Chapter 42 The Garden's Gift
“Come, I’m gonna show you something,” Ylmaz said, his voice low but filled with that familiar hint of excitement.
After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in his. His grip was warm, steady, grounding, even as her heart raced with curiosity. “You’ve always been bad at keeping surprises,” she teased as they started walking down the stone path lined with flickering garden lanterns.
“That’s because you’ve always been bad at waiting,” Ylmaz countered, grinning.
Deborah gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me?”
“Admit it,” he said, glancing at her sideways. “You used to peek at your birthday gifts when we were kids.”
She laughed, the memory flooding back. “You caught me one time.”
He raised a brow. “One time? Deborah, I had to start hiding your gifts at my uncle’s workshop just to keep you from finding them.”
“Okay, fine,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Maybe I was curious. But you were too dramatic about it.”
“Dramatic? You climbed through a window just to check the wrapping paper!”
Her laughter filled the night, light and unrestrained, bouncing off the villa walls. “I did not!”
“Yes, you did,” Ylmaz insisted, his tone playful but filled with nostalgia. “You even fell into the rose bushes.”
Deborah clutched her stomach, laughing harder. “Oh my God— I remember that! I had scratches all over my arms, and you ran around yelling for your grandmother to get bandages.”
Ylmaz chuckled, shaking his head. “You were crying, saying it wasn’t worth it, and I told you next time I’d just give you a flower instead.”
She slowed her steps, the laughter softening into a smile. “And you did.”
He looked at her with quiet amusement. “You remember that?”
“I kept that flower for years,” she said softly. “Pressed it in a book I never finished reading.”
Something flickered in his eyes, a blend of fondness and disbelief. “You still have it?”
Deborah smiled faintly. “Maybe.”
They reached the end of the path, where the lanterns gave way to open moonlight. Before them spread the garden — sprawling, colorful, alive. A mosaic of roses, poppies, daisies, lavender, and bougainvillea. The evening air was warm, scented with blossoms and sea salt.
Deborah’s lips parted in awe. “This… this is beautiful.”
Ylmaz’s expression softened as he watched her. “My grandmother planted it all. She used to say every flower here carries a wish, for someone she loved, or someone she hoped would find happiness.”
Deborah crouched beside a patch of wild daisies, brushing her fingertips gently over their petals. “Then this place must hold a lot of love.”
“It does,” Ylmaz murmured. “And maybe now, it holds another wish too.” She glanced up at him, brow furrowed in curiosity. “Another wish?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved toward a cluster of white roses, their petals glowing like pearls in the moonlight. He carefully cut one bloom, turning it slowly in his fingers before walking back to her.
“This one,” he said softly, offering it to her. “This one’s for you.” Deborah blinked, taken aback. “For me?”
Ylmaz smiled faintly. “Every guest who came here received a flower. But I think Nonna would’ve said you deserve the prettiest one.”
Deborah hesitated before accepting it, the stem cool against her fingers. The scent was delicate, sweet, familiar, grounding. “You make it sound like it means something more than it should.”
“Maybe it does,” he said simply. She smiled but avoided his gaze, afraid he might read too much in her eyes. “You’re still the same sentimental boy who used to sneak me cookies during study hours.”
“And you’re still the same girl who got caught every time we did.”She laughed, lightly shoving his arm. “You really never let me win, do you?”
“Not when it comes to memories,” he said with a grin.
They began walking again, the stone path winding through the garden until it led to a small terrace perched over the sea. Deborah leaned against the railing, clutching the white rose in her hand.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered.
Ylmaz rested his arms on the railing beside her. “I used to come here when I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Back then, I thought the sea could listen better than people could.” Deborah turned to him, her expression soft. “Maybe that’s why it never forgets.”
He chuckled. “You always say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve lived a thousand lives.”
She smiled faintly. “Sometimes it feels like I have.”
His hand lingered for a second too long before he pulled it back. “Sorry,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “It’s okay.”
He hesitated, eyes searching hers. “You know… when I said the garden carries wishes, I wasn’t just quoting my grandmother.” Deborah tilted her head, curious. “What do you mean?”
“I made one, too,” he admitted quietly. “Years ago.”
She smiled, teasing gently. “Let me guess, you wished to be taller?”
He chuckled. “No. I wished for you to come back someday.”
The words hung in the air, simple, honest, and almost too fragile to touch. Deborah felt her throat tighten slightly. “You waited all this time?” she asked softly.
“I didn’t wait,” Ylmaz said, smiling faintly. “I just never stopped hoping.”
Deborah looked away, her gaze finding the horizon. “You shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “The girl you knew back then… she’s not the same person standing here now.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s exactly why I’m glad you’re here.” She turned back to him, caught between a smile and disbelief. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But I don’t mind being impossible if it means you’re smiling again.”
Deborah let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You always knew how to make me smile. Even when I was furious at you.”
The laughter faded into a quieter moment, one that felt heavier but comforting, too. They both looked out at the sea again, where the moonlight danced on the waves like liquid silver.
Deborah sighed. “It’s strange. I spent so many years running from my past, from people, from myself. And now, standing here, it’s like… everything I was avoiding doesn’t matter anymore.”
Ylmaz’s voice came gently. “Maybe that’s what this place does, it reminds you that the world keeps going, no matter what.”
She nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”He looked at her again, his expression soft but unreadable. “I don’t expect anything, Deborah. I just want you to know, I never stopped believing in who you are. Even when you forgot.”
Her eyes shimmered faintly under the moonlight. “You really haven’t changed.”
“Maybe I have,” he said quietly. “But one thing hasn’t.”
She tilted her head. “And what’s that?”
He hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “I still like you. Probably always will.... Come on,” Ylmaz said gently, extending his hand once more. “Let’s go back before the stars start telling on us.” She took his hand without hesitation.
And as they walked back through the moonlit garden, fireflies began to flicker around them, tiny golden lights dancing in the night, carrying wishes only the sea could hear.