Day 17 – The House of Shadows
In the deep streets of Balat, night clung to the domes of mosques like a silent veil. Zeynep was clutching the map she had found inside the book. Next to her was the man from the bookstore — she had finally learned his name: Yusuf Bey. A former intelligence officer, now a tracker of traces.
Their footsteps echoed in front of a door, where a faint Arabic inscription had nearly faded. Yusuf Bey took out a key and looked at Zeynep.
“Are you ready?”
Zeynep lowered her gaze. Her heart was pounding so loud it was hard to silence her prayers. She whispered an Al-Fatiha, then looked up.
“I’m ready.”
The door creaked open. Inside was a stone building that had once been a dervish lodge. The ceiling was high, the columns curved. But it had been long abandoned, worn down. Yusuf Bey lit a lamp. The yellow light revealed dim walls. Everything was old, yet it was clear someone was still using the place.
Yusuf approached a wall, felt along the stones, and pushed one. A hidden compartment opened. They entered. The room was small, but the walls were covered in books, maps, symbols. As Zeynep looked around, she saw a childhood photo of herself on the center table.
“This is the only photo I have,” said Yusuf. “Your mother left it here. If they couldn’t find you, she wanted the trail to end here.”
Zeynep picked up the photo with trembling fingers. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she held them in. Breaking down felt like a luxury now.
Yusuf opened a map.
“We need to reach another center of Nurhane. It’s built beneath an old cistern. Codename: The Zemzem Dream. We believe the notebook your mother hid is there.”
Zeynep nodded.
“The notebook… my mother’s memories?”
“More than that,” Yusuf said. “Inside are notes about their structure, personal observations, even interpretations of certain verses. Melike Hanım didn’t just run — she documented what she believed. For us, it’s not just a document; it’s a testimony.”
Suddenly, a noise echoed through the building. A wooden door slammed. Yusuf extinguished the lamp, grabbed Zeynep’s arm, and whispered:
“Quiet. They’re coming.”
Footsteps approached slowly. Then stopped. Yusuf took out a prayer bead. He touched it with his fingers, his lips moving:
“Hasbiyallahu la ilahe illa hu…”
Zeynep continued silently:
“…aleyhi tevekkeltu wa huwa rabbul-‘arshil azim…”
As Zeynep held her breath, it felt like that moment tore a hole through time. No one passed through the door. The sound vanished instantly.
Yusuf stood up.
“They haven’t found us yet. But they’re very close. There’s no turning back now.”
Zeynep relit the lamp. Her eyes gleamed like hope in the dark.
“I will find my mother’s notebook. No matter what.”
Yusuf bowed his head.
“Then be ready. Our next stop is the Zemzem Dream. But to descend there — only the ones who stand firm can handle it.”
Zeynep placed the photo into her bag, fixed her headscarf. And in her heart, she whispered:
“If my Lord brings me down there, I won’t be afraid. Because now, I am my mother’s prayer.”
To be continued…
FOLLOW — COMMENT — SHARE — LIKE — TIP — SUBSCRIBE