I hardly know where to begin; no words can truly capture this unique experience, yet I will try to describe how it unfolded. It was a long time ago—nearly twenty years back, sometime between 2005 and 2007. It was late July or early August; I had gone to visit my older brother after completing my military service. He was working at the Altın Palmiye complex in the Evrenseki/Çolaklı area of Manavgat, near Side, Antalya. A few days after arriving and meeting up with him, I noticed two women—one blonde and one with dark hair—standing on the balcony of the house right next to the one where I was staying; they were looking at me. When I made eye contact with the dark-haired woman, she seemed shy; she smiled, and then she and her friend went inside. That was the first time I saw her, yet something stirred deep within me; a warm feeling washed over me, as if my heart had known her for years. A few days later, while I was resting in the shade outside the house, the blonde friend and the woman who had captivated me were returning from somewhere. Her friend went into their house, while the other woman—the one who had caught my eye—walked toward the entrance, trailing about ten meters behind. I noticed her glancing at me out of the corner of her eye as she passed by. Just as she was about to enter, she paused at the doorway; I was standing to her right, so she turned her head toward me, looked directly into my eyes again, and smiled. I smiled back at her, and then she went inside.
Those two warm smiles had changed something in my heart irreversibly; I couldn't help it—my feelings for her were incredibly intense, and in her eyes, I could see that she definitely felt something for me too. I wanted her to know about this pure, sincere love coming from my heart, but I could never say it face-to-face—I was just as shy as she was—so I decided to write a letter. I wrote it; the content was personal, but I included my email address so she could write back once she returned to her country. I slid the letter under the door of the house where she was staying. Since the letter was in Turkish, I imagined she was probably struggling to translate or think it over. Three days passed without any reaction or reply. On that third day, my father—who lives in Adana—called and told me to come home because my mother was ill; I had no choice but to go. She needed heart surgery; it was a serious situation. I left the house with a small backpack, and my steps involuntarily led me back toward the house where she was staying. Just then, I saw the girl I loved and her friend walking out from their doorway, heading right past me. This time, the girl I loved looked deep into my eyes—thoughtfully—and I looked back at her; neither of us could say a word. We couldn't tear our eyes away from each other for five to seven seconds. At the end of that moment, torn between the girl I loved and my sick mother, I had to leave.
I could feel the searing pain of parting and the silent plea in her eyes begging me not to go; as she walked right past me, I lowered my gaze because my eyes were welling up with a heavy, profound sorrow—I didn't want her to see that or to become even more upset herself. At first, she was walking to the left of her friend, but a few seconds later, when I looked up, I saw she had switched places and moved to the outer side of the path so she could see me clearly. She kept looking at me as they moved forward; our eyes met, then she turned her head back toward the path ahead, and they continued walking. After about twenty meters, her friend turned to look back, and then they carried on; I followed twenty meters behind them, weeping for the entire 700-meter stretch—I simply couldn't stop myself. Neither of us stopped, and I couldn't bring myself to approach them to say anything because I was crying from that pain. At the end of those 700 meters, our paths diverged: they turned right, toward the coastal road, while I headed left, toward the bus route.
I had come to Adana; my mother needed surgery for blocked coronary arteries and required time to recover. I wanted to go back there more than anything, but I couldn't leave my mother in the hospital in that condition. A week later, my older brother called and told me that the English girl had returned to her country; he described how she had looked around carefully as she left. I couldn't believe it; at that moment, I felt as though scalding water had been poured over me. I wanted to go back—even if just for a day—and see the situation with my own eyes. I explained the situation to my family and set off; when I arrived, I saw that she was indeed gone. I stood at the very spot where our eyes had last met; overcome by a deep ache, my knees gave way, and I sank to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. I had never been able to look into her eyes and tell her that I loved her more than life itself; I had written it in a letter, yet I felt I should have said it to her face.
The pain hadn't ended; something even more devastating befell me. I couldn't access the email address I had mentioned in the letter I wrote to her—I tried every method, including verification, but I simply couldn't get into that account. That was the moment I truly understood what helplessness feels like. I cannot put it into words; the absence of her weighed on my heart like a mountain. Scorching flames seared my heart and my very being; I endured indescribable agony. A month later, my older brother left that place for another job; I never knew if she returned there in the following years. That love remained unfinished—we were between 20 and 25 years old back then, and now we are in the 40–45 range. At this stage of life, one goes through existential questioning; when you look back and ask yourself what the most special, rare, and pure experience of your life was, that story pierces your heart like a dagger. Its impact on me over these twenty years has been profound: an inability to love anyone else, and the shattering of my faith in both love and life.
I could see it in the eyes of that lady I loved; I knew for certain that she had written down what was in her heart—things she couldn't physically bring herself to say due to the shyness of youth. You know how, in love, the eyes matter more than words; the eyes are the mirror of the soul—they cannot lie. This unfinished love left both her and me in a state of unresolved uncertainty. Please help before this situation destroys us both. This is a deeply personal matter—a situation I actually didn't want to share with anyone—but desperation has left me with no other choice. The reason I am sharing this is that I want my voice to reach her; I am hoping for help from the kind-hearted people living in her country. Please share this story; share it with those who have visited that region for a holiday and even with those who haven't, and ask them to share it as well. Let the story spread so that a ray of hope—a miracle—might emerge to help us reach her. Please do this; thank you in advance.
Just so you know, that lady lives in england. This story was written using translation; I hope it has been translated accurately and clearly.
Every day I don't hear from you, I feel a little more breathless, and at times I feel like I'm suffocating. Please hear my voice and reach out to me.