A few days later...
Days were passing by coldly, without any scent or color. My condition was not just stagnant but worsening. At school, no one spoke to me anymore. Only Adri and Thao spoke to me a little.
But Adri had come to school only once, and Thao talked to me hesitantly, as if constantly looking around to see if anyone was watching us. Thao spoke only a few words to me because I didn't say anything to her, and she didn't want to stay near me for long either.
I was surrounded by people's piercing disgustful gazes—eyes filled with hesitation and contempt, like salt mixed into a vegetable . The strange thing was, those gazes were so powerful that when they focused on me, I felt as if someone was slowly tightening their grip around my neck with their hands.
As if long fingers were gently clutching the delicate skin of my neck. I wanted to speak to save myself, but the grip was so strong that my mouth wouldn't open to utter a word. It felt as though someone was effortlessly strangling me slowly, dragging me into darkness where returning seemed impossible.
As if someone was making me lifeless with their own hands, without killing me.
The weight I was carrying had become so heavy that I couldn't even focus on my daily routine—especially studying. My mind just wouldn't settle. Because of that, I scored lower in the recent tests, and my position in class had dropped.
Mr. Frank and the other teachers were concerned about me. They even informed my parents about my condition. Mr. Frank gave me a one-hour private session where he asked me many questions—about my behavior, about what was happening to me, where my mind wandered these days. So many questions… and I didn't even have the answers myself.
What could I possibly say, when even I didn't fully understand what was happening inside me?
The other students still treated me poorly. By now, it felt like I had become the hunter's new prey. Sifra, Elish, and Hugo would always roll their eyes at me. Along with Alicja and Josefa, they had spread false rumors about me.
Adri had only come to school once since that day, so he didn't really know much about any of this.
My parents scolded me harshly without truly understanding what I was going through.
"Where has your focus gone?"
"Is this why we stopped talking to you?"
"When will you finally change?"
"You've ruined our name with your actions!" And so on...
Lately, the sting of my wounds has only deepened.
Everyone told me how they felt—
How worried they are about me,
How much I've disappointed them,
How much they resent me,
What they've had to endure because of me…
As if they had figured out my entire character.
But perhaps, somewhere in all those words,
they forgot one thing—
That Freya is also human, just like them.
Has anyone ever stopped to ask me:
"Freya, what's really going on with you?"
"Are you okay?"
No.
Freya, you're just a stain.
Freya, you should focus on yourself.
I don't believe in you.
You don't even know how to talk like a girl—and you'll talk to me?
"Freya this… Freya that…
Freya, why aren't you like this?
Freya, why don't you be like that?"
But has anyone ever said—
"Freya, you're good… just the way you are."
Sometimes I feel like—
If I really fall from that mountain,
maybe everything would be better.
But then I ask myself—
Why should I give my life
for people who don't even think about me?
Wouldn't that make me a fool?
Why should I die for someone else,
when this life was given to me
by the One who created everyone equally?
Yes…
Maybe He just forgot
to add a little happiness in mine.
And these…
These are the thoughts
that keep quietly circling in my mind.
I had stepped out of the house just to distract my mind.
After crossing a narrow lane draped in red light,
I reached a wide road—lined on both sides with tall buildings.
I walked quietly along the edge of the pavement, my footsteps steady.
That's when I noticed a small shop, glowing with red light.
From the front, it resembled an old Chinese-style building—
like a house made of green wood, the kind you'd imagine in the heart of China.
But if one looked closely,
it wasn't really made of actual wood.
The craftsmanship was such that it appeared truly Chinese in its design.
The building had a triangular roof.
Its walls were painted green,
and covered with a textured material that looked like wood—
rough to the eye, with a grainy, almost beaded pattern.
The roof stood on two large red pillars,
and within them were two more thick, wide pillars painted deep green.
Between the roof and the pillars was a long, flat beam—
probably made of strong, expensive wood.
It connected the two columns
and added even more charm to the structure.
On those pillars hung a few traditional Chinese lanterns,
and red tassels were draped around them,
carved with words written in Chinese script.
That small Chinese-style structure
was actually the entrance to a larger building.
All around it were some plants and greenery,
making it look even more serene and beautiful.
It was a restaurant—a place that served Chinese food.
I love Chinese food myself,
especially wonton—it's one of my absolute favorites.
Whenever I feel sad,
or when my mind feels a little unsettled,
I place Chinese flavors on my tongue—
and somehow, while my stomach fills up,
my heart feels a little lighter.
I wanted to go inside.
People were going in and out.
But today,
seeing that crowd, my feet just wouldn't move forward.
The storm inside me
had pulled me far away
from the laughing, bustling world outside.
Still…
my heart quietly wished
to taste a bowl of hot, comforting wontons.
