voice. “ you’d be in debt until at least next week. longer if you actually follow through on the baked goods. ” she adjusted the strap of her tote over her shoulder, glancing at the pause in his headphones and the smile he offered like a peace offering. “ we all walk a little distracted sometimes, ” she offered with a shrug, eyes sweeping briefly over the quiet sidewalk around them. “ beats walking numb. ” there was a small beat before she added — “ still, i’ll consider this a successful collision. no injuries. good chat. and my coffee still standing. ” a pause, eyes narrowing just a touch in thoughtful observation. “ but i have to ask … ” she nodded toward the headphones, “ what beatles song was worth almost walking straight through me? ” there was no real bite to it, only warmth and teasing interest.
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Who: Defne ( @softglws )
Where: Sidewalks of Southside
Even if he had nowhere in mind to go, James made sure to force himself out of the apartment, even if he was just to walk around the Southside area. To remember the steps he took, memorize the once familiar sidewalks, and just taking in the beauty of being back home. Home. A place he never thought he would see again but all things considered, was lucky to do so once more. Letting the sun soak in against his skin, James kicked at some loose gravel as he walked along, headphones shoved over his ears, the beatles playing probably a bit too loudly than what was actually good for him. Looking down at his worn out converse for a moment, James had hardly noticed that someone else was on the sidewalk and bumped right into them. "Shit-" He breathed out, eyes snapping up. "Shit, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" James asked, pulling his headphones down.
defne had been balancing a paper coffee cup and a canvas tote full of newly borrowed library books — naturally worn from years of love — when the collision hit. her footing stumbled a bit, but she caught herself before anything hit the pavement, save for a single pen that clattered dramatically beside them. her head snapped up, an instinctive, half - surprised breath caught in her throat as james looked at her. " it’s okay, " she said, a little too fast, brushing a wind - blown strand of hair out of her face with her free hand. " just a coffee casualty waiting to happen anyway. " she crouched to retrieve the pen, glancing at his scuffed converse and then the familiar sound blaring through his headphones. the beatles. of course, makes sense. there was something about him that felt warm, unfinished, unmistakably back - from - somewhere. “ no bruises, no broken pride, ” she offered with a soft smile, rising again and tucking the pen into her bag. “ but you might owe me a coffee if this cup didn't survive. ” defne tilted it theatrically to check the lid. still sealed. “ lucky for you, ” she added, voice light with dry humour. “ it lives! ”
open starter , @coyotestarters ( 0/4 )
where , booktown books.
“shiiit.” the word slips out quiet. careful , like it’s not sure it belongs in the morning air. samara fumbles with her keys , other hand settling against her hip as gaze lifts to taped on sign. will be open late this week. “you been out here long?” her voice carries the lazy weight of someone still half asleep. even though she tries to pull it together. “i heard she’s terrible at keepin’ to her word. second time this month the hours have changed.” in her own defense , the sign could’ve been bigger. or posted with a little warning. not slapped on the door like an afterthought past midnight. sigh spills through lips, curls nearly shaking loose as her head swivels. “i tell you, i don’t know how she gets anything done. terrible work ethic… excuse me.”
quiet steps slip passed the other body watching the store’s front , as if she’s still trying not to wake a slumbering home. key clicks into the lock with a sharp echo seconds before she nudges the door open. that’s when her smile blooms , stepping aside just enough to leave room. “are we lookin’ for something specific today or just browsing…?”
defne had been standing there long enough for the condensation from her coffee cup to dampen the paper sleeve, fingers slowly rotating it out of habit. she hadn’t minded the wait — not really. the quiet morning and shuttered storefront gave her a chance to think. maybe too much of a chance. the scrape of keys behind her drew her attention, and then came samara’s voice — tired, familiar, and, as always, delightfully unimpressed with the world’s lack of organization.
defne turned slightly, the corner of her mouth already lifting. " long enough to count the cracks in the sidewalk and start naming them, " she said, amusement soft and lazy around the edges, mirroring samara’s own sleep - heavy tone. " this one's irving. that one? definitely a martha. " she nodded toward the taped sign with a mock solemnity. " and i’m starting to think she changes the hours just to keep me humble. " as samara stepped past, defne tilted her head, dark eyes following her movement like a cat watching a sunbeam. " terrible work ethic, yes, " she agreed, voice low with faux scandal, " but unmatched taste in found poetry. " a pause. " i let it slide."
when the door creaked open and samara’s smile cracked like sun through early fog, defne smiled back — that same wry, private thing that always curled her lips when they were in each other’s orbit. she stepped inside, grateful for the shift in air and energy. “ browsing, ” she said with a lightness that didn’t quite reach her shoulders. her gaze drifted toward the shelves like they might offer answers. or distractions. or both.
" it's pouring down, gosh " a few drops of rain his against her jet black hair, before sunisa could open the umbrella, a rather big one if compared to the woman's petite figure. " do you want to squeeze in? " sun had a soft grin on her lips, genuine as the simple offer to escort the person. " i could give you a ride, where were you going? " the dark clouds quickly hid any sing of sun, thunder cracking within them.
defne blinked up at the sky, as if mildly surprised it had chosen today to unravel. “ ah, ” she said, with a small, amused sigh, adjusting the velvet - wrapped field recorder slung across her chest. “ of course. the rain knows i wore suede boots. ” turning to sunisa, defne offered a smile that crinkled gently at the corners — like an old photograph softened by time. “ are you sure there’s room for someone who smells like old paper and cedar? ” then, a pause — the kind that lets the rain speak for a moment. “ i was only heading to the old train depot. " another rumble of thunder; the wind carried a trace of jasmine from somewhere. “ i’ll take that ride if the offer still stands, ” she added, finally ducking under the umbrella with a laugh as soft as a moth’s wing.
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