An unfinished love

As always, she was by the window, occasionally leaning out to look at someone, as if she wanted to see them. It was as if she was waiting for someone. On the old typewriter desk, next to the yellowed papers, lay a half-finished cup of tea. Even the color of the steaming tea had changed, just like the complex emotions within her… Something she couldn't suppress within her soul was wearing her down, but she couldn't understand what it was or name it. Yet that strange energy controlled her fingers, compelling her to write. He himself couldn't understand his situation. He had been constantly alone in recent days. They had a son who was abroad. The house was often shrouded in silence, a silence that was often his greatest companion. ________________________________________ That day, she sat down at the typewriter again. As her fingers touched the keys, the past parted like a curtain. Oh, how wonderful those youthful years were. Her hair was in two braids with red ribbons at the ends, and she had a cheerful face. She was sitting in the third row. She suddenly smiled. She remembered the young teacher who had come to the classroom. The classroom door opened and the school's new biology teacher entered. She was young , enthusiastic, and somewhat unfamiliar with the area. She walked among the desks, eager to get to know the students. And then suddenly he saw Zümra, who was sitting in the third row. For a moment, time stood still. A strange flutter began in his heart. Because the person standing in front of him looked like his fiancée who had passed away years ago. How could this be? The same face, that sweet shyness, the same embarrassment… The only difference was her hair, because this girl had slightly darker hair. Zümra gasped as she tried to understand why she was being examined. She remembered her hands trembling. "This is impossible," the teacher muttered to herself, suddenly sitting down. "We'll continue the introductions later," she said, her heart pounding. Seeing she wasn't well, the students tried to help. Zümra took cologne from her bag and began pouring it on her hands. She wanted to call a doctor, but the teacher stopped her. Holding her hands, the teacher thanked her for the cologne. She had fallen in love that day with her teacher's gaze and concern. Yet, no one admired Zümra; she was simply likened to someone who had lost their life. ________________________________________