### Chapter 11
"Tarık, wake up, son, come on!"
"Mom," he said, rubbing his sleepy eyes. His mother was smiling at him.
"Get up, breakfast is ready. Buğra is already up. Your dad will get mad, come on."
Her braided black hair fell over her chest. Her spring pink cheeks were flushed. She had been awake for quite some time, that was clear. Tarık sat up in bed, then stood up and walked out the door.
"This must be a dream," he thought. Where had he been last? His soul must have drifted somewhere again, but this place was so beautiful. It wasn't as painful as the reality Samet had dragged him into. He smiled, he didn't know what had happened, but he would do whatever it took to stay here. Maybe his family would be like they used to be and wouldn't separate.
"Tarık!"
He heard his father's warm and authoritative voice. His heart fluttered with excitement. "Dad," he said.
"Big brother!" he heard Buğra's voice calling. He jumped out of bed quickly. Buğra had called him, he was here. That meant he was safe. The concept of the dream vanished. His family was here, his mom, dad, and brother. What else could he need?
Ignoring the voice in his head saying, "Ayhan, Figen, your uncle," he opened the door. This was his home, his nest, a place that protected his family, keeping them warm in winter and cool in summer with its four walls and roof. He looked at the scene with longing. His mother sat in the corner of the breakfast spread she had set, pouring fresh, steaming tea into glasses. His father was breaking the large bread with his hands and sharing it.
He looked at Buğra; his nose stung with emotion. Buğra was peeling a boiled egg with his tiny fingers, his lips pressed tightly together, focused as if he were doing the most important job in the world. As tears streamed down his face, he remembered this was the last time he would see his mom and dad.
After breakfast, he had left for school and returned upon hearing the news of their deaths.
"Son, why are you just standing there? Come to the table, your tea is getting cold," his mother said, looking at him again. How beautiful his mother was, and her absence settled in his heart with burning intensity. How would he live without her, endure without her, raise his brother without her? "Okay, mom," he said, sitting cross-legged beside his father. His mother handed him a thin-waisted tea glass. As he reached to take it, his fingers brushed against his mother's hand. How warm it was, how soft despite the calluses.
"Just like her heart," he thought. He slowly brought the tea to his lips.
"Big brother, when are you going to leave?"
He turned to look at Buğra. His innocent gaze crushed his heart. Where was his brother now, and how had he himself returned to this time, this place?
"Leave your brother alone, son, let him eat his bread," said his father. For years he had called him father, considered him his father. Though Namık was his biological father, to Tarık, there was only one father.
"Don't worry, Dad, I'm eating," he said, and his father smiled. The wrinkles on his face spread out. Tarık smiled too. He wished he could be stuck in this moment, in this place, forever.
"Tarık, please wake up!"
The voice he heard belonged to Figen, he knew it. He ignored it. He wouldn't trade this moment for anything; if he had a choice.
"Son," his mother said. Tarık looked at her face. He wanted to memorize every line, every expression, and place it in the highest corner of his memory, never to forget that face, even if his life ended. To remember every time he recalled that face how loved he was, how cherished, how a mother's love was unmatched by any other in the world.
"Yes, mom," he said. His voice came out as a sob.
"Don't be sad, please, go now!"
He shook his head. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"No, I don't want to go!"
"Tarık, my dear, please wake up!"
As Figen's voice grew clearer, calling him, he didn't want to leave.
"Buğra is alone without us; he shouldn't be without you, son."
His father's words made him pause. If he didn't go back, what would happen to Buğra? His heart tightened, imagining his brother alone and defenseless in a world full of dangers... Just the thought made him want to scream.
"Buğra?" he whispered.
As his mother, father, Buğra, and his home faded into a gray mist, he heard a voice.
"Thank God, he's opening his eyes."
The bright light made it hard to open his eyes, but when he managed, he saw Ayhan, Figen, and Nevbahar standing by his bedside. He looked at their faces one by one; they were real. So, the reality Samet had dragged him into had come to an end, and he had said his final goodbye to his mom and dad.
With a voice that sounded awkward as if he had forgotten how to speak, he managed to say, "What happened?"
"It's over now, don't worry, brother," Ayhan said, leaning in to hug him. Yet, all three of them knew that saying something was over didn't make it so, and saying don't worry didn't make you worry any less. They were travelers who chose to burn in the pain of what had happened rather than ponder the strangeness of their experiences.
"Did you see them?" Tarık asked, the horrific moments of the children disappearing under the ground and that man; it all was etched in his memory.
"We did," Ayhan said, his voice having lost its old cheer, his baby-like face seeming to have aged suddenly. It was his eyes that gave him this maturity. Painful, deep brown eyes.
"Nevbahar Anne, welcome!" Tarık said to the woman who seemed on the verge of middle age. Nevbahar let out a sound between a sob and a laugh.
"Thank you, son. You, my daughter, and Ayhan have returned from death. As for me, I have no idea what happened. I was about to witness the death of a man whose pain I was sharing for the first time in my life. Truly, thank you!"
"Mom!" Figen said reproachfully.
"Alright, alright, I’ll stop! You’ve been up for two days and haven't told us anything. Maybe Tarık will tell us."
"Nevbahar Teyze, let Tarık and my uncle recover, then we will tell you everything, I promise."
"What happened to my uncle?" Tarık asked, but the others seemed not to hear him.
"Okay, son, you’re the only sensible one here anyway."
Ayhan wasn’t sure if Nevbahar was praising or scolding him, but he didn’t respond, just like the others. The mutual silence was broken when the doctor entered the room.
"You’re looking well, young ones."
The doctor, who looked no older than thirty-six, approached them with a smile, wearing his white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. Ayhan and Figen had met the doctor two days ago, but Tarık was seeing him for the first time.
