OCTOBER 2015 - THE PAST

Four weeks have passed since that movie night. During this time, Ayla and I have often met up with the group. At first, we were careful not to make it too obvious that we wanted to be part of it, but over time, the guys seemed to expect us to join them. We played laser tag together, went to a billiards café, and visited places I probably never would have gone to otherwise.

In the past, Samira would have avoided such places—afraid of embarrassing herself in front of some guy she found attractive. But now, she acts as if she has always been interested in these activities. Still, every single time, I regret being part of these gatherings. Matthew ignores me completely, as if his interest in me has faded for good. Even my growing closeness to Navid doesn’t seem to faze him.

Amidst all this emotional chaos, at least I’m relieved that Aryan hasn’t found out about my friendship with his friends. If he overreacted so badly just because of Matthew, I don’t even want to imagine what he would do in this situation.

“Do you think he’d forbid us from seeing them?” Ayla asks, furrowing her brows.

“Maybe he just doesn’t want them hitting on us,” I try to understand my brother. “Isn’t that how most brothers react?”

Ayla shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know... Back when he lost it over your relationship with Matthew, he even scared me.”

My brother considers Matthew one of his best friends—possibly even his best friend. The only explanation I can come up with for his behavior is that he doesn’t want his friends to be involved with his sister in any way.

I deliberately leave Ayla out of this because I know that, in his eyes, she isn’t truly his sister. At least, I hope not. After all, Ayla has had feelings for Aryan since childhood, and I’m certain he feels the same way.

“So we just don’t tell him?” I conclude. Ayla nods firmly. “Then we just have to make sure Mom doesn’t mention anything. She knows we regularly meet up with the group. It’s a miracle she hasn’t said anything yet.”

Ayla merely shrugs. We exchange a quick glance before heading downstairs. Today, my mother isn’t in her practice—she has taken time off to read a newly purchased book by her favorite author.

We find her in the living room, stretched out on the couch. Deeply engrossed in the pages, she absentmindedly twirls a strand of her hair between her fingers.

“Are we interrupting?” Ayla asks curiously.

“No, no…,” she murmurs without looking up from her book. But when our silence lingers too long, she finally lifts her head, studying us carefully. “What’s going on?”

Ayla goes straight to the point. “How often does Aryan usually call during the week?”

My mother furrows her brows, searching for an answer. “Three or four times?” She watches Ayla closely, clearly trying to figure out the reason for the question. She knows Ayla never speaks without a purpose. “What exactly is this about? What do you not want me to tell Aryan?”

My sister smirks knowingly. “That we’re hanging out with his best friends.”

No detours, no sugarcoating—Ayla gets straight to the point. I’ve always admired that about her. Around her, I never have to worry about being lied to. I have to admit, her bluntness used to catch me off guard, but over time, I’ve learned to appreciate it.

“So Aryan still doesn’t want his family to know his friends?” my mother asks in surprise. She pauses for a moment, glancing thoughtfully at me, then at Ayla.

“My own son remains a mystery to me,” she sighs at last. “Alright, I won’t mention a word to him about your friendship with Matthew and the others. But on New Year’s Eve, I’ll have to have a talk with him when he comes home for the holidays. Speaking of which, your grandparents will be visiting and staying for a few days.”

Ayla and I exchange pleased glances. On one hand, we’re relieved that our mother is on our side; on the other, we’re excited about our grandparents’ visit, as we haven’t seen them in this house for a long time.

My mother is the middle child of eight siblings, all of whom moved away after getting married. We reunite during summer vacations, but my grandparents haven’t visited our home in over ten years.

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Since Ayla lost her parents—her mother to another man, her father to death—she has had no contact with her own grandparents. They never reached out to her either. My mother once told us that Ayla’s parents’ marriage was disapproved of by both families. That’s why the wedding was a small affair, attended only by their closest friends. Back then, my father and mother invited many of their university classmates to ensure the couple wouldn’t be alone on their special day.

Mrs. Salman—Ayla’s mother—was an incredibly introverted woman, which makes it all the more remarkable that she formed a deep friendship with my mother, who is her complete opposite. Their friendship lasted a long time, and many thought it would last a lifetime. But fate had other plans.

One day, Mrs. Salman left everything behind and ran away with her lover—leaving broken hearts in her wake. I don’t know how my mother coped with the pain. After all, she was not only close to Mrs. Salman but also to Dr. Salman—Ayla’s father. There must be an emptiness in her heart that can hardly be filled.

