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Four years later...
*
I found her lying in her favourite spot in our sphere.
The chaise lounge had been one of the first pieces of furniture we’d brought into our underwater home, and the pale-blue velour mimicked the dappling of the moonlight spearing through the water above.
Fluorescent pigments of corals and other cnidarians glowed with faint greens, yellows, and pinks. The nightscape of the reef looked as wonderous as the aurora lights when we’d married the first time. Lazy fish swam while sleeping, and inquisitive octopuses waved tentacles in hello, recognising us and becoming friendly through the marine glass.
Our bedroom, off the main bubble, had the biggest window. The construction of the spheres had been kept simple with exposed beams, bamboo screens instead of doors, and the all-important massive windows. The ability to extend the anchor cord to bob on the surface or retract to lock on the seafloor had been an ingenious idea, and the more spheres we added, the bigger our community had grown thanks to photos online of bubbles bouncing on the waves, looking like alien ships or some strange kind of jellyfish.
I sighed in wonder as a fever of moon-dappled manta rays soared past, and two peacock mantis shrimp snatched at scurrying crabs.
Neri lay on her stomach, eyes wide at the glowing reef before her, her legs raised and crossed at the ankles, her chin in her hands as she peered into the inky sea.
Two years we’d spent our weekends in this bubble, and each Sunday, when it was time to return to shore, both of us were becoming more and more reluctant. For all my stubbornness of never stepping foot into the sea, I was now as addicted as my wife.
“Oh, wow,” Neri breathed as two wobbegong sharks darted up the glass, following the contours of the curve. Her endless fascination with this world never failed to punch me directly in the chest.
She belonged down here.
With me.
I stopped on the threshold of the living room. The space wasn’t overly large with a comfy couch, chaise, and kitchen. No TV. No computers. When we were down here, we wanted no sign of the human world. No way for others to find us. Up there, we were a power couple. Nerida Avci and Aslan Kara, entrepreneurs, visionaries, and philanthropists.
But down here...we were just us.
Two souls stripped of wealth, importance, and endless to-do lists.
Down here, we were nothing more than two people in love.
I clenched my jaw as I drank Neri in. I’d come to get her. She’d said she’d come to bed the minute she’d finished sipping her chamomile tea, but it seemed she’d gotten distracted.
Again.
I’d known she’d be unable to ignore the song of the sea, especially after we’d been staying at our second home in Turkey for the past month.
We’d purchased a house in Izmir a few years ago.
Ayla had come house hunting with us, and in some strange twist of fate, we’d bumped into Çetin—Cem’s old doctor who’d removed my leg and kept me alive. He’d returned to his family in Izmir after I’d taken over, and when he’d spotted me on the waterfront, strolling hand in hand with Neri and our perfect daughter just up ahead, he’d cut us off and bowed.
He apologised for his role in my torture.
He kneeled for cutting off my tattoo.
He cleansed his soul of all the things he’d done against his wishes.
And I’d forgiven him.
I knew how hard it was to resist Cem’s convincing.
Çetin wasn’t a bad man. He’d just been...persuaded, like me.
Ayla bombarded him with medical questions, and somehow, the family vacation I’d promised after a week spent in Istanbul with my generals turned into Ayla’s first initiation into the healing profession.
The only dark spot on our reunion was the whispered conversation I’d shared with Çetin just before we left. He’d asked how my heart was after the endless shocks Cem had given me.
I pressed a hand to my familiar aching chest and stepped away from my wife and daughter. Once we were out of hearing distance, I said, “Is there something I should know, Çetin?”