"Our last sleeper has finally woken up. Shall we start the interrogation, what do you say?" he said with a playful smile.
Ayhan and Figen exchanged questioning looks and then said simultaneously, "There's nothing to tell."
The doctor raised his well-defined eyebrows.
"You've already given that answer before; my main interlocutor is the last sleeper," he said and winked. Figen squinted her eyes and turned to Tarık.
"Do you think he'll give a different answer?" she said defiantly.
The doctor was just as arrogant.
"I think he will if you're not threatening him."
Figen was about to respond, her mouth agape in shock, but before she could, she heard Tarık say, "Medically, we don't have anything to tell you, doctor. Spiritually, yes, we do. But if we told you, you'd probably send us to a psychologist, which I'm already planning to see anyway." She looked at Tarık with her mouth open even wider.
Ayhan reached out and closed Figen's lower jaw.
"Careful, sis-in-law, a fly might get in," he said.
His booming voice filled the room, and everyone couldn't help but laugh. Nevbahar looked at Ayhan with gratitude for managing to lighten the mood, even in the worst moments, with his jokes, whether good or bad.
"Ha ha ha, very funny (!)" Figen retorted, pursing her lips at Ayhan. Tarık's mind, however, was on his uncle. Before he could press them, the doctor had entered the room, and his curiosity was turning into concern.
"How is my uncle, doctor?" he blurted out, knowing the others would dodge the question.
"Mr. Süleyman had a mild heart spasm from the stress, but he's doing well."
Tarık propped himself up on his elbow.
"I want to see him!"
"If you're feeling well, you can. Your vitals look normal. It's amazing, your heart stopped, but none of you have any health issues," the doctor said, looking at each of the three young people in turn. They looked at each other, not knowing what to say.
Ayhan was pushing Tarık, who was in a wheelchair. The hospital corridors were empty because it was night. The sound of footsteps and wheels echoed through the corridor, giving it a semblance of life. When they reached the door of the room where Süleyman was, on a different floor, Tarık felt the urge to leap out of the wheelchair and open the door.
"Come on, open the door!" he said excitedly. He couldn't wait to see his uncle. Ayhan smiled and opened the door. Tarık's eyes found his uncle lying among the white sheets. He swallowed hard. Ayhan pushed the wheelchair in, and they entered the room. Süleyman's eyes were closed, his arms lay at his sides, and he was lying on his back. His face was pale, and his breathing was slow.
"Uncle," Tarık said, approaching the bed, taking over the wheelchair himself. Cables were attached to his chest, and the monitor displayed his heartbeats.
"The doctor said he was fine, but he's still hooked up to these cables," he said, holding his uncle's hand. It was warm and large, lying still in his palm.
"They're probably just monitoring his heart rhythm, don't worry," Ayhan said softly.
"It's my fault; I put him through so much."
A tear rolled down his cheek and dripped from his chin. He brought the hand he was holding to his lips and kissed it. "Please wake up, uncle."
"He will wake up, I promise."
"I lost my parents, I couldn't take care of Buğra, if I lose my uncle too, how will I live?"
His tears flowed faster, and he struggled to hold back his sobs.
"Don't think like that, man. Buğra will be found, and your uncle will get better."
He nodded slightly, gripping Ayhan's shoulder with his free hand.
"Thanks, brother, if it weren't for you..."
He stopped as he felt the fingers in his palm move. He smiled with excitement.
"His fingers moved, Ayhan!" he said, hope lighting up his eyes.
Ayhan smiled along with him.
"I told you, he'll get better."
Süleyman's thick eyebrows furrowed in his sleep. His breathing rhythm increased. A muffled groan came from under the oxygen mask.
"Uncle," Tarık called. Süleyman's eyes fluttered open to this world. His eyes, which first saw the ceiling, found Tarık and Ayhan as he turned his head. He smiled.
"My nephew, you're up, you've recovered," he said. If it weren't for the mask, he would have been shouting with joy.
Tarık looked at his uncle with teary but happy eyes.
"I'm fine, uncle. And you're fine too, thank goodness."
"Thank goodness, nephew, thank goodness."
"Life, existence; something that is with one breath, lost with another, called life. Surely, it will not leave us until the Lord wills. We have food to eat and water to drink, uncle."
"We have tests to face until our destiny's line ends, let's see what we will live and see from now on."
"Only God knows that," Ayhan said, stepping between uncle and nephew. Conversations like these between Süleyman and Tarık were neither the first nor the last. Ayhan, on the other hand, just wanted to get out of this hospital. He had always hated the hospital smell. Thinking about staying here for days, even unconsciously, was enough to give him the creeps.
"When do you think the doctor will let us go?" he couldn't help but ask. Knowing his friend's habits, Tarık said, "We're supposed to be discharged, but you're staying," he said. Ayhan looked at him wide-eyed, not even blinking to gauge if Tarık was serious.
The straight look on Tarık's face made him think he was serious.
"Why am I staying? I was the first to wake up, I'm perfectly fine."
Süleyman chuckled from his bed. His laughter brought Ayhan to his senses while Tarık said, "Uncle, why did you ruin the joke?" mock-scolding.
"You owe me one, man, why do you get such a kick out of fooling me?"
Ayhan tightly pressed his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest. His attitude, showing he was offended, made Tarık's smile fade.
"I was just joking, why did you take it so seriously? I'm sorry, brother, forgive me!"
Ayhan looked at Tarık's face expressionlessly and then burst into laughter.
"See what it's like to be fooled, huh?"
"Dang it, you and your tricks," Tarık joined in his laughter. Süleyman, lying there, had taken off his mask and was watching them, laughing too.