Perhaps it’s this understanding that allows us to truly feel what Ayla is going through. And that’s exactly why, as the Naseer family, we make sure she never lacks anything.

JUNE 2016 - THE PRESENT

That Ayla lacks nothing—that was my firm resolve back then, and it still is today. My family means everything to me. But my decisions almost dragged my beloved sister into the abyss. I nearly pulled her down with me without even realizing it.

“I don’t know how this conversation will end,” I say quietly, my gaze resting on the inspector. She studies me just as intently. “But if my family is waiting for me on the other side of that door, I hope they won’t have to see me like this.”

“That can’t be avoided,” the woman replies, setting her clipboard aside. “Let’s speak plainly for a moment.” She leans forward, and something in her pockets clinks—a sharp sound, metal against metal. It sends a chill down my spine, a cold reminder that I am still here. That this is reality.

“For almost forty-five minutes, you’ve been telling me about your past with the victims,” she continues. “Because you want to convince me that you’re innocent, right?”

I simply look at her, my eyes wide, my face unreadable. No reaction that confirms or denies her words.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she says calmly. “But everyone here believes that you killed those boys. Granted, it does seem questionable—a petite girl like you hardly could have overpowered four boys at once. But the murder weapon was a gun. And as you surely know, physical strength isn’t necessary for that.” She pauses briefly before delivering the crucial question: “So, why did you shoot them? Why didn’t you just use your words?”

OCTOBER 2015 - THE PAST

A whole month has now passed since my final school year at this school began. It still feels strange to see Samira and Matthew so close to each other during class and in the breaks. I try to hide my jealousy, and my friendship with Navid serves as the perfect cover. Even Ayla now believes that I have forgiven Samira without hesitation. At first, she was skeptical and asked me several times how I was feeling, but by now, she seems to have accepted it.

Forgiving someone who betrays me is not in my nature. That’s why I completely understand Ayla’s doubts. In the end, she is my family—she knows me better than anyone else.

“Gillian is throwing a party at his place for New Year’s,” Samira announces excitedly. Recently, she has started sitting with us during breaks again—as if she has completely forgotten what she did to me. “His parents will be at a spa for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary. So they allowed him to use the house for a party. Isn’t that cool?”

I just nod silently. Ayla, on the other hand, responds enthusiastically, “That sounds great! How many people is he planning to invite?”

Samira shrugs. “Around a hundred? Maybe two hundred?”

Unforgettable things always happen at parties like these on New Year’s Eve. I have to find a way to talk to Matthew alone that night. He can’t keep ignoring me. I still have about two months until New Year’s to make him see reason. He needs to realize that Samira is not the right one for him.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates. The two girls give me curious looks. I take a quick glance at the screen.

“A message from Navid,” I say.

Samira grins and murmurs a quiet “Ooooh,” while Ayla looks at me expectantly—waiting for me to read it aloud.

I read: “Do you have time today? I’d like to see you—just the two of us.”

My eyes move to the two girls. Ayla watches me closely, as if waiting for my reaction. Samira, on the other hand, claps her hands together with a mischievous smile.

“I knew it!” Samira announces proudly, patting herself on the shoulder. “So Navid is in love with you! Well then, it’s time to give you two a little push.”

I fight against the anger rising inside me. At the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that Samira is choosing her words carefully—just enough to push me to the brink. Who does she think she’s helping? Me? Me, of all people—the one who should actually be with the boy she is currently dating? Maybe I should help her with a push—straight off a cliff.

“Stop interfering in other people’s business, Samira,” Ayla hisses, throwing her an annoyed glance. Then she turns to me. “Are you going to meet him?”

I shrug, my eyes still fixed on my phone screen. I keep reading Navid’s message over and over. He is making the first move. But why now? We’ve met so many times since that night at the cinema. Why did he choose this moment? Has he been waiting all this time for the right moment, or has he only just realized what he feels for me?

After a brief hesitation, I nod. “Navid is a nice guy. He’s always good to me.”

I look directly into Ayla’s eyes.

JUNE 2016 - THE PRESENT

And I gaze into that deep dark blue. The inspector observes me with the same curiosity she has carried since our first encounter.

The truth had been right in front of me all along—like an open book, its pages filled with the answers I had so desperately longed for. But just as the inspector would never understand my answer to this quadruple murder without a proper explanation, my past self would have seen nothing but meaningless letters on those pages.

How much time has already passed? How much longer until my final verdict is pronounced?