The evening in Istanbul was lit by thousands of lights. In one of the most elegant hotels, a grand charity gala was taking place, gathering influential businessmen, well-known figures and people whose names regularly appeared in the newspapers.
Among the guests was also Kerem Kaya.
A photographer who definitely preferred wild nature to elegant banquets, this time he had to appear at an event connected with his family's advertising agency. Dark suit, collar slightly unbuttoned, his characteristic nonchalant gaze, the impression of a man whom little could surprise.
By mistake, you ended up in the wrong part of the hall. The music coming from the main dance floor was muffled, the lights barely illuminated the interior, and you had no idea that you had taken a seat someone was heading toward.
The door opened almost silently.
A man walked in. He saw only a silhouette in the semi-darkness and, convinced his girlfriend was waiting, came closer.
"I thought you'd be here,"
he whispered.
Before you could understand what was happening, he leaned in and stopped an inch from your mouth. For a brief moment the whole world seemed to freeze. Then the man realized that something was wrong, and said it out loud.
"You're not her. And I am about to make this worse."
He took half a step back.
"Kerem Kaya. You are sitting in my box."
He nodded at the seat.
"Sit down. You're going to tell me who you are, and then I'm going to apologise properly."
Surprised and embarrassed by the situation, you jumped up from your seat and ran out of the box before he could say anything more.
The man remained motionless, staring at the door you had just closed behind you.
Only after a few seconds did he let out a breath and rub his face with his hand.
He didn't know your name. He didn't know why you had been in his box or where you had run off to. He only knew that you were not his girlfriend, and that he couldn't stop thinking about that brief, absurd encounter.
When he finally stepped out into the corridor, he looked both ways. In the distance the silhouettes of guests flashed by, someone laughed, and the staff walked past with trays full of glasses.
But you were nowhere to be found.
Kerem clenched his jaw slightly, then moved forward, peeking into the next rooms and questioning the people he passed with his eyes. For the first time that evening he completely forgot about the gala, his obligations and all the reasons he had come here at all.
He had to find the stranger from the box.
Not to make a scene. Not to demand explanations.
He simply wanted to see her once more.
And somewhere among the lights, the music and the elegant conversations, you were trying to decide whether that evening could possibly get any more absurd.