The wontons were simple—humble, even. Yet there was something unmistakably tender about them. Their delicate skins were translucent and snow-white, just enough for the faint pink of the pork and scallion filling to show through. Each one was folded with care, the edges pinched softly, like someone had taken their time, as if each one mattered.
They weren't extravagant. There were no special spices, no fiery broth, no artistic presentation. But the broth was warm, clear, and gently fragrant—it smelled like home, even when I didn't know why.
But at that moment,
I neither had money in my pocket,
nor did my heart give me permission.
So I quietly kept walking forward.
My heart felt unbearably heavy.
I didn't know whether I wanted to cry… or laugh.
I passed by the soft smell of wonton—
a smell that never even reached my nose,
like happiness in life…
so close, yet never truly mine.
After walking a little farther,
I reached a place slightly more open than the wide road,
connected on the other side
by a small arched moon bridge.
From here, a river was flowing—
emerging into view after being underground till now.
At this very point, the river split into two streams—
one flowing straight ahead,
the other turning gently to the left.
Beneath where the two roads met at the moon bridge,
on both sides of the river,
there were raised open platforms,
their flooring made of white stone—
a little rough to the touch.
There, I saw some beautiful purple flowers,
and colorful little sparkle-like streamers,
dancing lightly in the soft breeze.
The road I was walking on stood far above all this,
lined with sturdy railings.
There was something strange, magical even—
flowers and streamers blooming from stone.
But in truth, they were planted deep within the soil.
Only the surface was designed
…so that everything seemed born from white stone.
At night, these stones shimmer a little,
and even I don't know the science behind it.
The water flowing through the river
was as clear as glass—pure and transparent.
For the past few days, the weather had been perfectly clear,
but today, dark clouds were hovering in the sky.
The clouds weren't very thick,
but a cool, soft breeze was blowing,
the weather had turned slightly chilly,
and the water flowing beneath felt cold, too.
I crossed that arched moon bridge,
and found myself in a place that felt a bit crowded.
Something about the crowd
made my heart feel slightly anxious.
I didn't know why…
Because I was never like this before.
I wanted silence.
I wanted to go to those red flowers.
I wanted to return to that hill—
the one that always accepted me.
I saw that, just a little ahead of me,
in a small public square,
some people were playing music.
The square wasn't too big,
but it wasn't too small either.
It was an open space between a few shops, buildings, and one or two cafés.
In the center stood a fountain,
not very tall—
but exquisitely beautiful.
Its shape resembled a blooming lotus,
like its petals were opening and water was gently falling on them.
There were steps built around it for sitting,
and a few sculptures stood nearby.
One of them—a woman and a man in a moment of love—
stood out to me.
It was a sculpture of two people
falling in love—frozen in that tender feeling.
The space was surrounded by trees and green plant strips.
There was a big crowd.
Two boys and two girls—probably college students—
seemed to be part of a band,
and they were playing Arctic Monkeys'
"I Wanna Be Yours."
People had gathered around them—
some watching with smiles,
some listening intently,
and probably their friends were shouting noisily.
Seeing them perform,
even I wanted to go and sing with them,
but the crowd overwhelmed me.
My heart shrank back.
The melodies gave peace to my soul,
but the crowd gave me unrest.
In my view,
music isn't just about notes and rhythm—
it's something more…
music is a language of emotions,
it can bring peace to the lonely,
brighten someone's day,
bring buried feelings to the surface,
or make hidden pain overflow.
Music is like sweet water—
not only pleasing,
but healing the inner chaos.
Those who play music
share their emotions with the world through melody,
and those who listen
search for themselves within those melodies.
I stood still there,
absorbing the music within me.
The whole world kept moving on
in its uncaring, fast-paced rhythm…
and I—
I was quietly holding that music in my heart.
I was so lost in that music,
when suddenly,
I heard a frail, withered voice:
"Listen!"
That voice slightly pulled my focus away,
and my concentrated mind scattered —
like a thread of prayer beads breaking,
its pearls falling all around.
I looked in the direction of the voice.
A shivering, short old woman was standing in front of me.
She looked extremely old.
The skin on her hands and face hung slightly loose.
Her face was covered with wrinkles,
as if etched only with lines of time,
without color, without softness.
The skin on her face sagged slightly,
and her complexion was brownish.
She was looking at me
with eyes that glimmered strangely.
She wore a dress that didn't look special,
it seemed old too .
In her hand, she held a small basket,
inside which she had arranged
a beautiful bouquet made from
roses, tulips, carnations, and orchids,
tied together like a proper floral wrap.
She said to me,
"Child, would you like to take these flowers?"
in a soft, withered voice.
Looking at her, I felt deep sadness.
She was so old, and yet doing this kind of work...
A part of me wanted to ask,
Where are your family?
Why are you here doing this alone?
