“My Blank Love” is a tender exploration of a love that was never spoken, never named — yet deeply felt. It’s the story of emotions left unwritten, of silences that held more truth than words ever could. This love didn’t need definitions; it lived quietly in glances, in pauses, in pages that remained blank… yet full. A tale of incomplete confessions and eternal connection.

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My Blank Love

Chapter One – The River That Remembered

The wind moved slowly, brushing against the lonely strands of Zoboriya’s hair that had escaped her scarf. The river beside her flowed with a hush — a quiet lullaby that only those carrying silent grief could understand.

She stood still, hands folded in front of her, the smell of wet stone and distant jasmine thick in the air. Behind her, the small Turkish town of Safranbolu breathed in its soft morning calm. But inside her?

A storm she hadn’t named.

A love she hadn’t confessed.

A pain she never expected to carry.

She looked at the water again, wondering if it remembered that moment —

the exact second her world had shifted.

> “If only he hadn’t come that day…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“If only Abu Zarr had never stood in front of me.”

But he had.

And like a sudden gust in the middle of a still afternoon, he had shaken her soul awake.

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It was early spring, the trees still dressing themselves in fresh green, and the cafés along the cobbled path hadn’t yet filled with tourists. That afternoon, three years ago, she had come to this same river, carrying nothing but a journal and a tired heart.

She had wanted silence.

She had wanted to sit and not be seen.

But he had found her anyway.

“Zoboriya.”

His voice had come from behind — firm, familiar, breaking the very air around her.

She had closed her eyes first.

Then turned.

And there he was.

Not as the Abu Zarr she remembered — the boy with laughter tucked in his collar and stars in his voice — but a man now. Quieter. Older. And with eyes that looked like they hadn’t rested in weeks.

He hadn’t smiled.

He hadn’t spoken again.

He had just looked at her —

like she was a story he still didn’t understand how to finish.

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> “Why did you come?” she had asked, her fingers tightening around the pen in her lap.

He had shrugged slightly, his gaze not leaving hers.

> “Because I wasn’t done.”

She had laughed. Not the soft kind, but the one that hides wounds.

> “You were the one who left. You were the one who turned your love into silence.”

He didn’t defend himself. He just stepped closer.

> “Maybe I thought your silence would match mine.”

That day, everything blurred — the river, the air, her breath.

He had come back,

but not to explain.

Not to apologize.

Not to say he still loved her.

He had just come — and in that moment, it was both too much and never enough.

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Now, years later, standing again by the same river, Zoboriya wondered what remained of that afternoon.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe everything.

> “You left your noise behind, Abu Zarr.

But you left your silence inside me.”

The wind answered her this time, rustling the pages of her old notebookP — the one that still carried his name in ink that had begun to fade.

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To be continued…

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