But I couldn't ask.
Then she said again,
"Child, will you buy them?"
She was looking at me with eyes full of a strange brightness, and seeing that, a wave of sadness welled up inside my heart.
I wanted to buy the entire bouquet from her, but I had no money, nor even a phone.
My answer was no, but the words were stuck on my tongue.
Without waiting for my reply, she handed me the biggest bouquet —
it had all kinds of flowers: roses, orchids, tulips, carnations, daisies —
and it looked incredibly beautiful.
I wanted to refuse, but before I could speak,
she placed the bouquet firmly in my hands.
I looked at her with guilt and said,
"I don't have money right now. Please keep these for yourself."
She looked at me and said,
"If you don't have money, that's no problem. This bouquet is made just for you."
She looked at me with a strange gaze and said,
"My daughter looked just like you. She is no longer in this world — she died seventeen years ago.
She was just like you."
Hearing this, my heart ached deeply.
I looked at her and said,
"I'm sorry that this happened to you."
She looked at me and said,
"No, why should you apologize?
My daughter left sadness behind and went towards happiness."
Then she smiled at me and said,
"You don't need to give me anything — this is meant for you."
Seeing her smile like that, and how kindly she spoke to me, I thanked her.
I closed my eyes and thought about those serious, troubled faces that were meant for me —
and then I saw this smiling face, so full of happiness.
Looking at it, I felt no resentment, just a little bit of joy —
it was as if I was being scented by the fragrance of those flowers.
I opened my eyes and mouth to say something more to her,
but when I looked, there was no one in front of me.
The woman had gone.
I looked all around, but she was nowhere to be seen.
I searched for her for a while, but she was gone.
It was very strange — how could someone so old disappear so quickly?
The bouquet was still in my hands.
I looked at it and prayed silently for her departed daughter,
and I also thanked that woman.
Once again, I wanted to go to that empty place covered in red flowers,
the place of peace that was reached by those gentle stairs.
I turned my path and started walking toward that place of peace again.
After some time, I reached those stairs that led to the place
where the whole city's lights gathered in a cluster.
I quickened my steps and began ascending upward.
After climbing the stairs, I reached the concrete road on the same hill,
paved with large, square red brick tiles.
There were two lamplights standing there,
and beyond those lamplights lay the place of peace —
that place covered with red flower bushes,
where the gentle breeze would bring a calming silence.
From the far corner of that place, you could see the entire city,
like a large shining star.
Night was about to fall.
The sky was now covered with clouds,
and the red flower bushes were lightly dripping dew drops,
shimmering in the cool, soft wind.
Seeing all this reminded me of someone —
Sean Wood, whom I had almost forgotten.
After that day, I never saw him anywhere,
nor did I get any news of the one in the blue hoodie.
I picked up a red flower lying on the ground
and placed it gently in my bouquet.
For a while, I stood there, watching the faint moonlight
and the slowly brightening city lights in this quiet weather.
My heart felt very heavy,
thoughts crowded my mind,
many pains tangled inside me,
pushing me deeper into myself.
Looking at that corner, I felt a strong desire to go there.
I quickened my steps and walked toward it.
I reached that corner and stood there,
just beyond the small railing that separated the vast boundary from the park.
The railing was quite low,
but tall enough that if someone fell, they would be seen clearly in the light.
Seeing it, a strange feeling arose inside me —
what if I fell from here?
What if I jumped?
And I didn't know why.
I didn't want to think like that,
but still, the thoughts were there.
The clouds rumbled loudly,
a flash of lightning lit up the sky.
The dark clouds and night had merged.
Raindrops began to fall softly.
Then, I heard a voice,
someone humming a tune,
with melody and rhythm.
In my mind, it came to me...
Under the drenching sky, I was counting the sorrows of my life, While someone else was embracing each moment of theirs with the falling raindrops. And then, that voice... Soft, yet reaching straight to the heart- "Live, for life is but one-stay happy and spread it around. We are companions in this journey till death... Just give me your hand..." There was something magical in those words. It felt as if the rain had touched my sorrows, As if someone had called my name, As if an unseen hand was pulling me out of the darkness..
And just as I was about to think more,
my foot slipped forward,
and I felt as if maybe Freya's story was written only up to this point—
that Freya too would, like that old woman's daughter, choose happiness and leave sorrow behind.
But then, a thought came to me—
No, Freya has to play music,
she has to learn music,
she cannot leave just yet.
The bouquet slipped from my hand,
and I began to fall forward.
I tried to grab a nearby tree branch,
but all I caught was a leaf.
I was about to fall when suddenly
I felt the warmth of someone's hand—
as if someone had grabbed me from behind and pulled me back.
I didn't fall forward,
but whoever caught me must have fallen onto me in the pouring rain.